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THE    HOUSEHOLD    BOOK 


or    POETRY. 


UWIVEK^sn  Y  of  CALfFOKN<A 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

— 'U-mA^r-^' ' 


THE 

H 

OUSEHOLD    BOOK 

OF 

poet:^y. 

_ 

COLLECTED  AXD   EDITED 

BY 

OHAELES     A.     DAE'A. 

ELEVENTH     EDITION— REVISED    AND    ENLARGED. 

o 

.1.                               '            ^  i          n      %          ^          n                                   *-                      ... 

-»                  >    J        iJ 

J                       )   3     J         3 

IS-EW    YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND     COMPANY, 

443     &    445     BROADWAY. 

LONDO^^:     IG    LITTLE    BEITAIN. 

1868. 

146540 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

D.  APPLETON   &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


]  I-?  1 

■  l^ 


PEEFACE. 


TuE  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  comprise  within  tlie  bounds  of  a  single 
v-olume  "svhatever  is  truly  beautiful  and  admirable  among  the  minor  poems 
of  the  English  language.  In  executing  this  design,  it  has  been  the  con- 
stant endeavor  of  the  Editor  to  exercise  a  catholic  as  Avell  as  a  severe  taste  ; 
and  to  judge  every  piece  by  its  poetical  merit  solely,  without  regard  to 
the  name,  nationality,  or  epoch  of  its  author.  Especial  care  has  also  been 
taken  to  give  every  poem  entire  and  unmutilated,  as  well  as  in  the  most 
authentic  form  which  could  be  procured  ;  though  the  earliest  edition  of  an 
author  has  sometimes  been  preferred  to  a  later  one,  in  which  the  alterations 
have  not  always  seemed  to  be  improvements. 

The  arrangement  of  the  book  will  be  seen  to  be  somewhat  novel ;  but 
it  is  hoped  that  it  may  be  found  convenient  to  the  reader,  and  not  alto- 
gether devoid  of  aesthetic  congruity.  The  Editor  also  flatters  himself  that 
in  classifying  so  many  immortal  productions  of  genius  according  to  their  own 
ideas  and  motives,  rather  than  according  to  their  chronology,  the  nativity 
and  sex  of  their  authors,  or  any  other  merely  external  order,  he  has  exhib- 
ited the  incomparable  richness  of  our  language  in  this  department  of  litera- 
ture, (j[uite  as  successfully  as  if  he  had  followed  a  method  more  usual  in  such 
collections. 

That  every  reader  should  find  in  these  pages  every  one  of  his  favorite 


vi  r  R  E  F  A  C  E  , 


poems  is,  perhaps,  too  much  to  expect ;  but  it  is  believed  that  of  those  oi\ 
which  the  unanimous  verdict  of  the  -intelligent  has  set  the  seal  of  indis- 
putable greatness,  none,  whether  of  English,  Scotch,  Irish,  or  American 
origin,  will  be  found  •wanting.  At  the  same  time,  careful  and  prolonged 
research,  especially  among  the  writers  of  the  seventeenth  centurj'-,  and  in 
the  current  receptacles  of  fugitive  j)oetry,  has  developed  a  consiaerable 
store  of  treasures  hitherto  less  known  to  the  general  public  than  to  scholars 
and  to  limited  circles.  Of  these  a  due  use  has  been  made,  in  the  confident 
belief  that  tiiey  w^ill  not  be  deemed  unworthy  of  a  place  with  their  more 
illustrious  companions,  in  a  book  which  aspires  to  become  the  familiar 
friend  and  companion  of  every  household. 


New  York,  Augnst,  185G. 


ADVERTISE  \IENT  TO  THE  ELEVENTH  EDITION. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  revised  edition  of  this  collection  of  poems,  which  is 
herewith  issued,  may  not  be  thought  in  any  respect  less  worthy  than  its 
predecessors  of  the  remarkable  favor  which  the  public  has  accorded  to 
the  work.  In  its  preparation,  the  poetry  produced  during  these  eight 
years,  both  in  this  country  and  England,  has  been  perused,  and  the 
observations  of  the  numerous  critics  w^ho  commented  upon  the  first  edition 
have  been  diligently  consulted.  Some  pieces  may  now  be  missed  which 
were  formerly  to  be  found  in  our  pages  ;  but  as  their  places  are  filled  by 
others  which  are  believed  to  possess  greater  merit,  while  the  volume  is  con- 
siderably enlarged,  it  is  presumed  that  these  changes  will  not  be  disap- 
proved, especially  as  the  system  of  arrangement  and  the  general  character 
of  the  collection  remain  unaltered. 

New  Yoke,  August,  1866. 


I  ^^  D  E  X . 


POEMS     OF     NATURE 


Address  to  the  Nightinnrale 

Afar  in  Ihe  Desert. 

Afternoon  in  February     

Airs  of  Spring 

Almond  Blossom 

Angler 

Angler's  Trysting  Tree 

Angler's  "Wish 

Angling,  Versos  in  Praise  of 

April 

Arab  to  the  Palm 

Arethusa 

Autumn 

Autumn 

Autumn — A  Dirge 

Autumn  Flowers 

Autumn's  Sighing 

Bee 

Belfry  Pigeon 

Birch  Tree 

Black  Cock 

Blood  Horse 

Blossoms 

Blow,  Blow,  thou  Winter  "Wind. 

Bobolink 

Bramble  Flower. 

Brier 

Broom  Flower 

Bugle  Song 

Canzonet — Flowers  are  Fresh. . . 

Chorus  of  Flowers 

Cloud 

Come  to  these  Scenes  of  Peace.. 

Coral  Grove 

Cornfields 

Cricket 

Cricket 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo  and  Nightingale 

Cvnthia 

Daffodils 

Daffodils 

Daisy 

Daisy 

Dandeli(m 

Death  of  the  Flowers 

Departure  of  the  Swallow 

Description  of  Spring . 

Dirge  for  the  Tear 

Doubting  Heart 

Drinking 

Drop  of  Dew 

Evening 

Evening.  Ode  to 

Evening  Star 

Evening    "Wind— Spirit    that 
breatiiest 


Pacje 

I2!cTiard  Barnfield     51 
Th omas  Prin gle...     75 

Lnrujfelloio 112 

Thomas  Careio....    10 

Edwin  Arnold 18 

JohnOhaWiill 20 

T.  T.  Stoddart.....     20 

Imak  Walton 22 

Wofton 21 

John  JCeb/f 12 

Bii'/ard  Taijloi:...     T3 

Shelley  29 

Jlood 97 

Keals t)G 

Shellei/ 96 

Mrs.  South ey 9.^ 

T.  S.  Head 97 

Vaughan 70 

Will'ix 67 

Lowell C5 

Joa II na  Baillie. ...     29 
Barni  Cornicall . . .    76 

Ihrrlck 8,5 

Sliakenpenre 110 

Thomas  nut 22 

Ebenezer  Elliott. ...    41 

Landor 42 

Mary  Ilowitt 40 

Tennymn 100 

CamoVnn 48 

Leiqh  Hunt 44 

Shelley 77 

Bowles 5S 

. .  Percival 85 

. .  3far>/  Ilowitt. 92 

..    IK  C.  Bennett 107 

. .   Coirper 107 

. .  John  Log  a  ii 28 

. .    Wordsworth 28 

. .   Chaucer 28 

. .  Ben  Jon.fon 104 

. .    WordsiKorth 35 

. .  llerrick 35 

. .  Montgomeri/. 37 

..    M'ordsioorih 38 

. .  Lowell 42 

..  Bniant 93 

. .    William  Ifoicitt.   .  I(i7 

.  L^ord  Surrey 10 

.  Shelley 118 

. .  Miss  Procter 107 

. .   Aiuicreon 78 

..  Jfarvell 14 

. .    Tenni/son 101 

. .   Collins 102 

..  Campbell 102 

>    Bryant 101 


Evening  in  the  Alps Montgomery . . 

Fancy Keats ." 

Fidelity Wordsworth 

Flower  and  Leaf Chaucer 

Flowers Hood 

Flowers Longfellow 

Fly Vincent  Bourne 

Folding  the  Flocks Beau m on i  &  Fletcher 

Fountain I^owell 

Fringed  Gentian Bryant 

Garden Martell 

Garden Cowley 

Grasshopper L.ovelace 

Grasshopper Anacreon 

Grasshopper  and  Cricket Leigh  Hunt 

Grasshopper  and  ( 'ricket Keats 

Grasshopper,  Chirping  of Walter  Harte 

Green  Linnet ." Wordsirorth 

Greenwood TK  X.  Bowles 

Grongar  Hill JohnBi/er 

Gulf- Weed CO.  Fenner 

Hampton  Beach V/hiftier 

Harvest  Moon If.  K^.  White 

Holly  Tree Southey 

Humble  Bee Emerson 

Hunter  of  the  Prairies Bryant 

Hunter's  Song Barry  Cornwall.. . 

Husbandman John'Sterling 

Hymn  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni.  Coleridge 

Hymn  to  Pan Keats 

Hymn  to  the  Flowers Horace  Smith 

Influence  of  Natural  Objects Wordsworth 

Inscription  in  a  Hermitage Thomas  Warton... 

Invocation  to  Bain  in  Summer..   W.  C.  Bennett 

Ivy  Green Charles  Dickens. . . 

duly JohnClare 

Lark Hogg 

Latter  Rain Jones  Very 

Lion  and  Giratfe Thomas  Pringle . . . 

Lion's  Kide Freiliqrath 

Little  Beach-Bird II.  H.  'Dana 

Little  Streams Mary  Ilowitt 

March Wordsworth 

^fay Percival 

Meadows Herrick. 

Midges  dance  aboon  the  Burn. . .  Hobert  Tanmthill . . 

IMidniglit  AVind Mothericell 

^loan,  moan,  ye  Dying  Gales....  Henry  Neele 

Moonrise Erne'stJones 

Morning Shakespeare 

!Morni  ng  in  London Wordsirorth 

Mother  Nightingale Villegas 

M<uint,ain  Daisy Burns 

My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands....  Burns .... 

Nature Jones  Very. ...   ■.. . 

Nature  and  the  Poets Keats 

Ni^ht  is  nigh  Gone Alex.  Montgomery. 

Night Shelley 


Pntre 

103 

lOS 

91 

3 

43 

45 

72 

■100 
30 
92 
5S 
59 
68 
63 
70 
60 
69 
28 
58 
98 
84 
85 
105 

no 

70 
94 
95 
92 

114 
64 
46 

113 
62 
77 
98 
57 
19 
97 
74 
73 
S-1 
31 
12 
15 
91 
79 

100 
88 

104 
18 
10 
55 
36 
95 
38 
47 
16 

104 


NiVht 

Xiijhtinsalo 

Niirhtinccalc 

Xiiilitinjriilo 

XiLTlitinsalo 

Xii.'!itini;:ilo 


Blanco  White.... 

Milton 

Driinimond 

Coleridge 

Gil  Vicente 

Mar/a  Vinficher.. 


Xi;:hriin;alo  and  the  Dove Wordmrorth 

Nightingale's  Departure Charlotte  Smith.... 

Nisrhtingale,  Ode  to Jieatu 

Xight  Sons: Claudius'.'.'.'.'. .'..'. 

North  Wind J>.  31.  iMulocJ- 

Xovcmbcr Hartley  Coleridge.. 

*  ^^vl A7ion>/moufi 

J''"' £eau)>ioi7t  li-  Fletcher 

riiilomcla Matthew  Arnold... 

Primroses,  with  Morning  Dew..  Jlerrick 

Question Shelley .' 

nain  on  the  Eoof Anonymous 

IJedbreast Drmnmond. 

Retirement Charles  Cotton 

Return  of  Spring  Pierre  Ronsard.... 

ROve  du  Midi Jiose  Terry  .... 

Rhodora Emerson .'"'. 

Robin  Redbreast AllingJiam.. 

Rose WaUcr 

Sabbath  Morning Ley  den 

f ea Barry  d'o'r'nwaU.'.'. 

Sea— In  Calm Barry  Cornwall . . . 

Seaweed Londfellow 

Seneca  Lalio Percival. 

Skyl:irk Shelley 

Small  Celandine ^yords^corth.. 

Snow-storm Emerson 

Song  for  September T.  W.  Parsons. . 

Song  for  the  Seasons Bariy  Cornwall.. 

Song— On  May  Morning 31  ill  on 

Song— Phnebus  Arise Drummond 

Song  to  May Lord  Thurlow .."' 

Song— The  Lark Hartley  Coleridge . 

Song— Pack  Clouds  Away 'Thomas  Heyicood 

Song— See,  oh  See Lord  Bristol 


Page 

]0G 
51 
51 
53 
55 
55 
53 
56 
53 

106 

111 
98 

106 
65 
53 
35 
S3 
77 

112 
62 
10 
64 
8G 
90 
43 
17 
81 
84 
83 
86 
IS 
34 

111 
90 

113 
13- 
14 
15 
19 
20 
28 


Shakespeare 

.  Barry  Cornwall. 
.  George  Barley. . . 

>  Tennyson 


Song  of  the  Brook Tennyson 

Song  ot  Spring Edward  Youl 

Song— The  Greenwood  Tree 

Song  of  Wood  Xymphs 

Song  of  the  Summer  Winds 

Song— The  Owl 

Second  Song— To  the  Same....  ^ 

Sonnet — Autumn  Moon TJiurlow 

Sonnet— To  a  Bird  that  haunted  )  ™      , 

the  Waters  of  Lake  Laaken. .  [  Thurlow 

Spice  Tree joJm  Sterling. 

gPi'l^^ Anacreon 

^P'''°g Beaumont  &  Fletcher 

gPnng- . .     Tennyson. 

Storm  Song Bayard  Taylor ... . 

Stormy  Petrel Barry  Cornwall... 

Sumtner  Longings McCarthy 

Summer  Months Motherwell 

Summer  Woods Mary  Hoivitt 

Tiger  Wiltiam Blake .. .'.'. 

■Tis  the  Last  Rose  of  Summer..  Moore 

Trailing  Ai-butus BoseTerry. 

T w il igh  t Longfelloio '. '. 

Useful  Plough Anonymous 

"^'-olets HerHck 

Violets w.  W.Story 

Voice  of  the  Grass Sarah  Roberts. . 

Wandering  Wind J/n9.  Hemans 

Waterfowl Bryant 

Water!  The  Water Motherwell 

West  Wind,  Ode  to Shelley 

Wet  Sheet  and  a  Plowing  Sea...  A.  Cunningham'.',!. 

When  the  Hounds  of  Spring Swinburne 

Wild  Honeysuckle Pliilip Freneau.... 

Willow  Song 3rrs.  Hemans 

Windy  Night T.  B.  Read 

Winter  Song Holty 

Woods  in  Winter Longfellow .'.'. 

Yarrow  ITn visited Wordsworth 

Yarrow  Visited M'ordsworth 

Yarrow  Revisited Wordsworth 


Pore 

o2 
39 
58 
66 
79 

106 

105 

112 

72 
13 
•  15 
11 
82 
SI 
15 
17 
C6 
73 
94 
36 
82 
63 
S4 
43 
57 
79 
56 
,  31 
SO 
82 
11 
41 
67 
109 
112 
110 
87 
89 
89 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD, 


Adopted  Child Mrs.  Hemans 

iVngeVs  Whisper S.  Lover 

Annie  in  the  Graveyard Mrs.  Gil'm'an       .' 

Baby  May w.  C.  Bennett 

Baby's  Shoes W.C.Bennett 

Ballad  of  the  Tempest J.  T.  Fields    ' 

Boyhood W.  Allston .'.'.'.."" 

Casa  Wappy J).  M.  Moir 

Child  and  the  Watcher Mrs.  Browning 

ChJl'J^^^^sleep Madame  de Surville 

Childhood C.  Lamb 

Child  in  the  Wilderness Coleridge 

Child  Praying R,  A.  Wiilmoii'. .' .' !'. 

Children Landor 

Children  in  the  Wood Anonymous 

Children's  Hour L.ong'fellow 

Choosing  a  Name M.  Lamb 

Christening C.Lamb 

Danae Simonides 

Fairy  Child John  Anster. . 

For  Charlie's  Sake ,;;  w.  Palmer. . . 

Gambols  of  Children o.  Barley 

Gipsy's  Malison O.  Lamb 

Her  Eyes  are  Wild Wordsworth. '..'. 

Idle  Shepherd  Boys Wordsicorth 

I  Remember,  I  Remember.  . .      J/ood 

Kitten  and  Falling  Leaves Word.sw'o'r'tii'.'.'.'.'. 

Lady  Ann  BothwelTs  Lament  .  Anonymous 

Little  Bell T.  We'-stwood.'.'.'  ' 

Little  Black  Boy W.  Blake 

Little  Boy  Blue Anonymoiis     . 

Little  Children 3fary  LLowiit..'  ' 

Little  Red  Riding  Hood L.  E.  London. . . . 

Loss  and  Gain Kora  Perry 

T-ncy Wordsworih'.'.." 

Lucy  Gray Wordsicorth 


153 
122 
158 
119 
164 
158 
152 
169 
122 
123 
155 
124 
160 
130 
149 
155 
120 
120 
152 
127 
171 
138 
125 
152 
136 
156 
123 
151 
15S 
159 
137 
135 
138 
171 
161 
154 


Lnllaby Teniiyson 119 

Morning  Glory Mrs.  'Loicell 163 

Mother's  Ileurt 3Irs.  Norton 131 

Mother's  Hope L.  Blancliard 131 

Mother's  Love T.  Burbidge 133 

My  Child J.  Pierpont 170 

My  Playmates Atwni/movs 1 C2 

On  a  Distant  Prospect  of  Eton . .   Gray 148 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant B.  Smits ..  161 

On  the  Picture  of  an  Infant L.eonidas '.  ."'.']  125 

Open  Window Longfellow !  163 

Pet  Lamb Wordsicorth 133 

Philip,  my  Kins D.  3r.  Mulock 121 

Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin R.  Broicning 139 

Reconciliation Tennyson 172 

Sat  urday  Afternoon Willis .' .  143 

Schoolmistress Shenstone '.. ". '.  144 

She  Came  and  Went L.oicell " "  163 

Shepherd  Boy L.  E.  Landon.. '..'.'.  137 

Three  Sons J.  3roultrie 164 

Threnody Emerson K'fi 

To  a  Child Hood 125 

ToaChild J.Sterling 130 

To  a  Child Anonymous 160 

To  a  Child  during  Sickness..   ..  Z.  Iliint 127 

To  a  Sleeping  Child J   Wil.ion. ..''.'.,'..'.  128 

To  Ferdinand  Seymour 3rrs.  Norton..  '  '     l''l 

To  George  M T  3Iiller 182 

To  II.  C Wordsworth 128 

To  J.  H L.  Hunt 126 

To  my  Daughter Lfood 135 

Under  my  Window T.  Westwood 150 

Visit  from  St.  Nicholas C.  C.  3Ioore 142 

We  are  Seven Wordsicorth 1 57 

Widow  and  Child Tennyson 172 

Willie  Winkie W.  3iilU'r 120 


INDEX. 


u 


POEMS     OF    FRIENDSHIP. 


And  doth  not  a  Meeting  like  this 

Anld  Lansr  Syne 

Ballad  of  Bouillabaisse 

Cape  Cottage  at  Sunset 

Champacrne  Rose 

Christmas 

Come,  Send  round  the  "Wine 

Early  Friendship 

Farewell !   But  whenever. 

Fill  the  Bumper  Fair 

Fire  of  Drift-Wood 

Friend  of  my  Soul 

From  "  In  Mf  moriam." 

Give  me  the  Old 

How  Stands  the  Glass  ArouJid. . 

iTatfar 

Journey  Onwards 


P:nre 

Moore ]?0 

B\irM 192 

Thackeray 1>.9 

W.  B.  Glazier Is2 

J.  Kenyan 1  So 

Wither 195 

Moore 1^7 

De  Vere^ 1T5 

Moore ISS 

Moore ISC 

Lonafelloio 1  SI 

3roo're ISS 

Tennyson ITS 

JR.  IT.  Mexainger 1S4 

Anonymous 1S7 

Leigh  Hunt 180 

Moore 194 


Jfahosrany  Tree 

Kight  at  Sea 

Oh  Fill  the  "Wine-cup  High 

Old  Familiar  Faces 

Passage 

Qua  Cursum  Ventus 

Saint  Peray 

Sonnets 

Sparkling  and  Bright 

Stanzas  to  Augusta 

To 

To  Thomas  Moore 

We  have  been  Friends  Together 

What  might  be  Done 

When   shall  We  Three  Meet  I 

Again j 

Wreathe  the  Bowl 


Paffe 

TJiacl-eray 194 

L.  E.Lan'iJnn 192 

a.  F.  Williams....  190 

C.  Lamb 1S2 

Uhhind ISO 

A.  n.  Plough ISl 

T.  W.  Parsons iflj 

Shakespeare 17.j 

C.  F.  Ilofman 184 

Byron 1S3 

B.  W.  Spencer 183 

Byron. ISS 

Mrs.  Korion 1S3 

C.  Mackay 196 

Anonymous 175 

Moore 185 


POEMS     OF     LOVE. 


Absence Mrs.  Kemhle 

Address  to  a  Lady Burns 

Ah  1  How  Sweet  it  is  to  Love. . .  Dryclen 

Allan  Percy 3rrs.  Norton 

Annabel  Lee E.  A.  Poe 

Annie  Laurie Anonymous 

Annoyer N.  P.  Willis 

Ask  me  no  more Tennyson 

At  the  Church  Gate Thackeray 

Auld  Kobin  Gray Lady  A.  Barnard. 

Aux  Ilalicns  P.  B.  lyyiton 

Awak--ning  of  Endymion L.  B.  Landon 

Ballad — it  was  not  "in  the  Winter  Ifood 

Ballad— Sigh  on,  Sad  Heart ITood 

Beauty  Clear  and  Fair. Beamnont  <&  Fletcher 

Bertha  in  the  Lane Mrs.  Broicning 

Blest  as  the  Immortal  Gods. Sappho 

Blissful  Day Burwt 

Bonnie  Leslie Burns 

Biidal  of  Audalla Anonymous 

Bridal  Song Milm.an 

Brook-side Milnes 

Burial  of  Love Bryant 

Ca'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes. .  Burns 

Canzonet T.  Watson 

Castara Uahington 

Changes R.  B.  Lytton 

Cheat  of  Cupid Anacreon 

Chronicle Cowley 

Come  Away,  Death Shakespeare 

Come  into  the  Garden,  Maud Tennyson 

Coming  Through  the  Rye Anonymous 

Crabbed  Age  and  Youth Shakespeare 

Cupid  and  Carapaspe J.  Lyly 

Day-dream Tennyson 

Deceitfulness  of  Love Anonymous 

Discourse  with  Cupid Ben  jonson 

Disdain  Returned T.  Carew 

Dream Byron 

Earnest  Suit Sir  T.  Wyat 

Epithalami'jn Spenser 

Epilhalamliiin Brainard 

Eve  of  St.  Agnes Keals 

Evelyn  Hope P.  Broirning 

Excuse M.  Arnold. 

Exequies T.  Stanley 

Fair  Ines /load 

Fairest  Thin^  in  Mortal  Eyes...   Charles  of  Orleans. 

Farewell  to  Nancy Burns 

Fireside K.  Cotton 

Florence  Vane P.  P.  Cooke 


277 
2fi2 
2."/2 
313 
315 
2fi2 
2S2 
290 
270 
30fi 
317 
375 
272 
2S7 
24G 
307 
257 
334 
263 
226 
824 
272 
822 
200 
249 
248 
813 
2S] 
278 
253 
2CS 
284 
279 
245 
22T 
2S1 
245 
250 
2S8 
244 
824 
330 
220 
316 
312 
2.54 
263 
322 
260 
832 
314 


Fly  not  yet Moore 

Fly  to  the  Desert Moore 

Forsaken  Merman M.  Arnold ■ 

Friar  of  Orders  Gray Bishop  Percy 

Girl  of  Cadiz Byron 

Go  where  Glory  Waits  Thee Moore 

Groomsman  to'  his  Mistress Parsons 

Health E.  C.  Pinkney 

Hear,  ye  Ladies Beanmont  <£•  Fletcher 

Here'sa  Health; Burns 

Hermit Goldsmith 

Highland  Mary Burns 

If  I  Desire  with  Pleasant  Songs.   T.  Burhidge.. ..... 

If  thou  wertbymy  Side,  my  Love  Ifeher 

In  a  Year R.  Broicning 

Indifference Jlf.  Arnold 

Irish  Melody D.  F.  MCarfy 

It  might  have  been W.  C.  Willianfoti. 

Jeanie  Morrison Mother^oell 

Jenny  Kissed  Me Z.  Hunt 

Jock  of  Hazeldean Sir  W.  Scott 

.John  Anderson JBurns 

Kulnasatz,  my  Reindeer 3-nonymous 

Ladv  Clare Tennyson 

Laodamia Wordsicorth 

Lass  of  Ballochmyle Burns 

IjCtters Tennyson 

Lines  to  an  Indian  Air Shelley  

Lochinvar Sir  W.  Scott 

Lockslcy  Hall Tennyson 

Lord  Lovel Anonymous 

Love Coleridge . . 

Love  in  the  Valley G.  Meredith 

Love  is  a  Sickness Daniel 

Love  Not Mrs.  Koiion 

Love  Not  Me Anonymous 

Love  Song G.  Barley 

Love  Unrequited Anonymous 

Lovely  Mary  Donnelly AHingham 

Lover  to  the  Glow-worms Murtell 

Love's  Last  Messages 7!  i.  Beddoes 

Love's  Philosophy Shelley 

Maid  of  xVthens,  ere  we  Part Byron 

^laiden's  Choice Anonymous 

Maid's  Lament I^andor 

Mariana  in  the  South Tenny.ion 

Maud  Mailer Whi/iier 

Milk-maid's  Song j\[<irl«we 

Milk-maid's  Mother's  Answer. ..  ;^V/'  ir.  L'(deigh 

Millers  Daughter Tennyson 

Minstrel's  Song Chatierton 


2S0 
264 
310 
213 
2.59 
264 
277 
273 
246 
260 
216 
316 
2S2 
331 
292 
312 
266 
291 
802 
2S6 
233 
334 
257 
236 
319 
261 
237 
257 
234 
205 
210 
229 
235 
243 
323 
2.53 
274 
2S6 
265 
247 
322 
2.58 
25S 
280 
2S6 
293 
305 
2.5t 
25 1 
271 
3J-1 


Jlifconoeptiniis 

>[rs.  Kliz.  Wboeler 

Mollv  Carow 

>rv  Poar  and  Only  Love. 

My  IIcul  is  like  to  rend,  Willie. 

Mv  Love 

My  T.ovclias  Talked 

M  V  "Wit'e's  a  AVinsome  Wee  Thino: 

Xifrlit-Pioeo 

Kot  Ours  the  Vows 

Kun 

Nut-hrown  Maid 

Of  a'  tbe  Airts  the  Wind  can  Blaw 

Oh.  Saw  vo  the  Lass 

Oh,  Tel!  me.  Love 

Oh,  that  'twere  possible 

Old  Story 

One  way  of  Love 

Orphens  to  Beasts 

Paiicrlory's  Wooing  Song 

Phillida  and  Corydon 

Philomela's  Ode ." 

Poet's  Bridal-Day  Song 

Poet's  Song  to  his  Wife 

Portrait 

Red.  Red  Rose 

Robin  Hood  and  Allen-.a-dale. . . 

Rorv  O'More 

Rosalie 

Rose  and  the  Gauntlet 

Ruth 

Seaman's  Happy  Return 

Serenade 

Serenade 

Serrana 

Shall  ITell 

She  is  a  Maid  of  Artless  Grace. . 

Shepherd's  Resolution 

Sir  Cauline ' 

Song — A  Weary  Lot 

Sons — Ask  me  no  more 

Song — Pay  in  Melting  Purple.. . 

Song — Gather  ye  Rose-buds 

Song — How  Delicious 

Song — Love  mo  if  I  Live 

Song — INIv  Silks  and  Fine  Airav. 

Song— Sing  the  Old  Song '.. 

Song— The  Heath  this  Night.... 

Song — To  thy  Lover 

Song — Why  so  Pale 

Sonnet — I  know  that  all 

Sonnet — If  it  be  True 


Pncrn 

7?.  Jlrnmihiff 2R7 

Heifick. 247 

Lover 284 

Montrose 255 

Molluru-eU 803 

LoxceJl 271 

Tcnn yson 880 

Burn's 831 

JTerrk'l- 249 

B.  Barton 830 

L.  Htmt 279 

A nonymous 204 

Bitrn'n 2fi1 

/.'.  Bi/an 2r.3 

Anonymous 272 

Tennyson 800 

Anonymous 282 

li.  Broicning 287 

Zorehtee 299 

O.  Fletcher 24S 

N'.  Breton 243 

a.  Greene. 252 

A.  Cunnmgliain 883 

Barry  CormcaU. . .  384 

Anacreon 278 

Burns 261 

Anonymous 211 

Lover 2S3 

W.  AUston 274 

J.  Sterling 304 

LIooO 269 

Anonymous 219 

LIoocl. 270 

L:.  C.  Pinckney. 270 

L^ope  (le  Meniloza. .  230 

7F.  B'oione 246 

iill  Vicente 270 

Wither 280 

Anoni/movs 199 

Sir  W.  Scott 294 

Carew 252 

Maria  Brooks 276 

LTerrick 824 

Camphell 278 

Barry  Cornicall...  206 

W.Blake 312 

Be  Vere 275 

Sir  W.  Scott 259 

Crashaio 251 

Sir  J.  Suckling....  251 

Bnimmoncl ., 241 

Michael  Angela 241 


-Since  There's  no  Help.  Drayton. 


Sonnet- 
Sonnet-  „   ,„,    ,, 

Misdeem '. .  \  '^^"'««''- 


-Tlie  Doul)t  which  ye  )    q^ 


Pace 
.  286 

.  823 


.  258 


Sonnet — To  Viltoria  Colonna. .'.  Miclia el  Angela 241 

Sonnet — Why  art  Thou  Silent. .    Wordtstcortii 301 

Sonnets Shakespeare 2.S8 

Sonnets Sir  P.  Sidney 240 

Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese.. .  Mrs.  Browning 242 

Spanish  Lady's  Love Anonymoiis 215 

Speak,  Love Beaumont  <i-  Fletclier  246 

Spinning-wheel  Song J.  F.  Waller 281 

Stanzas Btjron 286 

Stanzas  for  Music Byron 260 

Summer  Days Anonymous 269 

Superstition J.  Norris 251 

Sweet  William's  Farewell Gav 21 8 

Sylvia G.'Darley 274 

Take,  Oh  Take  those  Lips  Away  Shakespeare 

a7id  J.  Fletcher. .  274 
The    Bloom    hath   Fled    thy  |    -nr^ji^^^^^ji  on^ 

Cheek,  Mary f  ^rotherv-elv 801 

The  Dule's  i' this  Bonnet  o' Mine  JK   Wavgh 282 

Then Base  7'erry  810 

Thou  hast  Vowed  by  thy  Faith.  A.Cunningham....  262 

To Shelley 2.58 

To. Wordhcorik 272 

To  Althea — From  Prison Lovelace 250 

To  Celia Philostratm 245 

To  Lucasta Lovelace 249 

To  Lucasta Lovelace 250 

To  Mary  in  Heaven Burns 317 

ToSarah Brake 833 

Tomb T.Stanley 253 

Too  Late JK  M.  Miilock 319 

Triumph  of  Cbaris Ben  Jonsmi..   244 

Truth's  Integrity Anonymous 212 

Waly,  Waly Anonymous 303 

Watch  Song Anonymoxis 282 

We  Parted  in  Silence Mrs.  Cravford 292 

Welcome Thomas  L) avis 267 

Welcome,  Welcome W.  Broirne 2.56 

Were  I  but  bis  own  Wife 3fary  Doicning 267 

When  we  Two  Parted Byron 291 

White  Rose Anonymous 244 

Widow  Machree Lover 285 

Winifrcda Anonymous 823 

Wish Bogers 331 

You  Meaner  Beauties Wotton 247 

Young  Beichan  and  Susie  Pye. .  Anonymous 20S 

Zara's  Ear-rings Ancmymous 280 


POEIilS      OF      AMBITION, 


American  Flag 

Ballad  of  Agincourt 

Bannock-Burn 

Barlara  Frietchie 

Battle-Field 

Battle  of  the  Baltic 

Black  Regiment 

Boadicea 

]!onnpts  of  Bonnie  Dundee 

Border  Ballad 

Broadswords  of  Scotland 

Bull-Fight  of  Gazul 

Cameroniar.'s  Dream 

Carmen  Bellieotum 

Casablanca 

Cavalier's  Song 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  at  I 

Balaklava j 

Charlie  is  my  Darling 

Chevy  Chase 

Covenanter's  Battle-Chant 

Destruction  of  Sennacherib 

Excelsior 

Gallant  Grahams 


Brake 879 

M.  Drayton .852 

Burns 355 

Whittier 881 

Bryant 380 

Campbell 385 

G.  //.  Bokcr 382 

Cou-per 346 

Sir  W.  Scott 863 

Sir  W.  Scolt 869 

J.  G.  Lockfiart. ...  271 

Anonymous 871 

./.  LTystop 862 

G.  Li.  McMaster  ...  877 

Mrs.  LIeman>< 887 

Motherwell 353 

Tennyson 384 

Anonymous 866 

Anonymous 349 

Motherwell 801 

Byron 344 

Longfelloio 892 

Anonymous 366 


Give  a  Rouse 

God  Save  tbe  King 

Hame,  Hame,  Hanie 

Harmodious  and  Aristogciton... 
Harp  that  once  through'Tara's  I 

Halls f 

Here's  a  Health  to  them  that's  \_ 

awa' ) 

Here's  to  the  King,  Sir 

Hohenlinden 

Horatian  Ode 

Horatius 

How  they  Brought  the  Good  | 

News  from  Ghent  to  Aix. . .  ) 
Incident  of  tbe  French  Camp. . . 

Indian  Death-Song 

Indian  Death-Song 

1 1  is  Great  for  our  Country  to  Die 

Ivry 

Kenmure's  On  and  Awa' 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers. 

Leonidas 

Locbaber  No  More 

Loehiel's  Warniucr 


P.  Brazening 856 

Anonymous 878 

A.  Cunningham...  370 
CaUistratus 845 

Moore 372 

Burns 867 

Anonymous 865 

Camphell 883 

Marvell 858 

Macaxilay 387 

P.  Browning 873 

P.  Browning 883 

Anne  LIunter 375 

Schiller 875 

Pereival 845 

Macaulay. 855 

Burns 866 

3rrs.  Llemans 376 

Croly 846 

Allan  Pamsay 865 

Camphell 867 


INDEX. 


xl 


Marco  Bozzaris 

Memory  of  the  Dead 

Monterey 

ily  Ain  Countree .' 

Kasebv 

O  Mot'her  of  a  Mighty  Kaee 

Ode — How  Sleep  the  Brave 

Ode — What  Constitutes  a  State. 

On  a  Bust  of  Dante 

On  a  Sermon  against  Glory 

On  Planting  Arts  and  Learn-  I 

iiig  in  America ) 

Our  State 

Peace  to  the  Slumberers 


Paffe 

HalJecl: 3S9 

J.  K.  Ingram 890 

C.  F.  Hoffman 3S1 

A.  Cunningham .. .   871 

Macanlay 357 

Bryant 879 

Collina 37-2 

Sir  TK  Jonen 891 

T.  W.  Parsons 392 

Akenside 392 

Berkeley 876 

WhiUier 8^0 

Mcore 372 


Pericles  and  Aspasia G.  Croly 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu Sir  Vf.  'Scott  . 

Prince  Eugene Anonymous. 

Sea  Fight Ano?i'>/moiis. 

Shan  Van  Vocht Anonymous. 

Sonnets Milton 

Sonnets WordswortJi,. 

Song Moore 

Song  of  Marion's  Men Bryant 

Sons  of  the  Greek  Poet Byron 

Star-Spangled  Banner F.  S.  Key. . . . 

Wae's  melbr  Prince  Charlie ....    W.  Glen 

When  Banners  are  "Waving Anonymous . 

Ye  Mariners  of  England Campbell — 


Paeo 
.  846 
.  369 
.  854 
.  3S0 
.  372 
.  360 
.  891 
.  371 
.  377 
.  3SS 
.  378 
.  370 
.  861 
.   8S4 


POEMS      OF    COMEDY.' 


Battle  of  Limerick 

Cologne 

DeviFs  Thoughts 

Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin 

Dragon  of  Wantley 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  ( 

Dog r 

Elegy  on  Mrs.  Mary  Blaize 

Essence  of  Oi^era 

Faithless  Nelly  Gray 

Faithless  Sally  Brown 

Farewell  to  Tobacco 

Friend     of     Humanity     and  1^ 

Knife-Grinder \ 

Good  Ale 

Groves  of  Blarney 

Hag 

Heir  of  Linno 

Hypochcndriacus 

Irishman 

Jovial  Beggar 

Lady  at  Sea 


TJiacl'eray 456 

Coleridge 423 

Coleindge 423 

Coicper 416 

Anonymoiis 400 

Goldsmith 405 

Goldsmith 419 

Anonymous 426 

Hood 429 

Ifood 430 

C.Lamb 427 

O.  Canning 425 

J.  Still 401 

R.A.  Milliken 435 

Jlerrick 424 

Anonymous 897 

C.  Lamb 427 

W.  Maginn ., 435 

Anonymous 401 

LTood 431 


Malbrook 

Massacre  of  the  Macpherson. . . . 
Mr.  Molony's  Account  of  the  I 

Ball f 

Molony's  Lament 

Old  and  Young  Courtier 

Bail 

Rape  of  the  Lock 

Receipt  for  Salad 

St.  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  I 

Fishes ) 

St.  Patrick  of  Ireland,  my  Dear. 
St.  Patrick  was  a  Gentleman... . 

Sir  Sidney  Smith 

Song  of  One  Eleven  Years  in  | 

Prison f 

Take  thy  Old  Cloake  about  Thee 

Tarn  O'Shanter 

Twenty-eight  and  Twenty-nine. 

Yicar 

Vicar  of  Bray 

White  Squall 


Anonymous 403 

W.  E.Aytoun 420 

Thackeray 42S 

Thackeray 48T 

AnonyniouK. 404 

■G.  n.  Clark.  439 

Pope 406 

Sydney  Smith 426 

Anonymous 440  ' 

W.  Slaginn 434 

H.  Bennett 4*3 

T.Dibdin 419 

G.  Canning 425 

Anonymous 402 

Burns 421 

W.M.Praed 443 

W.3r.Praed 442 

Anonymous 441 

Tliackeray. 431 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


Bonnie  George  Campbell Anonymous 

Braes  of  Yarrow William  Hamilton. 

Break.  Break,  Break Tennyson 

Bri .lal  Dirse Barry  Cornwall. . . 

Bridal  Song  and  Dirge T.  L.  Beddoes 

Bridge  of  Sighs /rood 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore Charles  Wolfe 

Calm  is  the  Night JTenry  Heine 

Castle  by  the  Sea Vhland. 

Child  Noryce Anonymous 

Coronach Sir  W.  Scott 

Cruel  Sister Anonymous 

Death-Bed Hood'. 

Death-Bed J.  AUlrich 

Dirge , Tennyson 

Dirge W.  S.  f'oscoe 

Dirge T.  L.  Beddoes 

Dirge C.  G.  Idistmaii 

Dirge 3[rs.  Hem  iins 

Dirge  for  a  Younir  Girl J.  T.  Fields 

Dirge  in  Cymbeline Collins 

Dirirc  of  Imogen Shakespeare 

Dirge  of  Jephtliali's  Daughter. .  Jlerrick. 

Dowie  Dens  of  Yarrow Anonymous 

Dream  of  Eugene  Aram Hood..  

Edward,  Edward Anonymous 

Elegy  on  Captain  Henderson.  . .  Burns 


458 
452 
525 
514 
513 
498 
517 
522 
522 
448 
!J09 
4.')4 
502 
503 
510 
512 
512 
.513 
514 
513 
512 
510 
511 
451 
487 
456 
50T 


Epitaph  on  Elizabeth  L.  H 

Fair  Annie  of  Lochroyan 

Fair  Helen 

Fishermen 

Fishing  Song 

Funeral  Hymn 

Gane  were  but  the  Winter  Cauld 

Hester 

How's  my  Boy? 

Ilunter's'Vision 

Ichabnd 

Inchcapc  Rock 

In  Remembrance  of  the  Hon.  } 

Edward  Ernest  Villiors ) 

Iphigenia  and  Agamemnon 

King  of  Denmark's  Ride 

Lament 

Lament 

Lament  of  the  Irish  Emigi-ant. . 
Lament  of  the  Border  Widow... 

Lamentation  for  Celin 

Last  Journey 

Lord  Raiid.al 

Lord  Ulliii's  Daughter 

Lost  Leader ^ 

Lycidas 

Mariner's  Dream 


Ben  Jonson 

Anonymous 

Anojv/mouJ) 

C.  Kingsley 

Pose  Terry 

B.  Blallett 

A.  Cunningham. 

O.  Lamb 

S.  Dobell 

Bniant 

Widttier 

Southey 


515 
449 

459 
475 
524 
508 
'609 
503 
485 
491 
.515 
482 

Henry  Taylor 506 


iMndor 

3rrs.  Korton. . . . 

Shelley 

Shelley 

Lady  Dufferin. 
Anonyrnous. . . . 
Anonymons . . . . 
Mrs.  'Southey.. 

Anonymous 

Campbell 

Brouning  ...  . 

JIfilton 

ir,  Bimond 


472 
480 
521 
521 
497 
458 
473 
501 
456 
481 
516 
504 
484 


xu 


INDEX. 


May  Queen 

M  othor  and  Poet 

!^[otlu■I•'s  Last  Sonsr 

X viniili  Complaining  for  the  I 

'lloatli  oflnTFawn f 

Oh  !  I'rcatlio  not  liis  Kame 

Oh !  t^natclied  away 

On  tlie  Death  of  George  the 

Third 

On  tlie  Funeral  of  Charles  the 

Fir.n 

On  tlie  Loss  of  the  Koyal  George 

Piaipei  's  Pf  ath-bcd 

Pauper's  Drive 

Peace !  What  do  Tears  Avail  ?.. . 

Phantom 

Poet" s  Epitaph 

Prisoner  of  Chillon 

Rare  AVillv  Drowned  in  Yarrow 
Sea ". 


Pntre 

Tennyson 402 

Mrs.  Brounino 522 

Barry  CormcuU...  499 

SlarveU 496 

Moore 509 

Byron 609 

II.  Smith 517 

W.  Z.Bowles 51 G 

Coicper 482 

Mrs.  SmUhey 500 

7\A'oel 502 

Bttrry  Oormonll...  503 

Bin/drd  Taylor....  514 

K  EUiotf 520 

Byron 476 

Anoiv/movs 453 

Ii.IL  Stoddard....  4S0 


Sir  Patrick  Spcns 

Snow-Storm 

Softly  Woo  Away  her  Breath... 

Sohrab  and  Kustum 

Solitude 

Song — O  Mary,  go 

Song — Yarrow  Stream 

Song  of  the  Shirt 

Song  of  the  Silent  Land 

Stanzas    to    the    Memory  of  | 

Tiiomas  Hood ) 

The  Mooii  was  a-waning  

Tom  Bowling 

Twa  Brothers 

Tv:a  Corbies 

Very  Mournful  Ballad 

Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports . . . . 

When  I  Beneath 

Wrcc]<  of  the  Hesperus 

Young  Airly 


Anonymons 447 

O.  G.  'Eastman 490 

Barry  Cornwall...  491 

M.  Arnold 460 

II.  K.  White 521 

C.  Iiinf/sley 459 

J.  Logan 4.''i4 

Hood 490 

Salts 500 

B.  Simmons 519 

J.  Iloqg 486 

C.  Dlhdin 48G 

Anonymous 457 

Anonymous 458 

Anonymous 474 

LonQf'ellmv 51S 

Motherwell 520 

Longfellow 483 

Anoiiymoua 489 


POEMS     OF     THE     IMAGINATION", 


ArieTs  Songs Shakespeare 552 

Comus Milton .556 

CulpritFay J.  B.  Dralce 542 

Djinns Victor  Hugo 589 

Fairies W.  AlUnghain 550 

Fairies' Farewell B.  Corl-ctt 550 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon  Low 3Iary  Ilowitt 541 

Fairies'  Song Anonymous 535 

Fairy  Queen Anonymous 584 

Fairy  Song Keats .535 

Fairy  Thorn Ferguson .587 

Green  Gnome B.  Buchanan 551 

Hylas Bayard  Taylor.. . .  569 

Kilmeny .■  Hogg 537 

King  Arthur's  Death Anonymous 529 

Kubla  Khan Coleridge 584 

La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Merei Keats 536 

Lady  of  Shallott Tennyson 554 


Legend  of  the  Stepmother 

Lorelei 

Merry  Pranks  of  Eobln  Good-  ) 

Fellow \ 

Midnight  Review 

Oh  I   Where   do  Fairies  Hide  f 

their  Heads? [ 

Raven 

Rhwcus 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. . . 
Song — A  Lake  and  a  Fairy-boat. 

Song — Hear,  Sweet  Spirit 

Song  of  Fairies 

Song  of  the  Fairy 

Thomas,  the  Rhymer 

Water  Fay 

Water  Lady 

Wee,  Wee  Man 


B.  Buchanan 588 

KHeine 553 

Anonymous 533 

Zedlitz 574 

T.H.  Bayly 542 

Poe 584 

Lowell 572 

Coleridge  575 

ITood 554 

Coleridge 552 

Bandol'ph 536 

Shakespeare 535 

Anom/mous 5.31 

H.  Heine 553 

Hood 5,53 

Anonymoun 532 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Abou  Ben  Adhem 

Address    to    the   Mummy  at ) 

Belzoni's  Exhibition j 

Age  of  Wisdom 

Alexander's  Feast 

All  Earthly  Joy  Returns  in  Pain 

Allegro,  L' 

An  Old  Poet  to  Sleep 

Angel  in  the  House 

Arranniore 

Arsenal  at  Springfield 

Baeehus 

Balder 

Barclay  of  L'ry 

Battle  of  Blenheim 

Be  Patient 

Bells 

Bells  of  Shandon 

Bucket 

Burns 

Burns,  At  the  Grave  of 

Canadian  Boat  Song 

Charade 

Contented  Mind 

Contemplate  all  this  Work 

Cotter's  Saturday  Is'ight 


Z.  Emit 599 

Horace  Smith 597 

Thackeray 688 

Dryden 623 

Will iam  Dunbar . .  593 

Milton 661 

W.S.  Zander 720 

Z.  Hunt 723 

Moore 701 

Zongfellow 605 

Eme'raon 679 

Anonymous 596 

Whitiier 594 

Southey 604 

Anonyjnoiis 704 

E.A.  Poe 621 

F.  Mahony 620 

S.  Woodworth 606 

Whitiier 6.53 

Wordsicorih 651 

Moore 629 

Praeil 6.56 

J.  Sylvester 665 

Tennyson 702 

Burns 707 


Cowper's  Grave 

Crowded  Street 

Death  of  the  Virtuous 

Death's  Final  Conquest 

Dejection — An  Ode 

Delight  in  Disorder 

Deserted  Village 

Each  and  All.  '. 

Egj'ptian  Serenade 

Elesry  written  in  a  Country  I 

Church- Yard | 

End  of  the  Play 

Epitaph  on  the  admirable  Dra-  i 

matic  Poet,  W^  Shakespeare.  ( 

Exhortation 

Fisher's  Cottage 

Footsteps  of  Angels 

Forging  of  the  Anchor 

Fountain 

Garden  of  Love 

Good-Bye 

Good  Great  Man 

Grave  ol  a  Poetess 

Greenwood  Shrift 

Guy 

I  Hallowed  Ground 


Mrs.  Broicning 645 

Bryant 676 

Mi-s.  Barhauld....   781 

J.  Shirley 713 

Coleridge 686 

Ilerrick 630 

Goldsmith 614 

Emerson 705 

G.  W.  Curtis 629 

Gray 731 

Thackeray C91 

Milton 639 

Shelley 660 

Heine 598 

Zongfellmo 726 

8.  Ferg^ison 602 

Wordsworth 675 

W.Blake 706 

Emerson 677 

Coleridge 697 

Thomas  Miller. ....  655 
R.  <&  C.  Southey....  721 

Emerson 675 

Campbell 710 


Page 

Happv  Life WoUon 711 

Happy  Yallev T.  Miller 700 

Harniosan B.C.  T- ench 595 

Heavenly  Wisdom J.  Logan 712 

Hebe Lou-ell 630 

Hence  all  you  Vaia  Delights. .  .Beaumont  &  Fletcher  685 

Hermione Barry  Cornwall. . .  632 

Heraiit BeatHe 718 

Honest  Poverty Burns 702 

Human  Frailty Cowper 697 

Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty. . .  Shelley  673 

Hymn  of  the  Church- Yard ." J.  Belhune 7'2S 

I  am  a  Friar  of  Orders  Gray.  ...J.  O'Keefe 6S8 

If  that  were  True Frances  Broicn. . . .  703 

Influence  of  Music Shahespeare 625 

Is  it  Come  ? Frances  Broioii 703 

King  Death Barry  Cornwall. . .  Ili 

King  Robert  of  Sicily Lonafelloxo 724 

Last  Leaf O.  W.  IIolm''ii GS9 

Life Bum/  Cornwall. . .  723 

Life I/.  King 727 

Life  and  Death Anonymous 720 

Light  of  Stars Longfelloio 716 

Lines  on  a  Skeleton A  nonymous 723 

Lines  on  th  e  Mermaid  Tavern . .  Keat,'^ 639 

Lords  of  Thule A  no7iym.ous £93 

Losses Frances  Brown....  696 

Lost  Church Uhland 706 

Lye,  The Anonymous 666 

Man G.  IJerhert 712 

Man's  Mortality 8.  Wa-^tell 727 

Means  to  attain  Happy  Life Lord  Surrey 661 

Memorv Landor 61>0 

Minstrel Goethe 057 

Mother  Margery G.  S.  Burleigh 6:^6 

Music W.  Strode 625 

Mutability Shelley.... 694 

"  My  Days  among  the  Dead." . ..  Southey     723 

My  Mind  to  me  a  Kingdom  is. ..    W.  Byrd 669 

Night Hahinqton, 716 

No  More A.  IL  dough 694 

Nymph's  Song Wither 6:37 

Ode — Bards  of  Passion Keats 656 

^tllUy°.'.'.'"^".!°^!'f..^.T!'.'"'  (    "f^ordsworth 713 

Ode— to  iiimselt' '.  Ben  Jonson 640 

Ode  on  a  Grcci:in  Urn Ji'eais 660 

Ode  to  Beauty Emerson 671 

Ode  to  Duty Worasicorth 695 

Oh  the  Pleasant  Days  of  Old..   Frances  Broken 699 

Old  Maid ifrx.  Welhy 635 

On  a  Lady  Singing T.  W.  Parsons. 

On  Anacreon A  ntipater 

On  Chapman''s  Homer Keats 654 

On  the  Death  of  Burns W.  Itoscoe 650 

On  the  Receipt  of  my  Mothers  |  >■.„,.„.„ 

Picture (    ^"^/'^'^ 

One  Gray  Hair LanAor 6S9 

Over  the  River Nancy  A.  W.  Priest  730 

Passions — An  Odo Collins 625 

Penseroso,  II Milton 663 

Petition  to  Time Barry  Cornwall...  G92 

Poet's  Thought Barry  Cornwall. ..  657 

Poor  Man's  Song Anonymous 679 

Problem ., Emerson  707 

Proud  .Maisic  is  in  the  AVood. . .  Sir  \V.  Scott 633 

Psalm  of  Life LonafeVoxc 722 

Reply : J.  Iff  orris 665 

Resolution  and  Independence...    Wordsworth 658 

Robin  Hood Keats G;i8 

Seed-Time  and  Harvest Wliittier 713 

Shakespeare J.Sterling 639 

She  Walks  in  Beauty B'lron 631 

"  She  was  a  Pliautom  of  Delight."    Wordsworth 634 

Shepherd's  Hunting Wither.  640 


628 
688 


607 


hav 


:n 


Sir  Marmaduke 

Sit  Down,  Sad  Soul 

Slave  Singing  at  Midnight 

Sleep 

Sleep,  The 

Smoking  Spiritualized 

Soldier's  Dream 

Solitary  Reaper 

Song — Down  lay  in  a  Nook 

Song — 0  Lady,  Leave 

Song — Oh  say  not  that  my  Heart 
Song — Rarely,  Rarely  co"mest  ) 

Thou i 

Song— Still  to  be  Neat 

Song — Sweet  are  the  Thoughts. . 
Song — Time   is    a    Feathered  \_ 

Thing 

Song — ^What    Pleasures 

Great  Princes 

Song  of  the  Forge 

Sonnet— Of  Mortal  Glory 

Sonnet — Sad  is  our  Youth 

Sonnet — The    Nightingale    is  | 

Mute ( 

Sonnet — ^'Tis  much  immortal  [ 

Beauty ) 

Sonnet — Who  Best  can  Paint. . . 

Sonnets 

Sonnets 

Soul's  Defiance 

Stanzas — My    life    is    like    a  ) 

Summer  Rose f 

Stanzas — Thought  is  Deeper 

Steamboat 

Strife 

Sunken  City 

Sweet  is  the  Pleasure 

Sweet  Pastoral 

Tables  Turned 

Temperance ;     or   the    Cheap  I 

Physician f 

Thanatopsis 

The  Sturdy  Rock,  for  all  his  I 

Strength f 

The  Winter  being  Over 

There  are  Gains  for  all  our  Losses 

There  be  Those 

Those  Evening  Bells 

Time's  Cure . .    

To  a  Highland  Girl 

To  a  Lady  with  a  Guitar. 

To  Constantia  Singing 

To  Maeaulay 

To  Mistress  Margaret  Hussey. .. 

To  my  Sister 

ToPerilla 

To  the  Lady  Margaret 

Traveller 

Two  Brides 

Two  Oceans 

Uhland 

Upon  Julia's  Recovery 

Vanity  of  Human  Wishes 

Verses,  supposed  to  be  written  I 

by  Alex.  Selkirk f 

Victorious  Men  of  Earth 

Village  Blacksmith 

Virtue 

Vision,  The 

Waiting  by  tlie  Gate 

White  Island 

Who  is  Sylvia  ? 

Why  tlius  Longing? 

Woman's  Voice 

World.  The 


Pnea 
Colman  the  younger  688 
Barry  Cornwall. . .  728 

Longfellow 719 

J.  I)owland 720 

Mrs.  Broicning 719 

Anom/mous 'i79 

Campbell 604 

Wordsiporth 633 

ITenry  Taylor. 6S5 

Hood 632 

C.  Wolfe 695 

Shelley 672 

Ben  Jonson 630 

P.  Greene 665 


Anomjmous. 


..  693 

W.  Byrd 666 

Anonymous 601 

Prummond 727 

Aubrey  de  Vera...  693 

Thurlow 655 

Thurlow 630 

ThurloiD 655 

Drummond 670 

Milton 69T 

Larinia  Stoddard.  693 


E.  K  Wilde. 


..  694 

C.  P.  Cranch 674 

O.  W.  Holmes 600 

Tennyson 718 

3ritller 677 

J.  S.  Dwight 674 

^V.  Breton, 671 

Wordsworth 675 

Crashaio 67S 

Bryant 729 

Anonymous. 717 

Ann  Collins 670 

P.  n.  Stoddard....  693 

B.  Barton 705 

3roore 622 

Anonipnons 692 

Worri.'iworth 632 

Shelley 627 

Shelley 623 

Landor 6.56 

Slfelton 631 

Whittier 634 

Herrick 659 

Paniel 667 

Goldsmi/h 603 

P.  IL  Stoildard....  634 

J.  Sterling 698 

W.  A.  Butler 6.54 

ITerrich  632 

Samuel  Johnson . . .  680 

Cowper 599 

J.  Shirley 605 

Lona fellow GOO 

G.  Herbert 717 

Burns 647 

Bryant 690 

ILerrick 699 

S'lakespeare 631 

Harriet  Winslois...  696 

E.  Arnold 629 

Jones  Very 704 


XIV 


INDEX, 


POEMS     OF     RELIGION. 


All  "Well IT.  Bona)' T!)2 

liattlcsonsof Gustavus Adolphus  ^/)'<'»A!;7'0' 770 

Bee,  Tho. Yinifihan 7S9 

Call,  Tlio Ilerhevt 754 

Ceutennlal  Ode J.  J'ierpont 774 

Charity J-  Slontuomery 778 

Charity  and  Humility ITenry  More 709 

Chorus ." Mihnan. 809 

Christmas Tennyxon 765 

Christmas  Hymn A.  Dommett 765 

Como  unto  yie Mrs.  Barbauld 759 

Complaininsr Herbert 757 

Creator  and  Creatures Watta 805 

Diukness  is  Thinning St.  Greoonj 7o7 

Dead  Christ Mr.'t.  Howe 764 

Death C.  Wesley 784 

Dedication  of  a  Church Drummond 771 

Delifrht  in  God  Only F.  Q'larJes 812 

Desiring  lu  Love C  Wet<ley 779 

Dira-e Croly 7S4 

Divine  Ejaculation J.  Quarle-i SIO 

Divine  Love Tersteegen 779 

Dvins  Christian  to  his  Soul Pope 7S1 

Each'Sorrowful  Mourner Prudeniius 7">6 

Early  Elsin?  and  Prayer Vnnghan 737 

Easter T Herbert 752 

Easter  Hvmn ■. . . .   T.  Blackburn 752 

Elder  Scripture Keble 7-10 

Emisrrants  In  Bermudas Marrell 767 

Epiphany Heber 746 

"Eternal  beam  of  Light  Divine"  O.Wesley 761 

Evening Anoni/mous 742 

Esampre  of  Christ Watts 759 

Exhortation  to  Prayer Margaret  Mercer . .  776 

Fastins P-  Quarles 763 

P>ast,The Vawihan 756 

Field  of  the  World l  Montgomery. ...  774 

Flower.  The Herbert 757 

For  a  Widower  or  Widow Wither  7S5 

For  Believers O.Wesley 778 

For  Kew-Tear's  Day Doddridge 740 

"Friend  of  All" C.  Wesley 762 

Future  Peace  and  Glory  of  the  (_   OoxDner  791 

Church i     '     •' 

Gethsemane Joseph  Hart 750 

Gethsemane J.  Montgomery 751 

God Derzliazin 814 

God  in  Nature Doddridge 740 

God  is  Love Anonymous 

God's  Greatness Breithaupt. 

God,  the  Everlasting  Light  of  I 

the  Saints i 

Heaven Jeremy  Taylor 791 

Heavenly  Canaan Watts 7SS 

"  How  Gracious  and  how  Wise  "  Doddridge SOS 

Hnmilitv J-  Montgomery 770 

Hymn— Brother,  thou  art  Gone.  Milman 783 

Hvmn— Drop,  drop,  slow  Tears.  P.  Fletcher 704 

Hymn— F:om  my  Lips  in  their  I   St.     Joannes     Da- 

Defllement f       masceitus 

Hymn  for  Anniversary  Mar-  I 

riage  Days ) 

Hymn  from  Psalm  CXLVIII. . . 
Hymn — How  are  thy  Servants  } 

Blest f 

Hvmn  of  Praise Tersteegen 794 

H^  mn  of  the  Hebrew  Maid Sir  W.  Scott T67 

Hymn— When  all  Thy  Mercies.  Addison 804 

Hymn— When  Gathering  Clouds  Sir  li.  (h'ant 76.3 

Hymn — When  our  Heads Milman 763 

Hynm-Whenllisinglromthel    _^,i,jison 753 

Bed ) 

Hvmn— When  the  Anijels N.Breton.  777 

I  journey  through  a  Desert Anonymous 753 

Ln  a  clear,  starry  Night 

"Is  this  a  Time'  to  Plant  and  | 

Build" f 

Jesus 


...  808 
...   813 

Doddridge 7S7 


...  752 

Wither 770 

Ogihie 802 

Addison 804 


Wither 742 

Keble 770 

2^iwion 753 


"  Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul " 

'•Jesus,  my  Strength" 

'".Jesus  shall  Reign  " 

Joy  and  Peace  in  Believing 

Laborer's  Noon-day  Hymn 

Light  Shining  out  of  Darkness. . 
Lines  on  a  Celebrated  Picture. . . 

Litany 

Litany  to  the  Holy  Spirit 

Little  While 

Living  by  Christ 

Lord, "the  Good  Shepherd 

Mary 

"?Iark  the  soft-falling  Snow".. 

^Martyrs'  Hymn 

Mersiab 

My  God,  I  love  Thee 

New  Jerusalem 

Ode — The  Spacious  Firmament. 

Odor 

Oh  Fear  not  thou  to  Die  

'•  Oh  yet  we  trust" 

On  a  Prayer-Bcok  sent  to  Mrs.  1 

M.  R \ 

On  Another's  Sorrow 

On  the  Morning  of    Chrisfs  ) 

Nativity J 

Passion  Sunday 

Peace 

Philosopher's  Devotion 

Poet's  Hymn  for  Himself 

Praise 

Praise  to  God... 

Prayer,  Living  and  Dying 

Prie"st,  The 

Psalm  XIII 

Psalm  XVIII 

Psalm  XIX ... 

Psalm  XXIIT 

Psalm  XXin 

Psalm  XXX 

PMlmXLVI 

Psalm  XLVI 

Psalm  LXV 

Psalm  LXVI 

Psalm  LXXH 

Psalm  XCII 

Psalm  C 

Ps.alm  CXVII 

Psalm  CXXX 

Psalra  CXLVIII 

Reign  of  Christ  on  Earth 

Resignation 

Search  after  God 

Sonnet— In  the  Desert 

Sonnet — The  Prayers  I  make. . . 

Sonnets ... 

Spirit  Land 

Stranger  and  his  Friend 

St.  Peters  Day 

They  are  all  gone 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  Grave 

'■  Thou,  God,  seest  Me  " 

"  Thou,  (Jod,  imsearehable  " 

Time  past,  Time  passing,  Time  1 

to  come I 

To  keep  a  true  Lent 

True  use  of  Music 

Twelfth  Day,  or  the  Epiphany.. 

Fnivei-sal  IViiyer . 

Valediction 

Veni,  Creator 

Walking  with  God 

Watchman's  Report 

Weeping  Mary 

What  is  Prayer  ? 

Wilderness  Transformed 

Wrestling  Jacob 


Pstro 

C.  Wesley 760 

O.  Wesley 760 

Watts 749 

Coivper 778 

Woi'dswo7'th 767 

Cowper 805 

O.Laml) 748 

Sir  P.  Grant 762 

Herrick 780 

Bonar 787 

Gerhard. 701 

J.  Montgomery 794 

Tennyson 777 

Doddridge 741 

Luther 775 

Pope 747 

St.  Fran.  Xavier. . .  758 

Anonymous 7BS 

Addison 741 

Herbert 755 

Anonymous 780 

Tennyson 776 

P.  Orashaw 772 


W.Blake 807 

Milton 743 

Foriunaiiis 7.50 

Vaughan 791 

Henry  More 739 

Wither 795 

Wither 795 

Mrs.  Barbauld 793 

Toplady '. 753 

JV.  Breton 771 

Davison 796 

Sternhold 796 

W^atts 797 

Davison 797 

Merrick 793 

Damson 798 

Watts 799 

Lviher 799 

Watts 800 

Sandys 800 

Watts 801 

Sandys 801 

Tote  and  Brady...  801 

Watts 802 

P.Fletcher 803 

Sandys 803 

J.  Montgomery 749 

Ghattirion 80S 

T.Heyuood 806 

Anonymous 764 

Michael  Angelo. . . .  794 

J^.  ^i4ffH«« 757 

Jones  Very 740 

J.Montgomery 755 

Kebla 766 

Vaughan 786 

Heber... 783 

J.  Montgomery..  .  811 
C.  Wesley SIS 

J.Montgomery...  .  S13 

Herrick, 708 

C.  Wesley 773 

Wither 748 

Poi^e, 810 

Pichard  Baxter. . .   781 

St.  Ambrose 7G-3 

Oou-per 807 

J.  Bowring 759 

yeivton ...    751 

J  3tonlaomery. ...   115 

Doddridge 792 

O.  Wesley 754 


II^DEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


Page 
ADDISOJr,  JOSEPH. 

Born  ia  Wiltsbire,  Eng.,  May  6,  1672;  died  in  Lor.,  June  17, 
1719. 

Ode — The  Spacious  Firmament 741 

Hymn — When  Kisinfr  fiom  the  Bed TS3 

.  Hymn — When  all  thy  Mercies 804 

Hymn— How  are  thy  Servants 804 

AKENSIDE,  MAEK. 

Born  at  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  Nov.  9, 1721 ;  d.  June  23,  1770. 

On  a  Sermon  against  Glory 392 

ALDEICH,  JAMES. 

Born  in  Orange  Co.,  N.  Y.,  July  10, 1810. 

ADeath-hed 503 

ALLINGHAM,  WILLIAM. 

liorn  in  Ireland;    lived  at   Ballysb.innon;  published  **  The 
Music  Master,  and  Day  and  Night  Songs."    London,  1855. 

Eobin  Eedbreast 90 

Lovely  Mary  Donnelly 2G5 

The  Fairies 5S0 

ALLSTON,  WASHINGTON. 

Eom  in  S.  C,  Nov.  5, 1779 ;  d.  at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  July  9, 1843. 

Boyhood 152 

liosalie 2T4 

ALTENBUEG,  MICHAEL.    (German.) 

Born  in  Thuringia  in  15S3;  died  ia  1640. 

Battle-Song  of  Gustavus  Adolphus.    (Anony- 
mous tramlaiion.') 775 

AMBEOSE,  ST.    (Latin.) 

Born  at  Treves,  A.  D.  340 ;  died  at  Milan,  April  3,  S97. 

Veni  Creator.    {Dryden's  paraphrase.) 793 

ANACEEON.    (Geeek.) 

Born  at  Tecs,  Greece ;  died  there  476  B.  c. 

Spring.    (Moore's  translation.) 13 

The  Grasshopper.    {Coicley^s  tranjilation.) 68 

On  the  Grasshopp'.T.    (Cowper^s  translation.).    69 

Drinking.    (Coiclei/s  translation.) 78 

The  Portrait.    {l[ay\<i  trauKlation.  i 273 

Cheat  of  Cupid.    (llerricKa  translation?) 281 

ANGELO,  I^IICHAEL.    (Italian.) 

Born  in  Tuscany,  March  6, 1474;  died  iu  Rome,  Feb.  17, 1563. 

Sonnet.  (.T.  E.  Taylor''siranHlation^ 241 

Sonnet.  (IK  WordnwortlC  s  translation.) 241 

Sonnet.  (J.  E.  Taylor's  translation.) 258 

Sonnet.  (.S.  Wordsworth's  translation.) 794 

ANSTEE,  JOHN. 

Uirn  iu  Ireland  about  1795 ;  is  Professor  of  Civil  Law  in  Trin- 
ity College,  Dublin. 

The  Fairy  Child 127 

ANTIPATEE  OF  SIDON.    (Geeek.) 
Lived  (II  Greece  about  100  B.  c. 

On  Anacreon.    (  T.  iloore's  translation.) 688 

AKXOLD,  EDWIN. 

tion  of  iJr.  Arnold  of  Rugby ;  brother  of  Matthew  Arnold. 

Almond  Blossom 13 

AV'oman's  Voice 029 


Page 
AENOLD,  MATTHEW. 

Born  at  Laleham,  Eng.,  Dec.  24, 1S22;  elected  Professor  of 
Poetry  at  Oxford  in  1857. 

Philomela 53 

The  Forsaken  Merman 310 

Excuse 812 

Indifference 812 

Sohrab  and  Eustum 460 

ATTOTJN.  WILLIAM  E. 

Born  in  Fifeshire,  Scotland,  in  1813;  died  Aug.  4, 1365. 

Massacre  ot  the  Macpherson , 420 

BAILLIB,  JOANNA. 

Born  in  Lanarkshire,  Scotland,  in  1762;  died  at  H.impstead, 
near  London,  Feb.  23, 1851. 

The  Black  Cock 29 

BAEBAULD,  ANNA  L^TITIA. 

Born  in  Leicestershire,  Eng.,  June  20, 1743;  died  near  Lon- 
don, March  9,  1825. 

Death  of  the  Virtuous 731 

"  Come  unto  Me." 759 

Praise  to  God 793 

BAENAED,  LADY  ANNE. 

Born  in  Scotland,  Dec.  8,  1750  j  died  May  8,  1825. 

Auld  Eobin  Gray 896 

BAENFIELD,  EICHAED. 

Born  in  Staffordshire,  Eng.,  in  1674;  died  about  160C. 

Address  to  the  Nightingale 51 

BAETON,  BEE^NAED. 

Bom  near  London,  Jan.  31, 1784;  died  Feb.  19,  1849. 

Not  ours  the  Vows S30 

There  be  Those 705 

BAXTEE.  EICHAED. 

Born  in  Shropshire,  Eng.,  Nov.,  1615;  died  Dec.  8, 1691. 

Valediction 781 

BATLT.  THOMAS  HAYNES. 

Born  in  Bath,  Eng.,  in  1797 ;  died  in  1839. 

Oh !  Where  do  Fairies  hide  their  Heads  ? 542 

BE.\TTIE,  JAMES. 

Born  iu  Kincardineshire,  Scot.,  Oct.  20, 1735 ;  died  Aug.  18, 1803. 

The  Hermit 718 

BEAUMONT  anb  FLETCHEE. 

V\ere  connected  as  writers  in  London  firom  about  1605  to  1615. 
Francis  Beaumont,  b.  in  Leicestershire  in  1586 ;  d.  March  9, 1610 ; 
John  rietoher,  b.  in' Northamptonshire  in  1676;  d.  in  Lon.  in 
1625. 

Spring 15 

To  Pan fiS 

Foldinz  the  Flocks IfO 

Hear.  Ye  Ladies 246 

Beautv  Clear  and  Fair 246 

Speak',  Love 246 

Hence  all  you  Vain  Delights , 685 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


IV  ire 

BEDDOES,  THOMAS  LOVELL. 

Uorn  near  Pristol,  Eiig.,  in  ISOi;  died  in  Gcrmiiny  in  1S49. 

Love's  Last  Messages 321 

Piisre 51 '2 

Bridal  Sons  and  Dirge ul  3 

BENNETT,  IIENllY. 

Born  in  Corlc,  Ireland,  iibout  1795. 

St.  Patrick  was  a  Gentleman 433 

BENNETT,  WILLIAM  C. 

Lives  in  London. 

Iiivoeation  to  Eain  in  Summer 77 

ToaCrifket 107 

Baby  May 11!) 

Baby's  Shoes 10-1 

BERKELEY,  GEORGE. 

Born  nt  Kiltrin,  Ireliind,  March  12,  1684  ;  died,  liahop  of 
CI  J-ne,  Jan.  l:!,  1753. 

On  tlie  Prospect  of  Planting  Arts  and  Learning 
in  America 37G 

BETHUNE,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Fii'esliire,  Scotland,  in  1812;  died  Sept.  1, 1S39. 

Hymn  of  the  Church-yard 72S 

BLACKBURN,  THOMAS. 

Author  of  *'  Hymna  and  Poems  for  the  Siclc  and  Suffering." 

Easter  Hymn 752 

BLAKE,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  London,  Nov.  i",  !757 ;  died  Aug.  12,  1S2S. 

The  Tiser 73 

The  Little  Black  Boy 159 

Song 312 

The  Garden  of  Love 700 

On  Another's  Sorrow S07 

BLANCHAED,  LAMAN. 

Born  at  Great  Yarmouth,  England,  May  15, 1803;  died  Feb. 
B,  1845. 

Mother's  Hope 131 

BOKER,  GEORGE  HENRY. 

Bom  in  Philadelphia  in  IS23. 

Black  Regiment 882 

BONAR,  HORATIUS. 

Born  in  Scotland  about  1810.    Minister  of  the  Free  Church 
in  Kelso. 

A  Little  While 7S7 

All  Well 792 

BOURNE,  VINCENT. 

An  usher  in  Westminster  School;   born  about   3695;   died 
Dec  2,  1747. 

The  Fly 72 

BOWLES,  WILLIAM  LISLE. 

Bora    in  Northamptonshire,  Sept.  24,   1762;  died  April   7, 
1850. 

The  Green-\vood 58 

Come  to  these  Scenes  of  Peace .53 

On  the  Funeral  of  Charles  the  First 510 

BOWEING,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Exeter,  England,  Oct.  27,  1792. 

Watchman's  Report ; . . .  759 

BEAINARD,  JOHN  G.  C. 

Bom  at  New  London,  Conn.,  Oct.  21,  1790;  died  Sept.  26, 
1828. 

Epithalamium 330 

BREITHAUPT,  JOACHIM  JUSTUS. 

Bom  in  Hanover  in  1G58;  died  March  16,  1732. 

God's  Greatness.  (John  Weslerf 8  translation.)  S13 

BRETON.  NICHOLAS. 

Bora  in  England  in  1555  ;  died  in  1024. 

Phillidaand  Corydon 243 

A  Sweet  Pastoral G71 

Priest 771 

Hymn 777 

BRISTOL,  LORD.    (GEOKfiE  Digby.) 

Born  in  Madrid  in  1612;  died  at  Chebea,  March  20,  1676. 

Song 2S 

BROOKS,  MARIA. 

Bora  at  !tIed/ord,  Mass.,  about  1795 ;  died  in  Cuba,  Nov.  11, 1845. 

Song 270 


BROWN,  FRANCES.  ''^' 

Born  in  Ireland,  June  16,  1813  ;  died  in  18G4, 

Losses #  C9C 

Oh  1  the  Pleasant  Days  of  Old 01)9 

Is  it  Come  ? 703 

If  that  were  True 7(J3 

BROWNE,  WILLI.\M. 

Born  in  Devonshire  in  1590 ;  died  in  1645. 

Sh.all  I  tell? 240 

Welcome,  Welcome i:50 

BROWNING,  ELIZABETH  BARRETT. 

Born  in  London  in  1809 ;  died  in  Florence,  July  29,  1801. 

The  Child  and  Watcher 122 

Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese , 242 

Bertha  in  the  Lane .' > 307 

Mother  and  Poet 522 

Cowper's  Grave 045 

The  Sleep 719 

BROWNING,  ROBERT. 

Born  near  London  in  1S12. 

Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin 139 

Misconceptions 287 

One  Way  of  Love 28T 

In  a  Year 292 

Evelyn  Hope 316 

Give  a  Rouse 366 

How  they  brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent 

to  Aix 873 

Incident  of  the  French  Camp 888 

Tlie  Lost  Leader 510 

BRYANT,  .VILLIAAI  CULLEN. 

Born  in  Cuinniinfftnn,  Mass.,  Nov.  3,  1794. 

ToaWaterfowl 56 

The  Fringed  Gentian 92 

Death  of  the  Flowers 93 

Tlie  Hunter  of  the  Prairies , 94 

The  Evening  Wind 101 

Burial  of  Love 322 

Sonir  of  Marion's  Men 877 

Oh  f  l\lother  of  a  Mighty  Race 879 

The  Battle-field 380 

The  Hunter's  Vision 491 

The  Crowded  Street 070 

Waiting  by  the  Gate 090 

Thanatopsis 729 

BUCHANAN,  ROBERT. 

Born  in  Scotland  alout  1835. 

Green  Gnome 551 

Legend  of  the  Stepmother 588 

BURBIDGE,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  England  ;  published  "  Poems,  Longer  and  Shorter." 
London,  1S3S. 

]\Iothcr's  Leve ISa 

If  1  desire  wUh  Pleasant  Songs 282 

BURLEIGH,  GEORGE  S. 

Eoru  at  Plainfield,  Conn.,  March  26,  1821. 

Mother  Margery 630 

BURNS,  ROBERT. 

Born  near  Ayr,  Scotland,  Jan.  25,  1759  ;  died  July  21,  1796. 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy 36 

Mv  heart's  in  the  Highlands 95 

Auld  Lans  Syne 192 

Here's  a  Health  to  Ane 200 

€a'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes 200 

Farewell  to  Nancy 200 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  Wind  can  Blaw 201 

Red,  Red  Rose  201 

Lass  of  B.alloehmyle 261 

Address  to  a  Lady . . .   202 

Bonnie  Leslie 2C3 

Highland  Mary 810 

To  Mary  in  Heaven 317 

My  Wife's  a  Winsome  Wee  Thing 831 

Blissful  Day 834 

John  Anderson 834 

I5annocIc-Burn  355 

Kenmure's  on  and  Awa' 300 

Here's  a  Health  to  them  that's  Awa' 867 

Tam  O'Shanter 421 

Elesy  on  Captain  Mattbew  Henderson 507 

The'Vision . . .• 647 

Hdnest  Poverty 702 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 707 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


xvu 


Page 

BUTLER,  "William:  allen. 

Born  in  Albany,  N.  Y.,  in  1825. 

Uhland 654 

BYRD,  WILLIAM. 

An  Eni^lish  musical  composer — lived  about  1600, 

Song 606 

My  minda  to  Me  a  Kingdom  is 6C9 

BTROJT,  LORD. 

Born  in  London,  Jan.  22,  I'SS;  died  April  19,  1S24. 

Stanzas  to  Augusta 1S3 

To  Thomas  Moore ISS 

Maid  of  Athens,  ere  we  Part 258 

Girl  of  Cadiz 250 

Stanzas  for  Music 260 

Stanzas — Oh,  talk  not  to  me 2S0 

The  Dream 2SS 

"When  we  two  parted 291 

Destruction  of  Sennacherib 344 

Song  of  the  Greeli  Poet 3S8 

The  Prisoner  of  Chillon 476 

Oh,  Snatched  away  in  Beauty's  Bloom 509 

She  "Walks  in  Beauty 631 

CALLISTEATUS.    (Greek.) 
Lived  in  Greece  about  SOU  b.  c. 

Harmo'lius  and  Aristogeiton.  {Lord  Denman^s 
traiiisluiion.) 345 

CAM0EN3,  LUIS  DE.    (PoRTeauESE.) 

Born  i.i  Liibon  about  1524;  diei  in  1579, 

Canzonet.    (Lord  Siraiigford^s  translation.) .    43 

CAMPBELL,  THOMAS. 

Bora  in  Glasgow,  July  27, 1777 ;  died  at  Boulogne,  June  15, 1844. 

To  the  Evening  Star 102 

Song 273 

Lochiel's  "Warning 367 

Hohcnlindon 383 

Ye  Mariners  of  England 3S4 

Battle  of  the  Baltic 3S5 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter 4S1 

The  Soldier's  Dre'am 604 

Hallowed  Ground 700 

CAIS^JfmG,  GEORGE. 

Born  in  London,  .ipril  11,1770;  died  at  Chiawick,  Aug.  8, 1827. 

Friend  of  Humanity,  and  the  Knife-Grinder.. .  425 

Song  of  one  Eleven  Tears  In  Prison 425 

CAREW,  THOMAS. 

Born  iu  Devonsbire,  England,  in  1583 ;  died  in  1639. 

The  Airs  of  Spring 10 

Disdain  Returned 250 

Song 252 

CHALKFIILL,  JOHX. 

A  friond  of  Izaak  Walton ;  lived  in  the  ntb  century. 

The  Angler 20 

CHATTERTON",  THOMAS. 

B>m  at  Bristol,  England,  Nov.  20, 1752;  killed  himself,  Aue. 
25,  1770.  =        .  .  .6 

Minstrel's  Song 314 

The  Resignation 803 

CHAUCER,  GEOFFREY. 

Bom  in  Londjn  in  1328;  died  Oct.  25,  1400. 

Flower  and  the  Leaf 3 

The  Cuckoo  and  the  Nightingale 23 

CLARE,  JOHN. 

Bum  ill  NjrtIiampton3liir«,  England,  July  13, 1793 ;  died  in  1864. 

July 57 

CLARK,  GEORGE  H. 

LivL-8  nl  H-irtford,  Conn. 

The  Rail 439 

CLAUDIUS,  MATTHIAS.     (Gekman.) 

Born  near  Lubeck,  Germany,  in  1743;  died  in  1815. 

Night  Song.    iO.  T.  Brooks's  translation.) 106 

CLOUOH,  ARTHUR  HUGH. 

Born  in  Liverpool,  Jan.  1, 1819;  died  in  Florence,  Nov.  13, 1861. 

Qua  Cursum  Ventus 183 

No  More 694 


COLERIDGE,  HARTLEY.  °^° 

Bom  near  Bristol,  En.-.,  Sept.  19, 1796  ;  died  Jan.  19,  1849. 

Song— The  Lark 19 

November 93 

COLERIDGE.  SAMUEL  TAYLOR. 

Burn  in  Devonshire,  Eng.,  Oct.  21,  1772;  died  July  25,  1834. 

The  Nightingale 53 

Hvmn,  before  Sunrise ; 114 

The  Child  in  the  Wilderness 124 

Love 229 

Colosce 423 

Devil's  Thoughts 423 

Song — Hear  Sweet  Spirit ,5.52 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner 575 

Kubla  Khan 5S4 

Dejection  :  an  Ode 686 

The  Good  Great  Man 697 

COLLINS,  ANN. 

Lived  in  England  about  1650. 

Winter  being  Over 670 

COLLINS,  WILLIAM. 

Born  at  Chichester,  England,  Dec.  25,  1720;  died  in  1756. 

Ode  to  Evening 102 

Ode — How  Sleep  the  Brave 372 

Dirge  in  Cymbeline 512 

The  Passions 625 

COLMAN,  GEORGE,  "The  Younger." 
Born  in  London,  Oct.  21, 1762;  died  Oct.  26,  1836. 

Sir  Marmaduke 6S3 

COOKE,  PHILIP  PENDLETON. 

Born  at  ilartinsl-urg,  Va.,  Oct.  26,  1810;  died  Jan.  20,  1850. 

Florence  Vane 314 

CORBETT,  RICHARD. 

Born  in  Surrey,  England,  in  1582  ;  died  in  1635. 

The  Fairies'  Farewell 550 

CORNWALL.  BARRY.    (B.  W.  Procter.) 

Bom  in  Wiltshire,  England,  about  1798. 

Song  of  Wood  Nymphs 66 

The  Blood  Horse 76 

The  Sea 81 

The  Stormy  Petrel 81 

The  Sea— In  Calm 84 

-The  Hunter's  Song , 95 

A  Song  for  the  Seasons 113 

Sons: — Love  me  if  I  Live 266 

Poet's  Song  to  his  Wife 334 

Softly  Woo  away  her  Breath 491 

The  Mothers  Last  Song 499 

Peace  !  What  do  Tears  Avail  ? 503 

Bridal  Dirge 514 

Hermione 632 

Poet's  Tbousrht 657 

Petition  to  Time 692 

King  Death 722 

Sit  down,  Sad  Soul 723 

Life 728 

COTTON,  CHARLES. 

Born  in  Derbyshire,  England,  in  1630;  died  in  1637. 

The  Retirement 62 

COTTON,  NATHANIEL. 

Born  at  St  Albans,  England,  in  1721 ;  died  in  1788. 

The  Fireside 332 

CO"WLEY,  ABRAHAM. 

Bom  in  London  in  1618  ;  died  July  28, 1GG7. 

The  Garden 59 

The  Chronicle 27S 

COWPER.  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Hertfordshire,  Eng.,  Nov.  15,1731 ;  died  April  25, 1800. 

The  Cricket lOT 

Boadicea 846 

Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin 416 

On  the  Loss  of  the  Royal  George 482 

Verses,  .supposed  to  be  written  by  AIo.x.  Selkirk  599 

On  the  Receipt  of  my  Motlicr's'Picture 607 

Human  Frailty 697 

Joy  and  Peace  in  Believins 77S 

Future  Peace  and  Glory  of  the  Church 791 

Liffht  Shinlnt:  out  of  Darkness 805 

Walking  with  God 807 


XTIU 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


Page 
CKANCn,  CnKISTOPQER  PEAESE. 

Porn  in  Alexiindiiii,  I).  C,  Miirch  8,  1813. 

Stanzas — Thought  is  Deeper 674 

CEASIIAW,  EICHAKD. 

Born  in  CauibridgcBhiro,  Kng.,  nbout  ICOO;  died  in  IGiO. 

Song— To  thy  Lover S.'il 

Teiiipernnce,  or  the  Cheap  Physiciiin CTH 

On  a  Pray er-I3ook fT^ 

CKATVFOED,  MES.  J. 

An  Irish  lady  ;  wrote  for  the  "  London  New  Monthly." 

We  parted  in  Silence 292 

CEOLT.  GEOEGE. 

Born  In  Dublin  in  1780;  died  in  18G0. 

Leonidas 846 

Pericles  and  Aspasia 346 

Dirge 184 

CUNNINGHAM,  ALLAN. 

Born  Bt  Blackwood,  Scotland,  Dec.  17, 1784 ;  died  Dec.  29, 1842. 

A  Wet  Sheet  and  a  Flowing  Sea 82 

Thou  hast  Vowed  by  thy  Faith,  my  Jeannie. . .  2()2 

Poet's  Brid.al-day  Song 333 

Hame,  Hanie,  llarae 370 

My  Ain  Countree 371 

Gane  were  but  the  Winter  cauld 509 

CUETI9,  GEOEGE  WILLIAM. 
Bctf-n  in  Providence,  R.  I.,  in  1824. 

Egyptian  Serenade C29 

DAMASCENU9,  ST.  JOANNES.    (Gkeek.) 

Born  in  DnmaBCUB;  died  about  756. 

Hymn.    {E.  K  Browning's  translation.) 752 

DANA,  EICHAED  IIENET. 

Born  at  Cambridge,  Mnsa,  Nov.  15,  1787. 

TheLittle  Beach-Bird 84 

DANIEL,  SAMUEL. 

Born  in  Somersetabire,  "Eng.,  in  1562;  died  Oct.,  1619. 

Love  is  a  Sickness 243 

To  the  Lady  Margaret CG7 

DAELEY,  GEOEGE. 

Born  in  Dublin  in  1785;  died  in  London  in  1849. 

Sons  of  the  Summer  Winds 79 

Gambols  of  Children 138 

Love  Song 274 

Sylvia 274 

DAYIS,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Mallow,  IreLind,  in  1814 ;  died  in  Dublin,  Sept.  16, 1845. 

The  Welcome 207 

DAVISON,  FEANCIS. 

Born  in  Norfolk,  England,  about  1575;  died  about  1618. 

Psalm  XIII 796 

Psalm  XXIII 797 

Pfralm  XXX ;  798 

DE  VEEE,  AUBEET. 

Born  in  the  county  of  Limerickj  Ireland,  Dec.  16, 1814. 

Early  Friendship 175 

Song— Sing  the  Old  Song 275 

Sonnet 693 

DEEZHAVIN,  GAB'L  EOMANOWITCH.    (Eotsian.) 

.Bora  in  Kasan,  Russia,  July  3,  1743;  died  July  6,  1816. 

God.    {J.  Bowring^s  translation.) 814 

DIBDIN,  CHAELES. 

Born  at  Southamptnn,  England,  in  1745 ;  died  in  1814. 

Sir  Sidnev  Smith 419 

Tom  Bow'ling 486 

DICKENS,  CHAELES. 

Born  at  Portsmouth,  England,  Feb.  7,  ISl?. 

Ivy  Green 98 

DIMOND,  WILLIAM. 

A  theatrical  manager ;  born  in  Bath,  Eng. ;  died  in  P.aria,  Oct. 
1837. 

The  Mariner's  Dream 484 

DOBELL.  SYDNEY. 

Bom  at  Peckham  Eye,  England,  in  1824. 

How's  my  Boy  ? 485 


DODDEIDGE,  PHILIP.  '^' 

Born  in  London,  June  26,  1702;  died  Oct.,  1761, 

For  New  Year's  D.tv 740 

"Mark  the  Soft-fall'ing  Snow" 741 

God  the  Everlasting  Light  of  the  Saints 7S7 

Wilderness  Transformed 792 

"  llo w  Gracious  and  how  Wise  " , 808 

DOMMETT,  ALFEED. 

Born  in  England  about  1815;  livea  in  New  Zealand. 

Christmas  Hymn 7C5 

DOWLAND,  JOHN. 

Au  Engliah  musical  composer;  lived  about  1600. 

Sleep 720 

DOWNING,  MAEY. 

Born  in  Cork,  Ireland,  about  1830. 

Were  I  but  his  own  Wife 2C7 

DEAKE,  JOSEPH  EODMAN. 

Born  in  New  York,  Aug.  7,  1795 ;  died  Sept.,  1820. 

To  Sarah 83-3 

American  Flag 379 

The  Culprit  Fay 542 

DEAYTON,  MICHAEL. 

Born  in  Warwickshire,  England,  in  1563;  died  in  1631. 

Sonnet 2S6 

Ballad  of  Agincourt 852 

DEUMMOND,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Scotland,  Nov.  13,  1685;  died  Dec.,  1649. 

Song — Phoebus  Arise 14 

To  the  Nishting.ale 51 

To  the  Eedbreast 112 

Sonnet— I  know  that  All 241 

Sonnets 670 

Sonnet— Of  Mortal  Glory 727 

Dedication  of  a  Church 771 

DEYDEN,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Northamptonshire,  Eng.,  Aug.  9, 1631 ;  died  May  1, 1700. 

Ah,  how  Sweet  it  is  to  Love 252 

Alexander's  Feast 623 

DUFFEEIN,  LADY. 

Formerh  Mrs.  Blackwood;  grand-daughter  of  R.  B.  Sheridan; 
Bister  of  Mrs.  Norton  ;  born  in  Ireland  in  1807. 

Lament  of  the  Irish  Emigrant 4St 

DUNBAE,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Scotland  about  1465 ;  died  about  1530. 

"  All  Earthly  Joy  returns  in  Pain  " 598 

DWIGHT,  JOHN  SULLIVAN. 

Born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  May  13,  IS13. 

Sweet  is  the  Pleasure 674 

DYEE,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Wales  in  1700 ;  died  in  1758. 

Grongar  Hill 93 

EASTMAN,  CHAELES  GAMAGE. 

Born  inFryeburg,  Me.,  June  1, 1816;  died  in  Burlington,  Vt., 
in  1861. 

A  Snow  Storm 490 

Dirge 513 

ELLIOTT,  EBENEZEE. 

Born  near  Sheffield,  Eng.,  March  17,  1781 ;  died  Dec.  1,  1819. 

The  Bramble  Flower 41 

Poet's  Epitaph 520 

EMEESON,  EALPH  WALDO. 

Born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  in  1803. 

The  Ehodora 36 

To  the  Humble  Bee 70 

.     TheSnowStorm Ill 

Threnody 1  (i6 

Ode  to  Beauty 671 

Good-bye 677 

Guy 673 

Bacchus 679 

Each  and  All 705 

The  Problem 707 


r" 


INDEX    OF     AUTHORS. 


XIX 


FEIO'ER,  COENELIUS  GEOEGE. 

liom  in  Providence,  R.  I.,  Dec.  30,  lS-2 ;  died  in  Cincinnati, 
Jan.  4,  1S47. 

Gulf  Weed S4 

FERGUSON,  S.\MUEL. 

Born  in  the  north  of  Ireland  about  1805— ia  a  Barrister  in  Dublin. 

The  Fairy  Thorn 5S7 

Forging  of  the  Anchor 602 

FIELDS,  JAMES  T. 

Born  in  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  in  1820. 

B.ilLad  of  the  Tempest 158 

Dirge  for  a  Young  Girl 513 

FLETCHER,  GILES. 

Born  in  Kent,  England,  about  1550 ;  died  in  1610. 

Panglcry's  Wooing  Song 248 

FLETCHER,  PHINEAS. 

Bern  in  London  in  15S4;  died  about  1650. 

11  vmn— Drop,  Drop,  Slow  Tears 76-1 

Psalm  CXXX 802 

FORTUNATUS.  YENANTltJS.    (Latin.) 

Saivt  of  the  Latin  Church;  born  near  Venice  in  530;  died 
about  600.' 

Passion  Sunday.    {Anonymous  ii'dnsUition.)..  750 
FREILIGRATH,  FERDINAND.    (Gekman.) 

Born  at  Detmold,  Germany,  June  17,  1810. 

The  Lion's  Elde.    {Anonymous  translation.).    73 
FEENEAU,  PHILIP. 

Born  in  New  York,  Jan.  13,  1752  ;  died  Dec.  18,  1832. 

The  Wild  Honeysuckle 41 

GAY,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Devonshire,  England,  in  1688;  died  Dec.  11, 1732. 

Sweet  William's  Farewell  to  Black-eyed  Susan.  218 
GERHARD,  PAUL.    (German.) 

Born  in  Saxony  in  1606 ;  died  June  7,  1676. 

Living  by  Christ.    {J.  Wesley''a  translation^.  761 
GILMAN,  CAROLINE. 

Born  in  Rost>n,  Mass.,  in  1794, 

Annie  in  the  Grnve-yard 158 

GLAZIER,  W.  B. 

Lives  in  Gardiner,  Me. 

Cape  Cottage  at  Sunset 182 

GLEN,  WILLIAM. 

A  nr.tive  of  Glasgow,  died  about  1824. 

Wae's  Me  for  Prince  Charlie 370 

GOETHE,  JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON.  (German.) 
Horn  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  Aug.  29, 1749  :  died  at  Weimar, 
In  1832. 

The  Minstrel.  {J.  C.  Mangan^s  translation.).  657 

GOLDSMITH,  OLIVER, 

Born  in  the  county  of  Longford,  Ireland,  Nov,  29,  1728;  died 
April  4,  1774. 

The  Hermit '. 216 

Eleiry  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog 405 

ElCTV   on  the   Glory  of  her  Sex,  Mrs.  Mary 

Blaizc 419 

The  Traveller 608 

The  Deserted  Village 614 

GRANT,  SIR  ROBEET. 

born  in  Kcollimd  in  1785;  died  July  9,  1838. 

Litiiny 762 

Hymn 763 

GRAY,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Lindni,  Dec.  20,  1740  ;  died  July  30,  1771. 

On  '1  Diht.ant  Prospect  of  Eton  College 148 

Eki'y  written  in  a  Country  Church-yard 731 

GREENE,  ROBERT. 

Born  It  Nirivich,  Endand,  about  1500 ;   died  Sept.  5,  1592. 

PhilouiMa's  Ode 2.52 

Bong— Sweet  arc  the  Thoughts 665 

GREGftRY  THE  GREAT,  ST.    (Latin.) 

Born  in  Rome  about  640 ;  died  604. 

Darkness  is  Thinning.    (J.  M.  Nettle's  trans- 
lation.)    737 


HABINGTON,  WILLIAM.  "^^ 

Born  in  Worcestershire,  England,  in  1005  ;  died  in  1645. 

Castara 248 

Night 716 

HALLECK,  FITZ-GREENE. 

Born  at  Guilford,  Conn.,  in  Aug.,  1795. 

Marco  Bozarris 389 

HAMILTON,  WILLIAM. 

Born  at  Bangour,  Scotland,  in  1704;  died  in  1754. 

Braes  of  Yarrow 452 

HAET,  JOSEPH. 

An  English  Dissenting  Clergyman  ;  lived  in  London  in  1759. 

Gethsemane 750 

HARTE,  WALTER. 

Born  in  17U0;  died  in  Wales  in  1774. 

Soliloquy 69 

HEBER,  REGINALD. 

Born  in  Cheshire,  England,  April  21,  1783 ;  died  April  3,  ISS*!. 

If  thou  wert  by  my  Side 831 

Epiphany 746 

Thou  art  gone,  to  the  Grave 783 

HEINE,  HEINRICH.    (German.) 

Bam  at  Dasseldorf,  Germany,  Jan.  1,  1800  ;  died  in  1856. 

"Calm  is  the  Night."    {LelaniVs  translntion.)  522 
The  Lorelej.    {O.  P.  CrandCs  trandation.). . .  553 

The  Water  Fay.     (LelamVs  trannlation) 553 

The  Fisher's  Cottage.    {Leland's  translation.)  598 

HEMANS,  FELICIA. 

Bom  in  Liverpool,  EugLand,  Sept.  25, 1794;  died  May  16, 1835. 

Willow  Song 67 

The  Wanderins  Wind 79 

The  Adopted  Child 1,53 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 376 

Casablanca 387 

Dirge 514 

HERBERT,  GEORGE. 

Born  in  Wales,  April  3, 1593 ;  died  in'Feb.,  1032. 

Man 712 

Virtue 717 

Easter ' 752 

The  Call 7-54 

The  Odor  755 

Complaining 757 

The  Flower 757 

HERRICK,  ROBERT. 

liorn  iu  LonJcn  ia  1591 ;  dnto  of  dfatli  unknown. 

To  Violets  84 

To  Primroses 85 

To  Blossoms 35 

To  Daffodils 35 

To  Meadows 91 

Mrs.  Eliz.  Wheeler 247 

Night  Piece 249 

Gather  ye  Rose-buds 324 

The  Hag 424 

Dirge  of  .Jephtbnh's  Daughter 511 

Delight  in  Disorder , 630 

Upon  Julia's  Recovery 632 

To  Perilla 6S9 

The  White  Island 699 

To  keep  a  true  Lent 70S 

Litany  to  the  Holy  Spirit 7S0 


HEYWOOD,  THOMAS, 

Lived  in  England,  under  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Charles  1 

Song— The  Lark 

Search  after  God 


HILL,  THOMAS, 

Born  in  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.,  Jan,  7, 1818. 

The  Boboliuk 


20 
806 


23 


HOFFMAN,  CHARLES  FENNO. 
Bora  in  New  York  in  18(16, 

Sparkling  and  Bright 184 

Monterey 831 


XX 


INDEX    or    AUTHORS. 


Page 

HOGG,  JAMES. 

Born  in  F.ttrick,  Scotlnnd,  Jan.  So,  1772  ;  died  Nov.  01,  1S35. 

TheL.-irk 19 

The  Moon  was  a  Waning 48G 

Kilmony 637 

HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL. 

Born  at  Cambridgi',  Mass.,  Aug.  29, 1S09. 

The  Steamboat 600 

The  Last  Leaf CS9 

nOLTT,  LUDWIG.    (Germ.vn.) 

Born  near  Hanover,  Gerniiiuy,  Dec.  '-'1,  1743;  died  Dec.  1, 1776. 

Winter  Song.    {^C.  T.  Brookis's  translation.)...  112 

HOOD,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  London  in  1798;  died  May  3, 1845. 

rioweis 43 

Autumn 9"? 

To  a  Child  embracing  his  Mother 12.^ 

To  my  Daugliter 135 

I  Keinember,  I  Kemeniber 156 

Fair  Ines 263 

Euth 269 

Serenade 2T0 

Ballad— It  was  not  in  the  Winter 272 

Ballad— Sigh  on.  Sad  Heart 2ST 

Faithless  Nellv  Gray 429 

Faithless  Sally  Brown 430 

Lady  at  Sea 431 

Dream  of  Eugene  Aram 48T 

Biidire  of  Sighs „ 498 

Song  of  the  Shirt •"; 499 

The' Death-bed 502 

■The  ■\\'ator  Lady 553 

Song— A  Lake  and  a  Fairy  Boat 554 

Song— O  Lady,  Leave 632 

HOWE,  JULIA  WARD. 

Born  in  New  York  about  1S20. 

The  Dead  Christ 


764 


HOWITT,  MART. 

Born  in  Uttoieter,  England,  about  ISOO. 

Little  Streams 31 

Bloom  Flower. 40 

Summer  Woods 66 

Cornfield? 92 

Little  Children 135 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon  Low 541 

HOWITT,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Derbyshire,  England,  in  1795. 

Departure  of  the  Swallow 107 

HITGO,  VICTOR.    (French.) 

Born  in  Besun.on,  France,  Feb.  26,  1802. 

TheDjinns.    (O'SulUvaii's  translation.) 589 

HUNT,  LEIGH. 

Born  in  Middlesex,  Eng.,  Oct.  19, 1784;  died  Aug.  28, 1859. 

Chorus  of  Flowers 44 

Grasshopper  and  Cricket 70 

To  J.  n.— Four  Years  Old 126 

To  a  Child  during  Sickness 127 

Jaffar ISO 

The  Nun 279 

Jenny  Kissed  Me 286 

Abrm  Ben  Adhera 599 

Ajflgel  in  the  House "i  23 

HUNTER,  ANNE. 

Born  in  Scotland  in  1742 ;  died  in  1821. 

Indian  Death-song 375 

HTSLOP,  JAMES. 

Born  in  Scotland,  July,  1798;  died  Dec.  4,  1827. 

Cameronian's  Dream 362 


INGRAM,  JOHN  KELLS.  .    ^  „   ^  ,,. 

Born  in  Ireland  about  IsiO ;  is  a  Fellow  of  Tnn.  Coll.,  Dublin. 


The  Memory  of  the  Dead. 


390 


JOHNSON,  SAMUEL. 

Bom  in  Lichfield,  Eng.,  Sept.  18, 1709 ;  died  in  London,  Dec. 
13,  1784. 

Vanity  of  Human  Wishes , 680 


JONES,  ERNEST. 

A  leading  Chartist;  lives  in  England. 

Moonrise 104 

JONES,  SIR  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  London,  Sept.  28,  1746  ;  died  April  27,  1794. 

Ode— What  Constitutes  a  State 391 

JONSON,  BEN. 

Born  in  London,  June  11, 1574;  died  Ang.  IC,  1637. 

To  Cvnthia 104 

Triumph  of  Charis 244 

Discourse  with  Cupid 245 

Epitaph  on  Elizabeth  L.  H 515 

Song 030 

Ode— To  Himself 640 

KEATS.  JOHN. 

Born  in  Loudon  in  1796 ;  died  Feb.  24,  1821. 

Nature  and  the  Poets 47 

Ode  to  a  Nightingale 52 

Hymn  to  Pan 64 

On  the  Grasshopper  and  Cricket 69 

To  Autumn 96 

Fancy 108 

E ve  of  St.  Agnes 220 

Fairy  Song 535 

La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci 586 

Lines  on  the  Mermaid  Tavern 639 

On  first  looking  into  Chapman's  Homer 654 

Ode — Bards  of  Passion 656 

Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn 660 

Robin  Hood 698 

KEBLE.  JOHN. 

Born  in  Gloucestershire,  Eng.,  April  25, 1792;  died  March  29,  1866. 

April 12 

The  Elder  Scripture 740 

St.  Peter's  Day 766 

Is  this  a  Time  to  Plant  and  Build  ? 770 

KEMBLE,  FRANCES  ANNE. 
Born  in  London  about  1811. 

Absence 277 

KENTON,  JOHN. 

Died  in  London  in  1857. 

Champagne  Rose 185 

KET,  FRANCIS  SCOTT. 

Born  about  1790;  died  in  Baltimore,  Jan.  11, 1843. 

Star-spangled  Banner 378 

KING,  HENRT. 

Bishop  of  Chichester,  England  ;  bom  in  1591 ;  died  in  1C69. 

Life 727 

KINGSLET,  CHARLES. 

Born  in  Devonshire,  England,  June  12,  1819. 

Song— O,  Mary,  Go  and  Call  the  Cattle  Home.. .  459 
The  Fishermen 475 

LAMB,  CHARLES. 

Born  in  London,  Feb.  18, 1775;  died  Dec.  27, 1834. 

The  Christening 120 

The  Gipsy's  Malison 125 

Childhood 155 

Old  Famili.ar  Faces 182 

Hypochondriacus 427 

Farewell  to  Tobacco 427 

Hester 503 

Lines  on  a  Celebrated  Picture 74S 

LAMB,  MART. 

Born  in  London  in  1765 ;  died  May  20,  1847. 

Choosing  a  Name 120 

LANDON,  L^TITIA  ELIZABETH.    (Mks.  Maclean.) 

Born  at  Chelsea,  Eng.,  in  1802 ;  died  in  Africa,  Oct.  16,  1S38. 

The  Shepherd  Boy 137 

Little  Red  Riding  Hood 138 

Nisht  at  Sea. ■. 192 

Awakening  of  Endymion 275 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


Page 
LANDOE,  "WALTEE  SAVAGE. 

Born  in  Warwickshire,  Eng.,  in  1775  ;  died  in  Florence,  Sept. 
17,  1804. 

The  Brier 42 

Children 130 

Maid's  Lament 286 

Iphisrenia  and  Agamemnon 472 

To  Macaulay , 656 

One  Gray  Hair 6S9 

Memory 690 

An  Old' Poet  to  Sleep 720 

LEOXIDAS,  OF  ALEXA^'DEIA.    (Geeek.) 
Bom  in  the  year  59 ;  died  in  129. 

On  the  Picture  of  an  Infant.    (Rogers's  trans- 
lation.)   125 

LETDE^,  JOHJT. 

Bom  at  Denholm,  Scotland,  Sept.  8, 1775 ;  died  in  Batavia, 
E.  L,  Aug.  21,  1311. 

Sabbath  Morning 17 

LOCKIIAET,  JOHN  GIBSON. 

Bom  in  Glasgow  in  1792 ;  died  at  Abbotsford,  Nov.  25, 1854. 

Broadswords  of  Scotland 371 

LOGAN.  JOHN. 

Born  in  Scotland  in  1748 ;  <7.>i  in  Dec,  1788. 

To  theCnckoo 2.3 

Song — Yarrow  Stream 4.H 

Heavenly  Wisdom 712 

LONGFELLOW,  HENET  WADSWOETIJ. 
Born  In  Portland,  Me.,  Feb.  27,  1807. 

Flowers 45 

Twilight 82 

Se.aweed 8:^ 

Woods  in  Winter 110 

Afternoon  in  February 112 

The  Ohildren's  Hour 1.55 

The  Open  Window 163 

The  Fire  of  Driftwood 131 

Excelsior 392 

Wreck  of  the  Hesperus 4S3 

Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports 51S 

The  Village  Blacksmith 600 

The  Arsenal  at  S[iriDgfield 6i)5 

The  Light  of  Stars 716 

The  Slave  Singing  at  Midnight 719 

Psalm  of  Life 722 

King  Eobert  of  Sicily 724 

The  Footsteps  of  Angels 726 

LOVELACE,  EICHAED. 

Bom  in  Kent,  England,  in  1618;  died  in  1653. 

The  Grasshopper 68 

To  Lucasta 249 

To  Althea,  from  Prison 250 

To  Lucasta 2.50 

Orpheus  to  the  Beasts 299 

LOVEE,  SAMUEL. 

Born  in  Dublin  in  1797 ;  died  in  1866. 

The  Ansel's  Whisper 122 

Kory  O'AIore 2«3 

Moliy  Carew 2S4 

Widow  Machree 285 

LOWELL,  JAMES  EUSSELL. 

Born  at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  Feb.  22,  1319. 

The  Fountain 80 

To  the  Dandelion 42 

The  Birch  Tree 65 

She  Came  and  Went 163 

My  Love 271 

Rhoecus 572 

Hebe 630 

LOWELL,  MAEIA  WHITE. 

Born  at  Watertowii,  Mass.,  July  8, 1821 ;  died  Oct.  27,  1853. 

Morning-Glory 163 

LUTHER,  MARTIN.    (German.) 

Born  at  Eisleben,  Saxony,  Nov.  10, 148-3;  died  Feb.  18,  1540. 

Martyrs'  Hymn.    {W.  J.  Foot's  translation.')..  775 
A  Safe  Stronghold.    {T.  CarlyW  a  translation)  799 

4 


LYLT,  JOHN.  ■^"^^ 

Born  in  Kent,  England,  about  1554  ;  died  about  1600 

Cupid  and  Campaspe 245 

LTTTON,  EDWARD  EOBERT  BULWER. 

Only  son  of  Lord  Lytton,  born  in  Herts,  Eng.,  Nov.  3,  JS31. 

Changes 313 

Aux  Italiens ',  317 

MACAULAY,  LORD. 

Bom  at  Rothiey  Temple,  England,  in  1800;  died  in  London, 
Dec.  28,  1859. 

Horatius 3.37 

Ivry 3.5.5 

Naseby 357 

McCarthy,  dennis  Florence. 

Born  in  Cork,  Ireland,  about  ISIO. 

Sdmmer  Longings 15 

Irish  Melody 266 

MACKAY,  CHARLES. 

Born  at  Perth,  Scotland,  in  1812. 

What  Might  be  Done 196 

McMASTER,  GUY  HUMPHREY. 

Born  at  Bath,  Steuben  County,  in  1829. 

Carmen  Bellicosum 377 

MAGINN,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Cork,  Ireland,  about  1793 ;  died  Aug.  20,  1842. 

St.  Patrick,  of  Ireland,  my  Dear 434 

The  Irishman 435 

MALLETT.DxVVID. 

Bora  in  Scotland  about  1700;  died  April  21,  1765. 

A  Funeral  Hymn COS 

MARLOWE,  CHRISTOPHER. 

Born  at  Canterbury,  Eng.,  Feb.  26,  1564;  died  June  16,  1593. 

Milk-Mald'8  Song 254 

MAEVELL,  ANDREW. 

Born  at  Kingston-upon-HuU,  England,  Nov.  15,1620;  died 
Aug.  16,  1678. 

A  Drop  of  Dew 14 

The  Garden 53 

The  Lover  to  the  Glow-worms 247 

Horatian  Ode 853 

The  Nymph  Complain  ing 496 

Emigrants  in  Bermudas 767 

MENDOZA,  LOPE  DE.    (Spanish.) 

Bom  in  Corrion  de  I03  Condes,  Spain,  Aug.  19,1398;  died 
March  26,  1458. 

Serrana.    {J.  H.  Wiffen^s  translation.) 230 

MERCER,  MARGARET. 

Bcirn  at  Annapolis,  Md.,  in  1791 ;  died  at  Belmont,  Va,  Sept. 
19,  1847. 

Exhortation  to  Prayer 776 

MEREDITH,  GEORGE. 

Born  in  Hampshire,  England,  about  1828. 

Love  in  the  Valley 235 

MERRICK,  JAMES. 

Born  iu  England  in  1720;  died  in  1769. 

PsalmXXIII 793 

MESSINGER,  ROBERT  HINCKLEY.  * 

Born  in  Boston  about  1807. 

Give  me  the  Old 134 

MILLER,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Gainsborough,  England,  Aug.  31,  1809. 

To  George  M 132 

The  Grave  of  a  Poetess 655 

The  Happy  Valley 700 

MILLER,  WILLIAM. 

A  native  of  Scotland,  now  living, 

Willie  Winkie 120 

MILLIKEN,  RICHARD  ALFRED. 

Bom  in  the  county  of  Cork,  Ireland,  in  1757 ;  died  in  1815. 

Groves  of  Blarney, 435 


XX 11 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


Page 
MILMAN,  HENEY  HART. 

Bom  iu  London,  Feb.  10,  1791. 

Briual  Son? 324 

Hymn — Wbeu  our  Ileiuls 703 

Hymn — Brother,  tboii  art  Cone 783 

Chorus &09 

MILNE?,  EICHAEDMONCKTOK   (Lord  Hotghton.) 
Born  iu  Yorkshire,  England,  in  1S03. 

The  Brook-Siae 272 

MILTON,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Loudon,  Dec.  9,  160S  ;  died  Nov.  8, 1674. 

Sonp: :  On  May  Morning 

To  the  Nightingale 

Sonnets 

Lycidas 

Comus.  a  Mask 

]Epitaph  on  Shakespeare ■ 

L' Allegro 

II  Peuseroso 

Sonnets 

On  the  Nativity 


1-3 
51 
SCO 
504 
556 
6.38 
C61 
663 
6i)7 
743 


MOIE,  DAVID  MACBETH. 

Bom  at  Musselburgh,  Scotland,  Jan.  6, 1798 ;  died  July  6,  1851. 

Casa  Wappy 1G9 

MONTGOMEET,  ALEXANDEE. 

Born  in  Ayrshire,  Scotland,  before  1550;  died  about  1611. 

Nisrht  is  Nigh  Gone 


MONTGOMEEY.  JAMES. 

Born  at  Irviue,  Scotland,  Nov.  4,  1771 ;  died  April  SO,  1S54. 

To  a  Daisy 

Evening  in  the  Alps 

Eeign  of  Christ  on  Earth 

Gethsemane 

Stranger  and  his  Friend 

Ilumilitv 

Field  of  the  World 

What  is  Prayer ; 

Charity 

The  Lord  the  Good  Shepherd 

'•  Thou,  God,  seest  me  " 

Time  Past,  Time  Passing,  Time  to  Come 


MONTEOSE,  JAMES  GEAHAM,  Makqtiis  op. 

Born  at  Montrose,  Scotland,  in  1612  ;  hanged  at  Edinburgh, 
May  51,  1651. 

My  Dear  and  Only  Love 


MOOEE,  CLEMENT  C. 

Bom  in  New  York,  July  15,  1779;  died  at  Newport,  E.  I., 
July  10,  1863. 

Visit  from  St.  Nicholas 


16 


1U3 
749 
751 
755 
770 
774 
775 
778 
794 
811 
813 


255 


142 


MOOEE,  THOMAS. 

Bom  in  Dublin,  May  28,  1779;  died  Feb.  25,  1852. 

The  Last  Eose  of  Summer 94 

Wreathe  the  Bowl 1S5 

Fill  the  Bumper  Fair 1S6 

And  doth  not  a  Meeting  like  This 186 

Come  send  round  the  Wine 187 

Friend  of  my  Soul 188 

Farewell!  but  whenever  you  Welcome  the  Hour  1S8 

The  Journey  Onward 194 

Go  where  Glory  waits  thee ! 264 

Fly  to  the  Desert 264 

Fly  not  Yet 280 

Song 371 

The  Harp  that  Once  through  Tara's  Halls 372 

Peace  to  the  Slumberers 372 

Oh !  Breathe  not  his  Name 509 

Those  Evening  Bells 622 

Canadian  Boat  Sung 629 

Arranmore 701 

MOEE,  HENEY. 

Bom  at  Grantham,  England,  in  1614;  died  in  1687. 

Philosopher's  Devotion 789 

Charity  and  Humility 709 

MOTHEEWELL,  WILLIAM. 

Bom  in  Glasgow,  in  1797  ;  died  in  1835. 

They  Come,  the  Merry  Summer  Months 17 

The  Water!  The  Water 31 

Midnight  Wind 109 


Page 

The  Bloom  hath  fled  thy  cheek,  Mary 801 

Jeanio  Morrison 302 

My  Held  i.s  like  to  Eend,  Willie 303 

Cavalier's  Song  353 

Covenanter's  Battle-chant 361 

When  I  beneath  the  cold,  red  Earth  am  Sleeping  520 

MOULTEIE,  JOHN. 

A  Clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England  ;  born  in  Eng.  about  1804. 

The  Three  Sons 164 

MUELLEE,  WILHELM.     (German.) 

Born  at  Dessau,  Germany,  Oct.  7, 1794  ;  died  Oct.  1, 1827. 

The  Sunken  City.    {Mangan's  translation.) . .  677 
MULOCK,  DINAH  MAEIA. 

Born  in  Staflurdshire,  England,  in  1826. 

North  Wind Ill 

Philip.  My  King 121 

Too  Late 319 

NEELE,  HENEY. 

Born  iu  London  in  1798 ;  died  (by  his  own  hand)  Feb.  7,  1828. 

Moan,  moan,  ye  Dj'ing  Gales 83 

NEWTON,  JOHN. 

Born  in  London  iu  1725 ;  died  there  in  1807. 

Weeping  Mary 751 

Jesus : 758 

NOEL,  THOMAS. 

Author  of  "  Rhymes  and  Roundelays,"  London,  1841. 

The  Pauper's  Drive 502 

NOEEIS,  JOHN. 

Born  in  England,  1657;  died  in  1711. 

Superstition 251 

The  Eeply 665 

NOETON,  CAEOLINE. 

Born  at  Ilanipton  Court,  England,  in  1808. 

To  Ferdinand  Seymour 121 

Mother's  Heart . ." •. 181 

We  have  been  Friends  together 183 

Allan  Percy 313 

Love  Not 323 

The  King  of  Denmark's  Kide 480 

OGILVIE,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Aberdeen,  Scotland,  in  1733  ;  died  in  1814. 

Hymn  from  Psalm  CXLVIII 802 

O'KEEFE,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Dublin,  Jone  24,  1747  ;  died  Feb.  4,  1833. 

I  am  a  Friar  of  Orders  Gray 688 

OELEANS,  CHAELES,  Duke  op.  (Fkekch.) 

Born  in  Paris,  May  26,  1391 ;  died  Jan.  4,  1465. 

Fairest  Thing  in  Mortal  Eyes.    {H.   Cari/s 
tmnslation.) 322 

PALMEE,  JOHN  WILLIAMSON. 

Born  in  Baltimore,  Md.,  about  1828. 

For  Charlie's  Sake 171 

PAESONS,  THOMAS  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  Aug.  18, 1819. 

Song  for  September 90 

Saint  Peray 191 

The  Groomsman  to  his  Mistress 277 

On  a  Bust  of  Dante 892 

On  a  Lady  Singing 628 

PEECIVAL,  JAMES  GATES. 

Born  in  Berlin,  Conn.,  Sept.  15,  1795 ;  died  May  2, 1856. 

May 15 

The  Coral  Grove 8& 

To  Seneca  Lake 86 

It  ia  Great  for  our  Country  to  Die 345 

PEECY,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Shropshire,  Eng.,  in  1728;  died  as  Bishop  of  Dromore, 
Ireland,  in  1811. 

Friar  of  Orders  Gray 213 

PEEEY,  NOEA. 

Lives  in  Providence,  R-.  I. 

Loss  and  Gain 171 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


xxm 


Page 
PHILOStitATUS.     (Greeit.) 

Born  in  Lemnos,  Greece,  about  182. 

To  Celia.    (B.  Jbnsoii's  translation.) 2-15 

PIEEPONT,  JOHN-. 

Born  in  Litchfield,  Conn.,  April  6,  17S5;  died  Aug.  26,  1S6G. 

My  Child 170 

Centennial  Ode IH 

PINKNET.  EDWAED  COATE. 

Born  ia  London,  Oct.,  1802;  died  at  Baltimore,  April  11,  1S2S. 

Serenade 2T0 

A  Health 273 

POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN. 

Born  in  Baltimore,  Jan.,  1311  ;  died  Oct.  7,  184b. 

Annabel   Lee ...  315 

The  Baven 584 

The  Bells 621 

POPE,  ALEXANDER. 

Born  iu  London,  May  £2,  1688 ;  died  May  30, 1744. 

The  Rape  of  the  Lock 406 

Messiah T47 

Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul 781 

Universal  Prayer 810 

PRAED,  WINTHROP  MACKWORTH. 

Horn  in  London  in  1S02;  died  July  15,  1839. 

The  Vicar 442 

Twenty-eight  and  Twenty -nine 443 

Charade 056 

PRIEST,  NANCY  AMELIA  WOODBURY. 
Born  n  HImdale,  N.  H.,  about  1834. 

Over  the  River 730 

r-RlN'GLE,  THOMAS. 

Born  at  Blacklaw,  Scotland,  Jan.  5,  1789;  died  Dec.  5, 1834. 

The  Lion  and  Giraffe 74 

Afar  in  the  Desert 75 

PROCTER,  ADELAIDE  ANNE. 

Bom  in  London,  about  1826 ;  died  there,  Feb.,  1854. 

Doubting  Heart 107 

PEOUT,  FATHER.    (Francis  Mahont.) 

Born  in  Ireland  about  1805  ;  died  iu  Paris,  May  19,  186S. 

The  Bells  of  Shandon 620 

PRUDENTIUS,  AUEELIUS.     (Latin.) 

Born  in  Spain,  348. 

Each  Sorrowful  Mourner.  (J.  M.  NeaWs  trans- 
lation.')   786 

QUARLES,  FRANCIS. 

Born  at  Stewards,  near  Rumford,  Kng.,  in  1592 ;  d.  Sept.  8, 1644. 

Sonnets 7.57 

Fasting 768 

Delight  in  God  only 812 

QUARLES,  JOHN. 

Son  of  Francis  Qunrles;  born  in  Essex,  England,  in  1G24;  died 
of  the  Plague  in  1665. 

Divine  Ejaculation 810 

RALEIGH.  SIR  WALTER. 

Born  in  Budley,  Eng.,  in  1552;  beheaded  Oct.  29,  1613. 

Milkmaid's  Mother's  Answer 254 

RAMSAY.  ALLAN. 

Born  in  Crawford,  Scotland,  in  1635 ;  died  in  1753. 

Lochaber  no  More 365 

RANDOLPH,  THOMAS. 

Horn  in  Badby,  England,  in  1605;  died  March  17,  1634. 

Song  of  Fairies.     {Leigh  IliinVa  translation.)  530 
READ,  THOMAS  BUCHANAN. 

Born  in  Chester  county,  Penn.,  March  12, 1822. 

Autumn's  Sighing 87 

The  Windy  Night ]  on 

ROBERTS,  SARAH. 

Horn  in  Portsmouth,  N.  H.;   lives  in  one  of  the  Western 
States. 

The  Voice  of  the  Grass '. 57 

ROGERS,  SAMUEL. 

Born  near  London,  July  30,  1763;  died  in  London,  Dec.  18, 

A  Wish 831 


RONSARD,  PIERRE.    (French.)  """ 

Born  in  Vendomois,  France,  in  1524;  died  in  1585. 

Return  of  Spring.     {Anonymous  translation.)    10 
ROSOOE.  WILLIAM. 

Born  at  Mount  Pleasant,  near  Liverpool,  1753;   died   June 
SO,  1331. 

On  the  Death  of  Bui-ns 650 

ROSCOE,  WILLIAM  STANLEY. 

Born  in  England  in  1782 ;  died  October,  1843. 

Dirge 


512 


RYAN,  RICHARD. 

A  native  of  Scotland  ;  lived  in  the  last  century. 

Oh,  Saw  ye  the  Lass 


2a3 


SALTS,  JOIIANN  GAUDENZ  VON.    (German.) 

Born  in  Grisons,  Switzerland,  in  1762. 

Song  of  the  Silent  Land.    {Longfellow'' s  trans- 
lation.)  500 

SANDYS,  GEORGE. 

Born  in  Bishopsthorpe,  Eng.,  1577  ;  died  in  Kent,  March,  1G15. 

Psalm  LXVr. SOO 

Psalm  XCII SKI 

Psalm  CXLVIII 803 

SAPPHO.    (Greek.) 

Born  in  Lesbos  in  the  sLsth  century  hefore  Christ. 

Blest  as  the  Immortal  Gods.     {A.  PliiUips's 
translation.) 257 

SCHILLER,  FREDERIC.     (Ger.man.) 

Born  in  Marbach,  Germany,  Nov.  10,  1759  ;  died  May  0,  1805. 

Indian  Death-Song.      {Frothinghani's  trans- 
lation.)   375 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER. 

Bom  in  Edinburgh,  Aug.  15,  1771 ;  died  Sept.  21,  1832. 

Jock  of  Hazeldean ..   '. 

Lochinvar 

Song— The  Heath  this  Night 

Song — A  Weary  Lot  is  Thine 

Bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee 

Border  Ballad 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 


233 

2:i4 
'.........  .^.    iJo!) 

2ili 

olJS 

8''ll 

309 

Coronach 5i)9 

"  Proud  Maisio  is  in  the  Wood " 083 

Hymn  of  the  Ileljrew  M.aid 707 

SHAKESPEARE.  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  Stratford-on-.\von,  England,  about  April  23, 1564 ;  died 
April  23,  1616. 

Morning 18 

Song— The  Greenwood  Tree f>S 

Blow,  blow  thou  Winter  Wind 110 

Sonnets 175 

Sonnets 233 

Come  away.  Death 2.53 

Crabbad  Age  and  Youth '. . . .  279 

Dirge  of  Imogen 510 

Song  of  the  Fairy 5-;5 

Ariel's  Songs 552 

Influence  of  Music 025 

WhoisSylvia? 031 

SHAKESPEARE  and  JOHN  FLETCHER. 

Take,  oh  take  those  Lips  Away 247 

SHELLEY,  PERCY  BYSSIIE. 

Born  in  Field  Place,  England,  Aug.  4, 1792 ;  died  July  8,  1822. 

To  the  Skylark 13 

Arethusa .•. 2'J 

The  Question 33 

The  Cloud 77 

Ode  to  the  West  Wind 80 

Autumn— A  Diige 90 

To  Night 104 

Dirge  for  the  Year 113 

Lines  to  an  Indian  Air ' 257 

Love's  Philosophy 268 

To 2.^)8 

Lament 521 

Lament 521 

To  a  Lady  with  a  Guitar 027 

To  Constantia  Singing  628 

An  ExhorlaLion. ." 600 

Sons — Rarely,  r.arely  comest  Thou..; 672 

Hymn  to  Intellectuivl  Beauty 673 

Mutability 694 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


Page 
SHEXSTONE.  WILLIAM. 

Bora  iu  llnles-Owen,  Knglaiid,  in  1714 ;  died  Feb.  11,  1763. 

The  Schoolmistress 144 

SIIIELEY,  JAMES. 

Bern  iu  Loudon,  nbout  1594;  died  Oct  59,  1G66. 

Victorious  Mi^n  of  Earth GO-i 

Death's  final  Couquest 717 

SIDNEY,  SIR  PHILIP. 

Born  iu  Peiisliuret,  England,  Not.  29,  1554  ;  died  Oct.  7,  15S6. 

Sonnets 240 

SIMMONS,  B. 

Author  ot'*'  Legends,  Lyrics,  nnd  other  Poems,"  Edinh'h,  1S43. 

Stanzas  to  the  Memory  of  Thomas  Hood 519 

SIMONIDES.     (Greek.) 

Born  in  Julis,  island  of  Cos,  B.  c.  554;  died  B.  c.  469. 

Danae.    ( W.  Peter''s  translation.) 152 

SKELTOM,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Cumberland,  England,  toward  the  latter  part  of  the 
15th  century  ;  died  June  21,  15i'9. 

To  Mrs.  Margaret  Hnssey 031 

SMITH,  CHARLOTTE. 

Born  in  Sussex,  England,  in  1749  ;  died  in  1S06. 

The  Nightingale's  Departure 5 

SMITH.  HORACE. 

Born  in  London,  Dec.  31, 1779 ;  died  July  12, 1S39. 

Hymn  to  the  Flowers 46 

Ou  the  Death  of  George  the  Third 517 

Address  to  the  Muromy  at  Belzoni's  Exhibition.  597 

SMITH,  SYDNEY. 

Born  in  Essex,  England,  June  3,  1771  ;  died  iu  London,  Feb. 
22,  1845. 

Receipt  for  Salad 426 

SMITS.  DIRK.     (DiTTCH.) 

Born  in  Rotterdam,  June  20,  1702;  died  April  25,  1752. 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant.    (ZT.  S.  Van  Dyk's 
translation.) 161 

SOUTHEY,  CAROLINE  BOWLES. 

Born  in  England,  Dec.  6,  1786;  died  July  20, 1S54. 

Autumn  Flowers 93 

The  Pauper's  Death-bed. ; 500 

The  Last  Journey 501 

SOTTTHEY,  ROBERT. 

Born  in  Bristol,  England,  Aug.  12,  1774 ;  died  March  21,  1843. 

The  Holly  Tree 110 

The  Inclicape  Rock 4S2 

Battle  of  Blenheim. ." 604 

"  My  Days  among  the  Dead  " 723 

SOUTUEY,  R.  and  C. 

Greenwood  Shrift 721 

SPENCER,  ROBERT  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  England  in  1770 ;  died  1834,< 

To  183 

SPENSER,  EDMUND. 

Born  In  London  in  1553;  died  Jan.  16,  1599. 

Sounet 823 

Epithalamion 324 

STANLEY,  THOMAS. 

Bom  at  Cumberlow  Green,  Eng.,  in  1625 ;  died  April  12, 1678. 

Tlie  Tomb 2.53 

The  Exequies 254 

STERLING,  JOHN. 

Born  at  K»ines  Castle,  Scotland,  July  20,  1806;  died  Sept.  18, 
1844. 

•       The  Spioe  Tree 72 

The  Husbandman 93 

To  a  Child 130 

Roe  and  the  Gauntlet 304 

The  Two  Oceans 598 

Shakespeare 639 

8TERNH0LD,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Hampshire,  England  ;  died  Aug.,  1549. 

PsalmXVIIL    Part  First 790 


Pago 
STILL,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Grauthani,  England,  in  1543j  died  in  1607. 

Good  Ale 401 

STODDARD,  LAVINIA. 

Born  in  Guilford,  Conn.,  June  29,  1787;  died  ij  1820. 

Soul's  Defiance .. , 693 

STODDARD,  RICHARD  HENRY. 
Born  in  liiugham,  Mass.,  July,  1825. 

The  Sea 480 

The  Two  Brides 034 

There  are  Gains  for  all  our  Losses 093 

STODDART,  THOMAS  T. 

Author  of-'  Songs  and  Poems,"  Edinbu'gh,  1839. 

The  Angler's  Trysting  Tree ; . . . .     20 

STORY,  WILLIAM  W. 

Born  in  Salem,  Mass.,  Feb.  19,  1819. 

The  Violet 43 

STRODE,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  England  iu  1600 ;   died  in  1644. 

Music 625 

SUCKLING,  SIR  JOHN. 

Born  in  Whitton,  England,  in  1609  ;  died  May  7,  1641. 

Song— Why  so  Pale 2S0 

SURREY,  LORD. 

Born  in  England  about  1516;  died  Jan.  2'   1547. 

Dercription  of  Spring 10 

The  Means  to  Attain  Happy  Life 661 

SURVILLE.  CLOTILDE  DE.    (Feencti.) 

Born  in  Vallon-sur-Ardcche,  France,  about  1405  ;  died  in  1495. 

The  Child  Asleep.  {Longfellaiv^s  translation.)  128 

SWINBURNE,  ALGERNON  CHARLES. 

Author  of '*Atalant;i  in  Calydon"  (London,  1665),  and  other 
poems. 

"  When  the  Hounds  of  Spring  " 11 

SYLVESTER,  JOSHUA. 

Born  in  England  in  1563 ;  died  in  1618. 

Contented  Mind 6C5 

TANNAHILL,  ROBERT. 

Born  in  Paisley,  Scotland,  June  3,1774;  died  May  17,  1810. 

The  Midges  Dance  ahoon  the  Burn 79 

TATE  AND  BRADY. 

Nahum  Tate,  born  in  Dublin  in  1652;  died  Aug.  12,  1715; 
Brady,  born  in  Bandon,  Ireland,  Oct,  28,  1659 ;  died  May  20,  1726. 

Psalm  C 801 

TAYLOR,  BAYARD. 

Born  in  Kennett  Square,  Pennsylvania,  Jan.  11,  1825. 

The  Arab  to  the  Palm 73 

Storm  Song 82 

The  Phantom 514 

Hylas 509 

TAYLOR,  HENRY. 

Born  in  Englimd,  about  1805. 

Remembrance   of  the    Hon.    Edw.nrd   Ernest 

Villiers 506 

Song — Down  lay  in  a  Nook 6S5 

TAYLOR,  JEREMY. 

Born  in  Cambridge,  England,  in  1613;  died  Aug.  13,  1667. 

Of  Heaven 791 

TENNYSON,  ALFRED. 

Born  in  Lincolnshire,  England,  in  1810. 

Spring 11 

Songf  of  the  Brook 32 

Bugle  Song 100 

Evening 101 

Song— The  Owl 106 

Second  Song,  to  the  same 106 

Lullaby 119 

Widow  and  Child... 172 

The  Reconciliation  1T2 

From  "In  Memoriam " 178 

Dav  Dream 227 

Lady  Clare 206 

The  Letters 237 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


x\v 


Pajre 

Come  into  the  Garden,  Maud 268 

Miller's  Daujhter 271 

Ask  me  no  More 21)0 

Mariana  in  the  South 2U3 

Locksky  Hall 295 

Oh,  that  it  were  Possible 300 

My  Love  has  Talked 330 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  at  Balaklava 3S+ 

The  May  Queen 492 

Dirge 510 

Break,  Break,  Break 5l'5 

Davs  that  are  no  More 525 

Lady  of  Shallott 554 

Contemplate  all  this  AVork 702 

The  Strife 718 

Christmas 7B5 

Oh  yet  we  Trust 7T6 

Mary 777 

TEEKT,  ROSE. 

Bom  in  Hartlord,  Conn.,  where  she  now  lives. 

Trailing  Arbutus 36 

Keve  du  Midi 64 

Then 310 

Fishing  Song 524 

TERSTEEGEN,  GERHAED.    (Gekman.) 

Born  iu  W'estpbtllia,  in  1697  ;  was  a  ribbon-weaver. 

Divine  Love.    {J.  Wesley' s  translation.) 779 

Hymn  of  Praise.    (J.  Weslei/ strains' ation.)..  794 

THACKERAY,  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE. 

Bern  in  C;ilciitta  in  ISIl ;  died  in  London,  Dec.  24,  18G3. 

Ballad  of  Bouiriabaisse 189 

The  Mahogany  Tree 194 

At  the  Church  Gate 270 

White  Squall 431 

Battle  of  Limerick 436 

M-olony's  Lament 437 

Mr.  Molony's  Account  of  the  Ball 438 

Ace  of  Wisdom 688 

End  of  the  Play C91 

THDRLOW.  LORD. 

Born  June  10,  1781 ;  died  June  3, 1829. 

Song  to  May 15 

Sonnet — The  Crimson  Moon 105 

Sonnet — To  a  Bird  that  Haunted  Lake  Laaken.  112 

Sonnet — Immortal  Beauty 630 

Sonnet — The  Nightingale  is  Mute 655 

Sonnet — Who  Best  can  Paint 657 

TOPLADY,  AUGUSTUS  MONTAGUE. 

Born  in  Farnham,  England,  in  1740;  died  Aug.  11,  1773. 

Prayer,  Living  and  Dying 758 

TRENCH.  RICHARD  CHENEVIS. 

Bom  in  Knglimd,  Sept.  9, 1807. 

Harmosan 595 


UHLAND,  JOHANN  LUDWIG.     (Geiima>-.) 

Bnrn  in  Tubingen,  Germany,  April  26,  1787  ;  died  there.  Not. 
13,  1862. 

The  Passage.    {Anonymoufi  translation.') ISO 

The  Castle  by  the  Sea.    (Longfellow's  trans- 
lation)   522 

The   Lost  Church.     {Sarah    II.     Whitman's 
translation  ) ^.  706 

YAUGHAN,  HENRY. 

Bom  in  Newtun,  Eugliiud,  in  1621  ;  died  in  1695. 

The  Bee 70 

Rules  and  Lessons 737 

The  Feast 756 

They  are  all  Gone 786 

Peace 791 

VERY,  JONES. 

Bom  in  Salem,  Mass.,  about  1812. 

Nature 83 

The  Latter  Rain 97 

The  World..   704 

Spirit  Land ' 740 

VINCENTE,  GIL.    (Porttouese.) 

Bum  ID  Portugil,  about  14»'2  ;  died  nbuut  1537. 

The  Nightinirale.    {J.  Bowring^a  translation.)    55 
She  is  a  Maid.     {Longfellow's  tra7islation.). . .  270 


Page 

YILLEGAS,  MANUEL  DE. 

Born  in  Najera,  Spain,  in  1598  ;  died  in  16G9. 

The  Mother  Nightingale.    {T.  Roscoe's  trans- 
lation.)       55 

YISSCHER,  MARIA  TESSELSCHADE.    (Dutch.) 

Bom  in  Amsterdam,  in  15U4;  died  June  20,  1649. 

The  Nightingale.     {J.  Boicring's  translation.)    55 

WALLER,  EDMUND. 

Born  in  ColeshiU,  Eng.,  March  3,  1605  ;  died  Oct.  21,  1GS7. 

The  Rose 43 

WALLER,  JOHN  FRANCIS. 

A  Barrister  of  Dublin;  born  about  1810. 

Spinning- Wheel  Song 231 

WALTON,  IZAAK. 

Born  in  Stafford,  Eng.,  Aug.  9,  1593;  died  Dec.  15, 1683. 

The  Angler's  Wish 22 

WARTON,  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Basingstoke,  Eng.,  in  1728  ;  died  May  21, 1790. 

Inscription  in  a  Hermitage 62 

WASTELL.  SIMON. 

Born  in  Westmoreland,  Eng.,  about  1560;  died  abont  1630. 

Man's  Mortality 727 

WATSON,  THOMAS. 

'     Born  in  London;  died  in  1591  or  1592. 

Canzonet 249 

WATTS,  ISAAC. 

Born  in  Southampton,  Eng.,  July  17, 1674;  died  Nov.  25,  1748. 

"Jesus  Shall  Reisn" 749 

Example  of  Christ 759 

Heavenlv  Canaan 7SS 

Psalm  X'lX 797 

Psalm  XLVI 799 

Psalm  LXV.    Second  Part 8(10 

Psalm  LXXII.    First  Part 801 

Psalm  CX VII 802 

Creator  and  Creatures 805 

WAUGH,  EDWIN. 

A  native  of  Englaud  ;  now  living. 

The  Dule's  i'  this  Bonnet  o'  Mine 282 

WELBY,  AMELIA  B. 

Born  in  St.  Michaels,  Maryland,  iu  1821. 

The  Old  Maid 635 

WESLEY,  CHARLES. 

Born  in  Lincolnshire,  England,  in  1708  ;  died  in  1788. 

Wrestling  Jacob 754 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  Soul " 760 

"Jesus,  my  Strength,  My  Hope" 7(10 

"  Eternal  Beam  of  Light  Divine  " 761 

•'  Friend  of  All  " 762 

True  Use  of  Music 773 

For  Believers 778 

Desiring  to  Love 779 

Death 784 

"Thou  God  Unsearchable" 813 

WESTWOOD,  THOMAS. 

Author  of  "  Berries  and  Blossoms" — London,  1850. 

Under  my  Window 156 

Little  Belle 158 

WHITE,  BLANCO. 

Born  in  Spain,  about  1773  ;  died  in  England,  May  20,  1810. 

To  Night 106 

WHITE,  HENRY  KIRKE. 

Bora  in  Nottingham,  March  21,  1785;  died  Oct.  19, 1S06. 

To  the  Harvest  Moon ; 105 

Solitude 521 

WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLEAF. 

Born  in  Haverill,  Mass.,  in  1808. 

Hampton  Beach S5 

Maud  MuUer 305 

Our  Slate 380 

Bai-bara  Frietchie 3Sl 

Ichabod ^15 

Barclay  of  Ury 594 

To  my  Sister 634 

Burns 6.53 

Seed-Time  and  Harvest 713 


XXVI 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


Page 
TVIT-DV:.  EICIIAKD  HENRY. 

Hi  ri\  in  Dublin,  Sept.  24,  1*S9 ;  died  in  New  Orleans,  Sept. 

"'  '^Stanzas— My  Life  is  Like 694 

WILLIAMS.  ■ROBERT  FOLKSTONE. 

Authi  r  of  '*  Shakespeare  and  bis  Friends,'* — London,  1833. 

Oh,  fill  the  Wine-cup  High 100 

WILLIAMSON,  WILLIAM!  CROSS. 

lioru  iu  Rclfast,  Me.,  Jan.  31,  1831. 

It  Might  Have  Been 291 

WILLIS,  NATHANIEL  PARKER. 

Born  iu  Portland,  Me.,  Jan.  20,  1807. 

Belfrey  Pisrcon 67 

SaUirday  Afternoon  143 

The  Annoyer 282 

WILLMOTT,  ROBERT  ARTS. 

Aulldr  of  various  Religious  Works;  also  of  "Poems"— Lon- 
don, IS.'Oi  died  in  Oxfordshire,  May  28,  1863. 

Child  Praying 160 

WILSON,  JOHN. 

Born  in  Piiislev,  Scotland,  in  17S8;  died  April  4,  1854. 

To  a  Sleeping  Child 128 

WINSLOW.  HARRIETT. 

Born  in  Portland,  Me.,  about  1824. 

Why  thus  Longing 696 

WITHER,  GEORGE. 

Born  in  I'entwcrth,  Eng.,  June  11, 15SS-,  died  May  2, 1667. 

Christmas 195 

Shepherd's  Resolution 2S0 

The  Nymph's  Song 63T 

The  Shepherd's  Hunting 640 

In  a  Clear  Starry  Night T42 

Twelfth  Day,  or  the  Epiphany J48 

Hymn — For  Anniversary  Marriage  Dayo 770 

For  a  WidoM'er  or  Widow 785 

Praise TOS 

Poet's  Hymn  for  Himself 795 

WOLFE,  CHARLES. 

Born  in  Dublin,  Dec.  14,  1791  ;  died  Feb.  21,  IS23. 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore 517 

Song — Oh  say  not  that  my  Heart 095 

WOODWORTH,  SAMUEL. 

Born  in  Scitunte,  Mass.,  Jan.  13,  1785;  died  Dec.  9,  1842. 

The  Bucket 606 

WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM. 

Born  in  rcckermouth,  Eng.,  April  7, 1770  ;  died  April  23,  1850. 

March 12 

Morning  in  London 16 

Tlie  Cuckoo 23 

The  Green  Linnet 28 

To  the  Small  Celandine 34 

Dallodils 35 

To  the  Daisy 38 

To  the  same  Flower 39 

Kisrhtingale  and  the  Dove 53 

TaiTOW  Unvisited S7 

Tarrow  Visited S8 

Yarrow  Revisited 89 

Fidelity 91 

Influence  of  Natural  Objects 113 

Kitten  and  Falling  Leaves l'-3 

To  H.  C,  sis  years  old 128 

The  Pet  Lamb 133 

Idle  Shepherd  Boys 136 

Her  Eyes  are  Wild 152 

Lucy  Gray 154 

We  "are  Seven 157 

Lucv 161 

To-^ 272 

Sonnet 301 

Laodamia 819 

Sonnets 8^1 

To  a  Highland  Girl 632 

Solitary  Reaper 633 

'•  She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight " 634 

At  the  Grave  of  Burns 6.M 

Resolution  and  Independence 653 

The  Tables  turned 675 

The  Fountain 675 

Ode  to  Duty 695 

Ode— Intiniations  of  Immortality 713 

Laborei's  Noonday  Hymn 767 


WOTTON,  SIR  HENRY. 

Born  in  Boughton  Hall,  Eng.,March  30, 1568  ;  d.  Dec,  1639. 

Verses  in  Praise  of  Angling 21 

You  Meaner  Beauties 247 

Happy  Life 711 

WYAT,  SIR  THOMAS. 

Born  in  Allington  Castle,  Eng.,  in  1503;  died  Oct.  11,  1542. 

An  Earnest  Suit 244 

SAVIER,  ST.  FRANCIS.    (Latin.) 

Born  inXavier,  Navarre,  in  1506  ;  died  Dec.  2, 1552, 

My  God,  I  Love  Thee.    {Edward  Cancell's 
translation.) 753 

TOLL,  EDWARD. 

A  writer  in  "  Howitt's  Journal  "—London,  1847-'8. 

Song  of  Spring , 39 

ZEDLITZ,  JOSEPH  CHRISTIAN.     (Geemin.) 

Born  in  Austrian  Silesia,  Feb.  28,  1790. 

The  Midnight  Review.    {Anonymous  trans- 
lation.)  574 

ANONYMOUS. 

The  Useful  Plough.  (lUh  Century,  English.) .  63 
Rain  on  the  Roof.   (\Wi  Century.,  American.) .    77 

The  Owl.    (17i;/t  Centurij.) 106 

Little  Boy  Blue.      (19?A  Century,  English.).. .  137 
Children  in  the  Wood,     {11th  Century,  Eng- 
lish.)    149 

Lady  Ann  Bothwell's  Lament,    (llth  Century, 

Scotch.) 151 

To  a  Child.    (IWi  Century,  English,  i 160 

My  Playmates.     {\9th  Century,  EnglUh.) 162 

When  shall  we  Three  meet  Again,     (ISi/t  Cen- 

turii,  English.) 175 

How  Stands  the  Glass  Around.   (18</i  Century, 

English.) 187 

Sir  Cauline,     (14^/j  Century,  English.) 199 

Nut-Brown  Maid.  (\Wi  CenUiry.  English.)..  204 
Youns  Beichan  and  Susie  Pye,   {\Wi  Century, 

English.) 208 

Lord  Lovel.     (16i!/i  Century,  English.) 210 

Kobin  Hood  and  Allen-a-dale,    {loth  Century, 

Engliiih.) 211 

Truth's  Intesnty.     {-\(Sth  Century,  English.)..  212 
Spanish  Lady's  Love.  C^oth  Century,  English.)  215 
Seaman's  Happy  Return.    (17<A  Century,  Eng- 
lish.) : 219 

Bridal  of  Andalla.  {Spanish,  LockharVs  trans- 
lation.).:.   226 

Zara's  Ear-i ings.    {Spanish,  LockharVs  trans- 
lation.).   230 

Watch  Sons,     (\Gth  Century,  German.) 232 

Old  Story.  "  (19//t  Century,  Irish.) 232 

The  White  Rose.    (17)' /i  Century,  English.)...  244 

Love  not  Me,    ( 1  Ith  Century,  English.) 253 

Kulnasatz,  my  Reindeer.    (Icelandic,  anony- 
mous tra  nslation^ 207 

Annie  Laurie,     i^'ilh  Century,  Scotch.) 262 

Summer  Days.     (\Wi  Century,  English.) 2C9 

Oh !  tell  me"Lo\'e,  the  dearest  Hour.  {VMh  Cen- 

tur>i,  Enalish.) 272 

Maiden's  Choice.  (lS«/i  Century,  English.) . .  280 
Deceitfulness  of  Love,     {llth  Century,  Eng- 

*   lish ) : ■ 281 

Coming  Throush  the  Eye.     (18^4  Century, 

Scotch.) r .••••;    not 

Love  Unrequited.     {\Wi  Century,  American.)  286 
AValv,  Walv,  but  Love  be  Bonny.     {\t)th  Cen- 
tury, Scotch.) S02 

Winifreda.     (\%th  Century,  English.) 323 

Bull-fight    of   Gazul.      {Spanish,  Lockharfs  ^ 

translation.) ■■■■■:■■ SfA 

Chevy  Chase.     (15//i  Century,  English.) ......  349 

Prince  Eugene.     (18^A  Century,  German,  John 

Hughes's  translation.) *>54 

When   Banners  are  Waving.     {\1th  Century, 

Scot'  h.) °61 

Here's  to  the  Kiuff,' Sir!  (\Uh  Century,  Scotch.)  865 
Charlie  is  my  Darling.  (18f A  Century,  Scotch.)  SC6 
Gallant  Grahams.  (ISC/i  Century,  Scotch.). ...  8€6 
Shan  Van  Vocht.  {ISth  Century,  Irish.).  ...  872 
God  save  the  King.  (17^1  Century,  Engh>>h.)  373 
Sea  Fight.    {VHh  Century,  English.) 3S6 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


xxvu 


Heir  of  Linne.     (15tU  Century,  Englisli.) 39T 

Dragon  of  Wantley     {Vlth  Ceniury,  English, 

C^Patmore's  versio-n.) 400 

Jovial  Bego;ar.     (ISth  Century,  Enr/iinh.) 401 

Take  thy  old  Oloak  about  Thee,   (loth  Century, 

Englvih.) 403 

Malbrouclc    (French,  Father  PrnuVs  trans- 
lation.)    403 

Old  and  Young  Courtier.    (17^/i.  Century,  Eng- 
lish.)    404 

Essence  of  Opera.  {French,  anonymous  trans- 

l-aiion.) 426 

St.  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  Fishes.  (English.)  440 

Vicar  of  Braj'.     (\Sth  Century,  Eyiglish.) 441 

Sir  Patrick  Spons.     {\5th  Century.  Scotch.) . . .  44T 

Child  Noryce.     {XUh  Century,  Scotch.) 448 

Fair   Annie    of   Loohroyan.      (lSi/4   Century, 

Scotch.) 449 

Dowie    Dens     of    Yarrow.      (I5th    Century, 

Scotch.) 451 

Eare  Willy  Drowned  in  Yarrow.     (\5th  Cen- 
tury, Scotch.) 453 

Cruel  Sister.     (15th  Century,  Scotch.) 454 

Lord  Randal.     (Ibih  Century,  Scotch.) 456 

Edward,  Edward,     (l^th  Century,  Scotch.)....  456 

Twa  Brothers.     {\^th  Century,  Scotch.) 45T 

Twa  Corbies.    {Icth  Century,  Scotch.) 458 

Bonnie    George    Campbell.      {11th    Century, 

Scotch.) 458 

Lament  of  the  Border  Widow.     {11th  Century, 

Scotch.) 458 

Fair  Helen.     {ISth  Century,  Scotch.) 459 

Lamentation  for  Celin.     {Spanish,  Lockharfs 
translation.) 478 


]*ag9 
Very   Mournful    Ballad.      {Spaoiish,  Byron's 

translation.) 474 

Young  Airly.     {l%th  Century,  Scotch.) 4S9 

King   Arthur's  Death.     (15k  Century,  Eng- 
lish.)    529 

Thomas  the  Rhymer.  (16i!A  Century,  Scotch.)  6Vi 
The  Wee,  wee  Man.  {15th  Cetituri/.  Scotch.)..  532 
Merry  Pranks  of  Robin  Good   Fellow.     (17i'A 

Century,  English.) 533 

Fairy  Queen,     {llth  Century,  English.) 534 

Song  of  Fairies.    (17^4  Century,  English.) 535 

Lords  of  Thule.   {German,  anonymous  trans- 
lation.)    593 

Balder.     (19^:^  Century.  English.) 51)6 

Song  of  the  Forge.     {Wth  Century,  English.) .  60' 

The  Lye.     (llth  Century,  English.) 6G8 

Smoking  Spiritualized.    (17^  Century,  Eng- 
lish.)    679 

Time's  Cure.     (iy;'/i  Century,  English.) 692 

Time  is  a  Feathered  Thing.     {I'ilh  Century, 

English.) 693 

The  Sturdy  Bock.     (17?^  Century,  English.).  717 
Life  and  Death.    {19  th  Century,  English.). ...  720 
Lines  on  a  Skeleton.      {10th  Century,  Eng- 
lish.)    728 

Evening.    (19^/i  Century,  English.).  ..^ 742 

"  I  Journey  through  a  Desert " 753 

In  the  Desert  of  the  Holy  Land.     (19i!/i.  Cen- 
tury, American.) 764 

Oh,  Fear  not  Thou  to  Die.     {19th  Century, 

English.) 780 

New  Jerusalem.     {Latin,  anonymous  trans- 
lation.)         788 

God  is  Love,    (19<A  Century,  English,) SOS 


PART  I. 
POE]\IS       OF      NATURE. 


The  world  is  too  much  with  us ;  late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers: 
Little  we  see  in  natui-e  that  is  ours  ; 
We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon  ! 
This  sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon ; 
The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours, 
And  are  up-gathered  now  like  sleeping  flowers ; 
For  this,  for  every  thing,  we  are  out  of  tune  ; 
It  moves  us  not.— Great  God !  I'd  rather  be 
A  pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn  ; 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 
Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn ; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea. 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn. 

WOKDSWOKTa. 


POEMS    OF    ^ATUEE. 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

ARGUMENT. 

A  gentlewoman  out  of  an  arbour  in  a  grove,  seeth  a  great 
companie  of  knights  and  ladies  tu  a  daunce  upon  the 
grcene  grasse  ;  the  which  being  ended,  they  all  kneele 
downe,  and  do  honour  to  the  daisie,  some  to  the  flower, 
and  some  to  the  leafe.  Afterward  this  gentlewoman 
learneth  by  one  of  these  ladies  the  meaning  hereof, 
which  is  this:  They  which  honour  the  flower,  a  thing 
fading  with  every  blast,  are  such  as  looke  after  beautie 
and  worldly  pleasure.  But  they  that  honour  the  leafc, 
which  abideth  with  the  root,  notwithstanding  the  frosts 
and  winter  stormes,  are  they  which  follow  vertue  and 
during  qualities,  without  regard  of  worldly  respects. 

WnAsr  that  Phebus  his  chair  of  gold  so  hie 
Had  whirled  up  the  sterry  sky  alofte, 
And  in  the  boole  was  entred  certainly  : 
"When  shoures  sweet  of  raine  descended  softe, 
Causing  the  ground,  fele  times  and  ofte, 
Up  for  to  give  many  an  wholsome  aire, 
And  every  plaine  was  yclothed  fairs 

With  newe  greene,  and  maketh  smale  floures 
To  springen  here  and  there  in  fieldo   and 

mede ; 
So  very  good  and  wholsome  he  the  shoures. 
That  it  renueth  that  was  olde  and  dede 
In  winter  time  ;  and  out  of  every  sede 
Springeth  the  herbe,  so  that  every  wiglit 
Of  this  season  wexeth  glad  and  light. 

And  I,  so  glad  of  the  season  swete, 

"Was  liappcd  thus  upon  a  certaine  night : — 

As  I  lay  in  my  bedde,  sleepe  ful  unmete 

Was  unto  me,  but  why  that  I  ne  might 

Rest,  I  ne  wist ;  for  there  nas  earthly  wight, 

As  I  suppose,  had  more  hertes  ease 

TJjan  I,  for  I  nad  sicknesse  nor  disease. 


Wherefore  1  mervaile  greatly  of  my  selfe, 
That  I  so  long  withouten  sleepe  lay ; 
And  up  I  rose  three  houres  after  twelfe. 
About  the  springing  of  the  day  ; 
And  I  put  on  my  geare  and  mine  array, 
And  to  a  pleasaunt  grove  I  gan  passe. 
Long  er  the  bright  sunne  up  risen  was  ; 

In  which  were  okes  grete,  streight  as  a  line. 
Under  the  which  the  grasse,  so  fresh  of  hewe, 
Was  newly  sprong ;  and  an  eight  foot  or  nine 
Every  tree  wel  fro  his  fellow  grew. 
With  branches  brode,  laden  with  leves  newe. 
That  sprongen  out  ayen  the  sunneshene. 
Some  very  redde,  and  some  a  glad  light  grene; 

Which,  as  me  thought,  was  right  a  pleasant 

sight ; 
And  eke  the  briddes  songe  for  to  here 
Would  have  rejoiced  any  earthly  wight; 
And  I  that  couth  not  yet,  in  no  manere, 
Heare  the  nightingale  of  al  the  yeare, 
Ful  busily  herkened  with  lierte  and  eare. 
If  I  her  voice  perceive  coud  any  where. 

And,  at  the  last,  a  path  of  little  brede 
I  found,  that  greatly  had  not  used  be; 
For  it  forgrowen  was  with  grasse  and  weede, 
That  Avel  unneth  a  wighte  might  it  se  : 
Thought  I,  "This  path  some  winder  goth, 

parde!" 
And  so  I  followed,  till  it  me  brou^qht 
To  right  a  pleasaunt  herber,  well  ywrought, 

That  benched  was,  and  with  turfes  newe 
Freshly  turved,  whereof  the  grene  gras, 
Sosniale,  so  thicke,  so  shorte,  so  fresh  of  heweu 


POEMS    OF    NATUEE. 


That  most  like  unto  grene  -wool,  wot  I,  it  was : 
Tlie  beggo  also  that  yede  in  conipas, 
And  closed  in  al  the  grene  herbere, 
With  sicamour  Avas  set  and  eglatere, 

"Wrethen  in  fere  so  wel  and  cunningly, 

That  every  branch  and  leafe  grew  by  mesure, 

Plaine  as  a  bord,  of  an  height  by  and  by. 

I  see  never"  thing,  I  you  ensure. 

So  wel  done  ;  for  he  that  tooke  the  cure 

It  to  make,  y  trow,  did  all  his  peine 

To  make  it  passe  alle  tho  that  men  have  seine. 

And  shapen  was  tliis  herber,  roofe  and  alle. 
As  a  prety  parlour ;  and  also 
The  hegge  as  thicke  as  a  castle  walle, 
That  who  that  list  without  to  stond  or  go. 
Though  he  wold  al  day  prien  to  and  fro, 
He  should  not  see  if  there  were  any  wight 
"Within  or  no  ;  but  one  within  wel  might 

Perceive  all  tho  thot  yeden  there  withoute 
In  the  field,  that  was  on  every  side 
Covered  with  corn  and  grasse ;  that  out  of 

doubt. 
Though  one  wold  seeke  alle  the  world  wide. 
So  rich  a  fielde  cold  not  be  espide 
On  no  coast,  as  of  the  quantit}' ; 
For  of  alle  good  thing  there  was  plenty. 

And  I  that  al  this  pleasaunt  sight  sie. 
Thought  sodainely  I  felt  so  swete  an  aire 
Of  the  eglenter'e,  that  certainely 
There  is  no  herte,  I  deme,  in  such  dispaire, 
Ne  with  thoughtes  froward  and  contraire 
So  overlaid,  but  it  should  soone  have  bote. 
If  it  had  ones  felt  this  savour  sole. 

And  as  I  stood  and  cast  aside  mine  eie, 

I  was  ware  of  the  fairest  medler  tree. 

That  ever  yet  in  alle  my  life  I  sie, 

As  ful  of  blossomes  as  it  might  be ; 

Therein  a  goldfinch  leaping  pretile 

Fro  bough  to  bough  ;  and,  as  him  list,  he  eet 

Here  and  there  of  buddes  and  floures  swete. 

And  to  the  herber  side  was  joyninge 
This  faire  tree,  of  which  I  have  you  tolde, 
And  at  the  laste  the  brid  began  to  singe, 
"Whan  he  had  eeten  what  he  ete  wolde, 
So  passing  swetely,  that  by  manifolde 


It  was  more  pleasaunt  than  I  coud  devise. 
And  whan  his  song  was  ended  in  this  wise, 

The  nightingale  with  so  mery  a  note 
Answered  him,  that  al  the  wood  ronge 
So  sodainely,  that  as  it  were  a  sote, 
I  stood  astonied ;   so  was  I  with  the  i-jnn 
Thorow  ravished,  that  til  late  and  longe, 
I  ne  wist  in  what  place  I  Avas,  ne  where ; 
And  ayen,  me  thought,  she  songe  ever  bj 
mine  ere. 

Wherefore  I  waited  about  busily. 
On  every  side,  if  I  her  might  see ; 
And,  at  the  laste,  I  gan  ful  wel  aspy 
Where  she  sat  in  a  fresh  grene  laurer  tree, 
On  the  further  side,  even  right  by  me. 
That  gave  so  passinge  a  delicious  sraelle, 
According  to  the  eglentere  ful  welle. 

Whereof  I  had  so  inly  great  pleasure, 
That,  as  me  thought,  I  surely  ravished  was 
Into  Paradise,  where  my  desire 
Was  for  to  be,  and  no  ferther  passe 
As  for  that  day ;  and  on  the  sote  grasse 
I  sat  me  downe  ;  for,  as  for  mine  entent. 
The  briddes  song  was  more  convenient, 

And  more  pleasaunt  to  me  by  many  folde, 
Than  meat  or  drinke,  or  any  other  thinge. 
Thereto  the  herber  was  so  fresh  and  colde, 
The  wljolesome  savours  eke  so  comfortinge, 
That,  as  I  demed,  sith  the  beginninge 
Of  the  world  was  never  scene  or  than 
So  pleasaunt  a  ground  of  none  earthly  man. 

And  as  I  sat,  the  brids  hearkening  thus, 
Me  thought  that  I  heard  voices  sodainely, 
The  most  sweetest  and  most  delicious 
That  ever  any  wight,  I  trowe  truely, 
Heard  in  their  life  ;  for  the  armony 
And  sweet  accord  was  in  so  good  musike, 
That  the  voice  to  angels  most  was  like. 

At  the  last,  out  of  a  grove  even  by. 
That  was  right  goodly  and  pleasaunt  to  sight, 
I  sie  where  there  came,  singing  lustily, 
A  world  of  ladies  ;  but,  to  tell  aright 
Their  grete  beauty,  it  lieth  not  in  my  might, 
Ne  their  array  ;  neverthelesse  I  shalle 
Telle  you  a  part,  though  I  speake  not  of  alle. 


THE  rLOY\"ER  AXD  THE  LEAF. 


For  than  I  might  avise  hem  one  by  one, 
Who  fairest  was,  who   cond  best  dance  or 

singe, 
Or  who  most  womanly  was  in  alio  thinge. 

They  had  not  daunced  but  a  little  throwe, 

Whan  that  I  hearde  ferre  of  sodaiuely. 

So  great  a  noise  of  thundering  trumpes  blowe^ 

As  though  it  should  have  departed  the  skie 

And,  after  that,  within  a  while  I  sie. 

From  the  same  grove  where  the  ladies  came 

oute. 
Of  men  of  armes  cominge  such  a  route, 

As  alle  the  men  on  earth  had  been  assembled 
In  that  place,  wele  horsed  for  the  nones, 
Steriuge  so  fast,  that  al  the  earth  trembled : 
But  for  to  speke  of  riches  and  of  stones. 
And  men  and  horse,  I  trowe  the  large  wones, 
Of  Prestir  John,  ne  all  his  tresory. 
Might  not  unneth  have  boght  the  tenth  party 

Of  their  array  :  who  so  list  heare  more, 

I  shal  rehearse  so  as  I  can  a  lite. 

Out  of  the  grove,  that  I  spake  of  before, 

I  sie  come  firste,  al  in  their  clokes  white, 

A  company,  that  ware,  for  their  delite, 

Chapelets  freshe  of  okes  serialle, 

Newly  sprong,  and  trumpets  they  were  alle. 

On  every  trumpe  hanging  a  broad  banere 
Of  fine  tartarium  Avere  ful  richely  bete  ; 
Every  trumpet  his  lordes  armes  here  ; 
About  their  neckes,  with  great  pearles  sete, 
Collers  brode ;  for  cost  they  would  not  lete. 
As  it  would  seem,  for  their  scochones  echone, 
Wei"e  set  aboute  with  many  a  precious  stone. 

Their  horse  harneis  was  al  white  also. 
And  after  them  next  in  one  company, 
Came  kinges  of  armes,  and  no  mo. 
In  clokes  of  white  cloth  of  gold  richely  , 
Chapelets  of  grccne  on  their  hedes  on  hie ; 
The  crownes  that  they  on  tlich  scochones  here 
Were  sette  with  pearle,  ruby,  and  saphere, 

And  eke  great  diamondes  many  one : 
But  al  their  horse  harneis  and  other  gere 
Was  in  a  sute  accordinge,  everichone, 
And,  God  wot,  me  thought  I  was  wel  bigone ;  |  As  ye  have  herd  the  foresaid  trumpetes  were; 


The  surcotes  white,  of  velvet  wele  sittinge, 

They  were  in  cladde,  and  the  semes  echone, 

As  it  were  a  manere  garnishinge. 

Was  set  with  emerauds,  one  and  one, 

By  and  by  ;  but  many  a  riche  stone 

Was  set  on  the  purfiles,  out  of  doute, 

Of  collers,  sieves,  and  traines  round  aboute. 

As  grete  pearles,  rounde  and  orient, 

Diamondes  fine,  and  rubies  redde, 

And  many  another  stone,  of  which  I  went 

The  names  now  ;  and  everich  on  her  hedde 

A  rich  fret  of  gold,  which  without  dread. 

Was  ful  of  stately  riche  stones  set ; 

And  every  lady  had  a  chapelet 

On  her  hedde  of  branches  fresh  and  grene, 
So  wele  wrought  and  so  marvelously, 
That  it  was  a  noble  sight  to  seue ; 
Some  of  laurer,  and  some  ful  pleasauntly 
Had  chapelets  of  woodbind,  and  saddely 
Some  of  agnus  castus  ware  also 
Chapelets  freshe;  but  there  were  many  of  tho 

That  daunced  and  eke  songe  ful  soberly. 
But  alle  they  yede  in  manner  of  compace ; 
But  one  there  yede  in  mid  the  company, 
Sole  by  her  selfe ;  but  alle  followed  the  pace 
That  she  kepte,  whose  hevenly  figured  face 
So  pleasaunt  was,  and  her  wele  shape  person, 
That  of  beauty  she  past  hem  everichon. 

And  more  richly  beseene,  by  many  folde, 
Slie  was  also  in  every  maner  thing  : 
On  her  hedde  ful  pleasaunt  to  beholde, 
A  crowne  of  golde  rich  for  any  king : 
A  braunch  of  agnus  castus  eke  bearing 
In  her  hand ;  and  to  my  sight  truelj 
She  lady  was  of  the  company. 

And  she  began  a  roundel  lustely. 
That  '■'■  Suse  lefoyle,  deters  moy^''  men  calle, 
'■'■  Siene  et  monjoly  couer  est  endorviy^'''' 
And  than  the  company  answered  alle, 
AVith  voices  sweet  entuned,  and  so  smale. 
That  mc  thought  it  the  sweetest  melody 
That  ever  I  heard  in  my  life  sothly. 

And  thus  they  came,  dauncinge  and  singinge, 
Into  the  middes  of  tlie  mede  echone. 
Before  the  herber  where  I  was  sittinge ; 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 


And  by  sceminge,  they  Avere  nothing  to  Icro,  I  Sonie  of  hanthorne,  and  some  of  the  wood 


And  their  giiidiuge  they  did  so  manerly. 
And,  after  hem,  came  a  great  company 

Of  heraudes  and  pursevauntes  eke, 
Arraiod  in  clothes  of  white  velvette, 
And,  liardily,  they  were  no  thing  to  seke, 
How  they  on  them  should  the  harneis  sette  ; 
And  every  man  had  on  a  chapelet ; 
Scochones,  and  eke  harneis,  indede, 
They  had  in  sate  of  hem  that  fore  hem  yede. 

Next  after  hem  came,  in  armour  bright 
All  save  their  heades,  seemely  knightes  nine; 
And  every  claspe  and  naile,  as  to  my  sight. 
Of  their  harneis  were  of  rad  golde  fine  ; 
With  cloth  of  gold,  and  furred  with  ermine 
Were  the  trappoures  of  their  stedes  stronge, 
Wide  and  large,  that  to  the  ground  did  honge. 

And  every  bosse  of  bridle  and  paitrel 
That  they  had,  was  worth,  as  I  wold  wene, 
A  thousand  pounde  ;  and  on  their  heddes,  wel 
Dressed,  were  crownes  of  laurer  grene. 
The  best  made  that  ever  I  had  sene  ; 
And  every  knight  had  after  him  ridinge 
Three  henchemen  on  hem  awaitinge. 

Of  whiche  every  first,  on  a  short  tronchoun, 
His  lordes  helme  bare,  so  richly  dight. 
That  the  worst  Avas  worthe  the  ransouu 
Of  any  king ;  the  second  a  shield  bright 
Bare  at  his  backe ;  the  thred  bare  upright 
A  mighty  spere.  full  sharpe  ground  and  kene. 
And  every  childe  n'are  of  leaves  grene 

A  fresh  6hapelet  upon  his  haires  bright ; 
And  clokes  Avhite  of  fine  velvet  they  ware  ; 
Their  steedes  trapjied  and  raied  right. 
Without  diflerence,  as  their  lordes  were  ; 
And  after  hem,  on  many  a  fresh  corsere. 
There  came  of  armed  knightes  sucb  a  route, 
That  they  besprad  the  large  field  aboute. 

And  al  they  Avare,  after  their  degi'ces, 
Chapelets  ncAve  made  of  laurer  grene; 
Some  of  the  oke,  and  stme  of  other  trees, 
Some  in  their  bonds  ba^-e  boughes  shene, 
Some  of  laurer,  and  some  of  okes  kene, 


binde, 
And  many  mo  Avhich  I  had  not  in  minde. 

And  so  they  came,  their  horses  freshcly  ster- 

inge, 
With  bloody  soAvnes  of  hir  trompes  loude ; 
There  sie  I  many  an  uncouth  disguisinge 
In  the  array  of  these  knightes  proude. 
And  at  the  last,  as  evenly  as  they  coude. 
They  took  their  places  in  middes  of  the  mede, 
And  every  knight  turned  his  horses  hede 

To  bis  fellow,  and  lightly  laid  a  spere 

In  the  rest ;  and  so  justes  began 

On  every  part  about,  here  and  there ; 

Some  brake  his  spere,  some  drcAv  doAvn  hors 

and  man ; 
About  the  field  astray  the  steedes  ran : 
And,  to  behold  their  rule  and  governaunce, 
I  you  ensure,  it  was  a  great  pleasaunce. 

And  so  the  justes  laste  an  houre  and  more ; 
But  tlio  that  crowned  were  in  laurer  grene 
Wanne  the  prise ;  their  dintes  was  so  sore. 
That  there  was  none  ayent  hem  might  sustene: 
And  the  justinge  al  was  left  off  clene. 
And  fro  their  horse  the  ninth  alight  anone, 
And  so  did  al  the  remnant  everichone. 

And  forth  they  yede  togider,  twain  and  twain 
That  to  beholde  it  was  a  Avorthy  sight, 
Toward  the  ladies  on  the  grene  plain. 
That  songe  and  daunced,  as  I  said  noAV  right 
The  ladies,  as  soone  as  they  goodly  miglit, 
They  brake  of  both  the  song  and  daunce, 
And  yede  to  meet  hem  with  ful  glad  sem- 
blaunce. 

And  every  lady  tooke,  ful  Avomanly', 
By  the  bond  a  knight,  and  forth  they  yede 
Unto  a  faire  laurer  that  stood  fast  by. 
With  levis  lade,  the  boughes  of  grete  brede ; 
And  to  my  dome  there  never  was,  indede, 
Man  that  had  scene  halfe  so  faire  a  tre ; 
For  underneath  there  might  it  well  have  be 

An  hundred  persones,  at  their  owne  i:)lesaimce, 
ShadoAved  fro  the  hete  of  Phebus  bright,  ' 
So  that  they  sholde  have  felt  no  grevaunce 
Of  raine  ne  haile  that  hem  hurte  might. 
The  savour  eke  rejoice  Avould  any  Avight 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF, 


That  had  be  sicke  or  melancolious, 
It  was  so  very  good  and  vertuous. 

And  with  great  reverence  they  inclined  lowe 
To  the  tree  so  soote,  and  faire  of  hewe ; 
And  after  that,  within  a  little  throwe, 
They  began  to  singe  and  daunce  of  newe 
Some  songe  of  love,  some  plaininge  of  untrewe, 
Environinge  the  tree  that  stood  upright ; 
And  ever  yede  a  lady  and  a  knight. 

And  at  the  last  I  cast  mine  eye  aside, 
And  was  ware  of  a  lusty  company 
That  come  rominge  out  of  the  field  wide, 
Hond  in  bond  a  knight  and  a  lady ; 
The  ladies  all  in  surcotes,  that  ricbely 
Purfiled  were  with  many  a  riche  stone, 
And  every  knight  of  grene  ware  mantles  on, 

Embrouded  wel  so  as  the  surcotes  were  : 
And  everich  had  a  chapelet  on  her  hedde, 
Which  did  right  well  upon  the  shining  here, 
Made  of  goodly  floures  white  and  redde ; 
The  knightes  eke,  that  they  in  honde  ledde. 
In  sute  of  hem  ware  chapelets  everichone, 
And  before  hem  went  minstreles  many  one. 

As  harpes,  pipes,  lutes,  and  sautry, 

Allc  in  greene ;  and  on  their  heades  bare. 

Of  divers  floures,  made  ful  craftely, 

Al  in  a  sute,  goodly  chapelets  they  ware ; 

And,  so  dauncinge  into  the  mede  they  fare. 

In  mid  the  which  they  foun  a  tuft  that  was 

Al  oversprad  with  floures  in  corapas. 

Whereto  they  enclined  everichone 

With  great  reverence,  and  that  ful  humbly ; 

And,  at  the  laste,  there  began  anono 

A  lady  for  to  singe  right  womanly 

A  bargeret  in  praising  the  daisie; 

For,  as  me  thouglit,  among  her  notes  swete, 

She  said  '■^Si  douce  est  la  Margaretc.'''' 

Than  they  alle  answered  her  in  fere, 
So  passingely  wel,  and  so  pleasauntly, 
That  it  was  a  blisful  noise  to  here. 
But,  I  not  how,  it  happed  sodainely 
As  about  noone,  the  sunne  so  fervently 
Waxe  bote,  tliat  the  prety  tender  floures 
Had  lost  the  beauty  of  hir  fresh  colourcs, 


Forshronke  with  heat ;  the  ladies  eke  to-brent, 
That  they  ne  wiste  where  they  hem  might 

bestowe ; 
The  knightes  swelt,  for  lack  of  shade  nie  shent ; 
And  after  that,  within  a  little  throwe. 
The  wind  began  so  sturdily  to  blowe. 
That  down  goeth  all  the  floures  everichone. 
So  that  in  al  the  mede  there  left  not  one ; 

Save  such  as  succoured  were  among  the  leves 
Fro  every  storme  that  might  hem  assaile, 
Growinge  under  the  hegges  and  thicke  greves ; 
And  after  that  there  came  a  storme  of  haile 
And  raine  in  fere,  so  that,  withouten  faile. 
The  ladies  ne  the  knightes  nade  o  threed 
Drie  on  them,  so  dropping  was  hir  weed. 

And  whan  the  storm  was  cleane  passed  away, 
Tho  in  white  that  stoode  under  the  tree, 
They  felte  nothing  of  the  grete  affray. 
That  they  in  gi'eene  withoute  had  in  ybe ; 
To  them  they  yede  for  routhe  and  pite, 
Them  to  comforte  after  their  great  disease. 
So  faine  they  were  the  helplesse  for  to  ease. 

Than  I  was  ware  hoAV  one  of  hem  in  grene 
Had  on  a  crowne,  rich  and  wel  sittinge ; 
Wherefore  I  demed  wel  she  was  a  queue. 
And  tho  in  grene  on  her  were  awaitinge ; 
The  ladies  then  in  white  that  were  comminge 
Toward  them,  and  the  knightes  in  fere, . 
Began  to  comforte  hem,  and  make  hem  cliere. 

The  queen  in  white,  that  Avas  of  grete  beauty, 
Took  by  the  hond  the  queen  that  was  in  grene, 
And  said,  "Suster,  I  have  right  great  pity 
Of  your  annoy,  and  of  the  troublous  tene, 
Wherein  ye  and  your  company  have  bene 
So  longe,  alas !  and  if  that  it  you  please 
To  go  with  me,  I  shall  do  you  the  ease, 

"  In  all  the  pleasure  that  I  can  or  may ; " 
Whereof  the  other,  humbly  as  she  might. 
Thanked  her ;  for  in  right  il  array 
She  was  with  storm  and  heat,  I  you  behight 
And  every  lady,  then  anone  right. 
That  wore  in  white,  one  of  them  took  in  grene 
By  the  hond ;  Avhicli  whan  the  knights  had 
sene. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


In  like  Avise  eeli  of  tliem  tooke  u  kniglit 
Claddo  in  greene,  and  fortlie  with  hem  they 

fare, 
To  an  hegge,  where  they  anon  right, 
To  make  their  justes,  they  wolde  not  spare 
Bonghes  to  hewe  down,  and  eke  trees  sqnare, 
Wherwith  they  made  hem  stately  fires  grete, 
To  drye  their  clothes  that  were  wringinge 

wete. 

And  after  that,  of  herbes  that  there  grewe. 
They  made,  for  blisters  of  the   sunne  bi'cn- 

ninge. 
Very  good  and  wholesome  ointmentes  new. 
Wherewith  they  yede  the  sick  fast  anointinge ; 
And  after  that  they  yede  about  gaderinge 
Pleasannt  salades,  which  they  made  hem  ete, 
For  to  refreshe  their  great  unkindly  hete. 

The  lady  of  the  Leafe  than  began  to  praye 
Her  of  the  Floure  (for  so  to  my  seeminge 
They  sholde  be,  as  by  their  ari'aye) 
To  soupe  with  her,  and  eke,  for  any  thinge, 
That  she  shold  with  her  alle  her  people  bringe : 
And  she  ayen,  in  right  goodly  manere, 
Thanked  her  of  her  most  friendly  chere, 

Saying  plainely,  that  she  would  obaye 
With  all  her  herte,  all  her  commaundement ; 
And  then  anon,  without  lenger  delaye, 
The  lady  of  the  Leafe  hath  one  ysent. 
For  a  palfray,  after  her  intent. 
Arrayed  wel  and  faire  in  harneis  of  gold. 
For  nothing  lacked,  that  to  him  long  shold. 

And  after  that,  to  al  her  company 
She  made  to  purveye  horse  and  every  thinge 
That  they  needed ;  and  than  ful  lustily. 
Even  by  the  herber  where  I  was  sittinge 
They  passed  alle,  so  pleasantly  singinge. 
That  it  would  have  comforted  any  wight. 
But  than  I  sie  a  passing  wonder  sight ; 

For  than  the  nightingale,  that  al  the  day 
Had  in  the  laurer  sate,  and  did  her  might 
The  whole  service  to  singe  longing  to  May, 
All  sodainely  began  to  take  her  flight ; 
And  to  the  lady  of  the  Leafe,  forthright, 
She  flew,  and  set  her  on  her  bond  softely. 
Which  was  a  thing  I  ui-rveled  of  gretely. 

The  goldfinch  eke,  that  fro  the  medler  tree 
Was  fled  for  heat  into  the  bushes  colde. 


Unto  the  lady  of  the  Floure  gan  flee. 
And  on  her  bond  he  sit  him  as  he  wolde, 
And  pleasauntly  his  winges  gan  to  fold ; 
And  for  to  singe  they  pained  hem  both,  as  sore 
As  they  had  do  of  al  the  day  before. 

And  so  these  ladies  rode  forth  a  great  pace, 
And  al  the  rout  of  knightes  eke  in  fere ; 
And  I  that  had  seen  al  this  wonder  case, 
Thought  I  wold  assaye  in  some  manere, 
To  know  fully  the  trouth  of  this  matere ; 
And  what  they  were  that  rode  so  pleasauntly. 
And  whan  they  were  the  herber  passed  by, 

I  drest  me  forth,  and  happed  to  mete  anone 
Eight  a  faire  lady,  I  do  you  ensure ; 
And  she  came  riding  by  herselfe  alone, 
Alle  in  white ;  with  semblance  ful  demure, 
I  salued  her,  and  bad  good  aventure 
Might  her  befalle,  as  I  coud  most  humbly ; 
And    she    answered,    "  My   doughter,    gra- 
mercy ! " 

"Madame,"  quoth  I,  "if  that  I  durst  enquere 
Of  you,  I  woiild  faine,  of  that  company, 
Wite  what  they  be  that  past  by  this  arbere? " 
And  she  ayen  answered  right  friendely : — 
"My  faire   doughter,    alle  tho  that  passed 

here  by 
Li  white  clothing,  be  servaunts  everichone 
Unto  the  Leafe,  and  I  my  selfe  am  one. 

"See  ye  not  her  that  crowned  is,"  quoth  she, 
"Alle  in  white?"— "Madame,"  quoth  I,  "yes:" 
"That  is  Diane,  goddesse  of  chastite ; 
And  for  because  that  she  a  maiden  is. 
In  her  honde  the  braunch  she  beareth  this, 
That  agnns  castas  men  calle  properly; 
And  alle  the  ladies  in  her  company, 

"Which  ye  se  of  that  herbe  chapelets  weare. 
Be  such  as  ban  kept  alway  hir  maidenheed : 
And  alle  they  that  of  laurer  chapelets  beare, 
Be  such  as  hardy  were,  and  manly  in  deed, — 
Victorious  name  which  never  may  be  dede! 
And  alle  they  were  so  worthy  of  hir  bond, 
In  hir  time,  that  none  might  hem  withstond. 

"And  tho  that  weare  chapelets  on  their  hede 
Of  fresh  woodbinde,  be  such  as  never  were 
To  love  untrue  in  word,  thought,  ne  dede, 
But  aye  stedfast;  ne  for  pleasaunce,  ne  fere, 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 


Though  that  they  should  their  hertes  all  to- 

tere, 
Would  never  flit  but  ever  were  stedfast, 
Til  that  their  lives  there  asunder  brast." 

"Now  faire  Madame,"  quoth  I,  "yet  I  would 

praye 
Your  ladiship,  if  that  it  mighte  be, 
That  I  might  knowe  by  some  maner  wave, 
(Sith  that  it  hath  liked  your  beaute, 
The  trouth  of  these  ladies  for  to  tell  me  ;) 
What  that  these  knightes  be  in  rich  armour, 
And  what  tho  be  in  grene  and  weare  the  flour? 

"And  why  that  some  did  reverence  to  that 

tre, 
And  some  unto  the  plot  of  floures  faire  ? " 
"With  right  good  will,  my  faire  doughter," 

quoth  she, 
"Sith  your  desire  is  good  and  debonaire  ; 
The  nine  crowned  be  very  exemplaire 
Of  al  honour  longing  to  chivalry ; 
And  those  certaine  be  called  the  Nine  Worthy, 

"Which  ye  may  see  now  ridinge  alle  before. 
That  in  hir  time  did  many  a  noble  dede. 
And  for  their  worthines  ful  oft  have  bore 
The  crowne  of  laurer  leaves  on  their  hede, 
As  ye  may  in  your  olde  bookes  rede ; 
And  how  that  he  that  was  a  conquerour, 
Had  by  laurer  alway  his  most  honour. 

"And  tho  that  beare  bowes  in  their  honde 
Of  the  precious  laurer  so  notable, 
Be  such  as  were,  I  wol  ye  understonde, 
Noble  knightes  of  the  round  table, 
And  eke  the  Douseperis  honourable, 
Which  they  beare  in  signe  of  victory ; 
It  is  witnesse  of  their  deedes  mightily. 

"Eek  there  be  knightes  olde  of  the  garter. 
That  in  hir  time  did  right  worthily  ; 
And  the  honour  they  did  to  the  laurer, 
Is  for  by  it  they  have  their  laud  wholly. 
Their  triumph  eke,  and  martial  glory ; 
Which  unto  them  is  more  parfite  richcssc. 
Than  any  wight  imagine  can  or  gesse. 

"For  one  leafe,  given  of  that  noble  tree 
To  any  wight  that  hath  done  worthily. 
And  it  be  done  so  as  it  ought  to  be. 
Is  more  honour  than  any  thing  earthly; 
6 


Witnes  of  Rome  that  founder  was  truly 
Of  alle  knighthood  and  deeds  marvelous ; 
Record  I  take  of  Titus  Livius. 

"And  as  for  her  that  crowned  is  in  greene. 
It  is  Flora,  of  these  floures  goddesse ; 
And  all  that  here  on  her  awaiting  beene. 
It  are  such  folk  that  loved  idlenesse. 
And  not  delite  in  no  businesse. 
But  for  to  hunte  and  hauke,  and  pleye  in 

medes. 
And  many  other  suchlike  idle  dedes. 

"And  for  the  great  delite  and  pleasaunce 
They  have  to  the  floure,  and  so  reverently 
They  unto  it  do  such  obeisaunce. 
As   ye   may   se." — "  Now  faire   Madame," 

quoth  I, 
"If  I  durst  aske,  what  is  the  cause  and  why. 
That  knightes  have  the  ensigne  of  honour, 
Rather  by  the  leafe  than  the  floure  ? " 

"  Soothly,  doughter,"  quod  she,  "this  is  the 

trouth : — 
For  knightes  ever  should  be  persevering. 
To  seeke  honour  without  feintise  or  slouth. 
Fro  wele  to  better  in  all  manner  thinge ; 
In  signe  of  which,  with  leaves  aye  lastinge. 
They  be  rewarded  after  their  degre. 
Whose  lusty  grene  may  not  appaired  be, 

"  But  aie   keping  their   beaute   fresh    and 

greene ; 
For  there  nis  storme  that  may  hem  deface, 
Ilaile  nor  snow,  winde  nor  frostes  kene ; 
Wherfore  they  have  this  property  and  grace. 
And  for  the  floure,  within  a  little  space 
WoUe  be  lost,  so  simple  of  nature 
They  be,  that  they  no  greevance  may  endure ; 

"And  every  storme  will  blowe  them  soone 

awaye, 
Ne  they  laste  not  but  for  a  sesonc ; 
That  is  the  cause,  the  very  trouth  to  saye. 
That  tliey  may  not,  by  no  way  of  resone. 
Be  put  to  no  such  occupation." 
"  Madame,"  quoth  I,  "  with  al  mine  Avhok 

seiwise 
I  thanke  you  now,  in  my  most  humble  wise ; 

"For  now  I  am  ascertained  thurghly, 
Of  every  thing  that  I  desired  to  knowe." 
"I  am  right  glad  that  I  have  said,  sothly, 


10 


rOEMS    or    NATURE. 


Ouglit  to  your  pleasure,  if  ye  wille  me  trowe," 
Quod  she  aj'en,  "but  to  whom  do  ye  owe 
Your  service?    And  wliich  wille  ye  lionoure, 
Tel  me  I  pray,  this  yere,  the  Leafe  or  the 
rioure?" 


" though 


I  he  least 


"  Madame,"   quoth 

worthy, 
Unto  the  Leafe  I  owe  mine  observaunce : " 
"  That  is,"  quod  she,  "  right  wcl  done   cer- 
tainly ; 
And  I  pray  God  to  honour  you  avaunce. 
And  kepe  you  fro  the  wicked  remembraunce 
Of  Malebouche,  and  all  his  crueltie. 
And  alle  that  good  and  well  conditioned  be. 

"For  here  may  I  no  lenger  now  abide, 

I  must  foUowe  the  great  company, 

That  ye  may  see  yonder  before  you  ride." 

And  forth,  as  I  couth,  most  humbly, 

I  tooke  my  leve  of  her,  as  she  gan  hie 

After  them  as  faste  as  ever  she  might , 

And  I  drow  homeward,  for  it  was  nigh  night, 

And  put  al  that  I  had  scene  in  writing. 
Under  support  of  them  that  lust  it  to  rede. 
O  little  booke,  thou  art  so  unconning, 
How  darst  thou  put  thy  self  in  prees  for  drede? 
It  is  wonder  that  thou  wexest  not  rede ! 
Sith  that  thou  wost  ful  lite  who  shall  behold 
Thy  rude  langage,  ful  boistously  imfold. 

Geoffrey  Chaticee. 


DESCRIPTION^  OF  SPRHS^G. 

The  soote  season,  that  bud  and  bloom  forth 
brings, 
"With  green  hath  clad  the  hill,  and  eke  the 
vale ; 
The  nightingale  with  feathers  new  she  sings ; 
The  turtle  to  her  make  hath  told  her  tale. 
Summer  is  come,  for  every  spray  now  springs ; 
The  hart  hath  hung  his  old  head  on  the 
pale. 
The  buck  in  brake  his  winter  coat  he  fiings  ; 

The  fishes  flete  with  new  repaired  scale  ; 
The  adder  all  her  slough  away  she  flings  ; 
The  swift  swallow  pursueth  the  flies  smale ; 


The  busy  bee  her  honey  now  she  mings  ; 

Winter  is  worn  that  was  the  flowres'  bale. 
And  thus  I  see  among  these  pleasnnt  things 
Each  care  decays,  and  yet  my  sorrow  springs. 

LOBD  SUEEEY. 


THE  AIRS  OF  SPRING. 

Sweetly  breathing,  vernal  air, 
That  with  kind  warmth  doth  repair 
Winter's  ruins ;  from  whose  breast 
All  the  gums  and  spice  of  th'  East 
Borrow  their  perfumes ;  whose  eye 
Gilds  the  morn,  and  clears  the  sky ; 
Whose  disheveled  tresses  shed 
Pearls  upon  the  violet  bed ; 
On  whose  brow,  with  calm  smiles  drest 
The  halcyon  sits  and  builds  her  nest ; 
Beauty,  youth,  and  endless  spring. 
Dwell  upon  thy  rosy  wing ! 

Thou,  if  stormy  Boreas  throws 
Down  whole  forests  when  he  blows, 
With  a  pregnant,  flowery  birth, 
Canst  refresh  the  teeming  earth. 
If  he  nip  the  early  bud ; 
If  he  blast  what's  fair  or  good ; 
If  he  scatter  our  choice  flowers ; 
If  he  shake  our  halls  or  bowers  ; 
If  his  rude  breath  threaten  us, 
Thou  canst  stroke  great  iEolus, 
And  from  him  the  grace  obtain, 
To  bind  him  in  an  iron  chain. 

Thomas  Carew. 


RETURN"  OF  SPRING. 

God  shield  ye,  heralds  of  the  spring, 
Ye  faithful  swallows,  fleet  of  wing, 

Houps,  cuckoos,  nightingales, 
Tui-tles,  and  every  wilder  bir^. 
That  make  your  hundred  chirpings  heard 

Through  the  green  woods  and  dales. 

God  shield  ye,  Easter  daisies  all. 
Fair  roses,  buds,  and  blossoms  small, 


EARLY    SPRIjS-G. 


11 


And  he  whom  erst  the  gore 
Of  Ajas  and  IsTarciss  did  print, 
Ye  wild  thyme,  anise,  balm,  and  mint, 

I  welcome  ye  once  more. 

God  shield  ye,  bright  embroidered  train 
Of  butterflies,  that  on  the  plain, 

Of  each  sweet  herblet  sip ; 
And  j'e,  new  swarms  of  bees,  that  go 
Where  the  pink  flowers  and  yellow  grow. 

To  kiss  them  with  yom*  lip. 

A  hundred  thousand  times  I  call 
A  hearty  welcome  on  ye  all : 
This  season  how  I  love — 
This  merry  din  on  every  shore — 
For  winds  and  storms,  whose  sullen  roar 

Forbade  my  steps  to  rove. 

PiEREE  EoNSAED  (French). 
Anonymous  Translation. 


SPE^G 


Dip  down  upon  the  northern  shore, 
O  sweet  new  year,  delaying  long ; 
Thou  doest  expectant  natm*e  wrong. 

Delaying  long ;  delay  no  more. 

What  stays  thee  from  the  clouded  noons, 
Thy  sweetness  from  its  proper  place  ? 
Can  trouble  live  with  April  days, 

Or  sadness  in  the  summer  moons  ? 

Bring  orchis,  bring  the  fox-glove  spire. 
The  little  speedwell's  darling  blue. 
Deep  tulips  dashed  with  fiery  dew, 

Laburnums,  droj^ping- wells  of  fire. 

0  thou,  new  year,  delaying  long, 
Delayest  the  sorrow  in  my  blood, 
That  longs  to  burst  a  frozen  bud, 

And  flood  a  fresher  throat  with  song. 


N'ow  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow ; 
Now  burgeons  every  maze  of  quick 
About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 

By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

Now  rings  the  woodland  loud  and  long, 
The  distance  takes  a  lovelier  hue, 


And  drowned  in  yonder  living  blu(^ 
The  lark  becomes  a  sightless  song. 

Now  dance  the  Hghts  on  lawn  and  lea, 
The  flocks  are  whiter  down  the  vale, 
And  milkier  every  milky  sail. 

On  winding  stream  or  distant  sea ; 

Where  now  the  seamew  pipes,  or  dives 
In  yonder  greening  gleam,  and  fly 
The  happy  birds,  that  change  their  sky 

To  build  and  brood,  that  live  their  lives 

From  land  to  land ;  and  in  my  breast 
Spring  wakens  too :  and  my  regret 
Becomes  an  April  violet. 

And  buds  and  blossoms  like  the  rest, 

Alfred  Tenntsoit. 


"WHEN  THE  HOUNDS  OF  SPEING." 

When  the  hounds  of  spring  are  on  winter's 
traces, 

The  mother  of  months  in  meadow  or  plain 
Fills  the  shadows  and  windy  places 

With  hsp  of  leaves  and  ripple  of  rain ; 
And  the  brown  bright  nightingale  amorous 
Is  half  assuaged  for  Itylus, 
For  the  Thracian  ships  and  the  foreign  faces ; 

The  tongueless  vigil,  and  all  the  pain. 

Come  with  bows  bent  and  with  emptying  of 
quivers, 
Maiden  most  perfect,  lady  of  light, 
With  a  noise  of  winds  and  many  rivers, 

With  a  clamor  of  waters,  and  with  might ; 
Bind  on  thy  sandals,  O  thou  most  fleet, 
Over  the  splendor  and  speed  of  thy  feet ! 
For  the  faint  east  quickens,  the  wan  west 
shivers. 
Round  the  feet  of  the  day  and  the  feet  of 
the  night. 

WTiere  shaU  we  find  her,  how  shall  we  sing 
to  her, 
Fold  our  hands  round  her  knees  and  ding? 
Oh  that  man's  heart  were  as  fire  and  could 
spring  to  her, 
Fire,  or  the  strength  of  the  streams  that 
spring ! 


12 


POEMS   OF  NATURE. 


For  the  stars  and  tlie  winds  are  nnto  licr 
As  raiment,  as  songs  of  the  harp-player ; 
For  the  risen  stars  and  the  fallen  cling  to  her, 
And  the  sontli-west  wind  and  the  west 
wind  sing. 

For  winter's  rains  and  ruins  are  over, 

And  all  the  season  of  snows  and  sins; 
The  days  dividing  lover  and  lover, 

The  light  that  loses,  the  night  that  wins ; 
And  time  remembered  is  grief  forgotten. 
And  frosts  are  slain  and  flowers  begotten, 
Ajid  in  green  underwood  and  cover 
Blossom  by  blossom  the  spring  begins. 

The  full  streams  feed  on  flower  of  rushes. 
Ripe  grasses  trammel  a  travelling  foot, 
The  faint  fresh  flame  of  the  young  year  flushes 

From  leaf  to  flower  and  flower  to  fruit ; 
And  fruit  and  leaf  are  as  gold  and  fire, 
And  the  oat  is  heard  above  the  lyre, 
And  the  hoofed  heel  of  a  satyr  crushes 
The  chestnut-husk  at  the  chestnut-root. 

And  Pan  by  noon  and  Bacchus  by  night. 
Fleeter  of  foot  than  the  fleet-foot  kid. 
Follows  with  dancing  and  fills  with  dehght 

The  Maenad  and  the  Bassarid ; 
And  soft  as  lips  that  laugh  and  hide, 
The  laughing  leaves  of  the  trees  di\ide. 
And  screen  from  seeing  and  leave  in  sight 
The  god  pursuing,  the  maiden  hid. 

The  ivy  falls  with  the  Bacchanal's  hair 
Over  her  eyebrows  shading  her  eyes ; 

The  wild  vine  slipping  down  leaves  bare 
Her  bright  breast  shortening  into  sighs ; 

The  wild  vine  slips  with  the  weight  of  its 
leaves. 

But  the  berried  ivy  catches  and  cleaves 

To  the  limbs  that  glitter,  the  feet  that  scare 
The  wolf  that  follows,  the  fawn  that  flies. 
Algernon  Chaeles  Swinbitene. 


MAPvOH. 


The  cock  is  crowing, 
The  stream  is  flowing, 
The  small  birds  twitter, 
The  lake  doth  glitter. 
The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun ; 


The  oldest  and  youngest 
Are  at  work  with  the  strongest ; 
The  cattle  are  grazing, 
Their  heads  never  raismg ; 
There  are  forty  feeding  like  one ! 

Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated. 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill ; 
The  ploughboy  is  whooping — anon — anon! 

There  's  joy  on  the  mountains ; 

There  's  life  in  the  fountains ; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing. 

Blue  sky  prevailing  ; 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone ! 

"William  "Woedswobth. 


APRIL. 


Lessoxs  sweet  of  Sjaring  returning, 

Welcome  to  the  thoughtful  lieart ! 
May  I  call  ye  sense  or  learning. 

Instinct  pure,  or  heaven-taught  art  ? 
Be  your  title  what  it  may. 
Sweet  and  lengthening  April  day, 
While  with  you  the  soul  is  free. 
Ranging  wild  o'er  hill  and  lea ; 

Soft  as  Memnon's  harp  at  morning. 

To  the  inward  ear  devout. 
Touched  by  light  with  heavenly  warning, 

Your  transporting  chords  ring  out. 
Every  leaf  in  every  nook. 
Every  wave  in  every  brook, 
Chanting  with  a  solemn  voice. 
Minds  us  of  our  better  choice. 

Needs  no  show  of  mountain  hoary, 

Winding  shore  or  deepening  glen, 
Where  the  landscape  in  its  glory. 

Teaches  truth  to  wandering  men. 
Give  true  hearts  but  earth  and  sky, 
And  some  flowers  to  bloom  and  die, 
Homely  scenes  and  simple  views 
Lowly  thoughts  may  best  infuse. 

See  the  soft  green  willow  springing 
Where  the  waters  gently  pass. 

Every  way  her  free  arms  flinging 
O'er  the  moss  and  reedy  grass. 


APRIL.                                                                     IS 

Long  ere  winter  blasts  are  fled, 

Almond  blossom,  sent  to  teach  us 

See  her  tipped  -witli  vernal  red, 

That  the  spring-days  soon  wiU  reach  us. 

And  lier  kindly  floAver  displayed 

Lest,  with  longing  over-tried, 

Ere  her  leaf  can  cast  a  shade. 

"We  die  as  the  violets  died — 

Blossom,  clouding  all  the  tree 

Though  the  rudest  hand  assail  her, 

"With  thy  crimson  broidery. 

Patiently  she  droops  awhile. 

Long  before  a  leaf  of  green 

But  when  showers  and  breezes  hail  her, 

On  the  bravest  bough  is  seen ; 

"Wears  again  her  willing  smile. 

Ah !  when  winter  winds  are  swinging 

Thus  I  learn  contentment's  power 

All  thy  red  bells  into  ringing. 

From  the  slighted  wiUow  bower, 

"With  a  bee  in  every  bell. 

Eeady  to  give  thanks  and  live 

Almond  bloom,  we  greet  thee  well. 

On  the  least  that  Heaven  may  give. 

Edwin  Abnoliu 

If,  the  quiet  brooklet  leaving. 

Up  the  stormy  vale  I  wind. 

SPEIXG. 

.  Haply  half  in  fancy  grieving 

For  the  shades  I  leave  behind. 

Behold  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring, 

By  the  dusty  wayside  dear. 

Gives  to  the  breeze  her  scented  wing. 

Xightingales  with  joyous  cheer 

While  virgin  graces,  warm  with  May, 

Sing,  my  sadness  to  reprove, 

Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way. 

Gladlier  than  in  cultured  grove. 

The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 

Have  languished  into  silent  sleep ; 

Where  the  thickest  bows  are  twining 

And  mark !  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 

Of  the  greenest,  darkest  tree, 

Their  plumes  in  the  reflecting  wave ; 

There  they  plunge,  the  light  declining — 

"While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 

All  may  hear,  but  none  may  see. 

To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 

Feai-less  of  the  passing  hoof, 

Now  the  genial  star  of  day 

Hai'dly  will  they  fleet  aloof; 

Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away, 

So  they  live  in  modest  ways, 

And  cultured  field  and  winding  stream 

Trust  entire,  and  ceaseless  praise. 

Are  freshly  glittering  in  his  beam. 

John  Keble. 

Xow  the  earth  prolific  swells 

"With  leafy  buds  and  flowery  bells  ^ 
Gemming  shoots  the  Olive  twine ; 

Clusters  bright  festoon  the  vine; 

ALMOXD  BLOSSOM. 

All  along  the  branches  creeping. 

Blossom  of  the  almond-trees. 

Through  the  velvet  foliage  peeping. 

Little  infant  fruits  we  see 

April's  gift  to  April's  bees, 
Birthday  ornament  of  spring, 

Nursing  into  luxmy. 

Flora's  fairest  daughterhng ; — 

Translation  of  Thomas  Mooee.                     Anacreon. 

Coming  when  no  flowerets  dare 
Trust  the  cruel  outer  air  ; 

"When  the  royal  king-cup  bold 

SOXG :    ON  MAY  MOEXIXG. 

Dares  not  don  his  coat  of  gold ; 

And  the  sturdy  blackthorn  spray 

Now  the  briglit  morning  star,  day's  harbinger, 

Keeps  his  silver  for  the  May ; — 

Comes  dancing  from  the  east,  and  leads  with 

Coming  when  no  flowerets  would. 

her                                                            , 

Save  thy  lowly  sisterhood. 

The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap 

Early  violets,  blue  and  white, 

throws 

Dying  for  their  love  of  light. 

The  yellow  cowslip,  and  the  pale  primrose. 

u 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Hail,  bounteous  May,  that  doth  insph-e 
Mh-th,  aud  youth,  and  warm  desh-e ; 
Woods  and  groves  ai'o  of  tliy  dresshig, 
Hill  aad  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing. 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  song, 
And  welcome  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

John  Milton. 


A  DROP  OF  DEW. 

See  how  the  orient  dew. 
Shed  from  the  bosom  of  the  moru 
Into  the  blowing  roses, 
(Yet  careless  of  its  mansion  new 
For  the  clear  region  where  'twas  born) 
Eound  in  itself  incloses. 
And  in  its  little  globe's  extent 
Frames,  as  it  can,  its  native  element. 

How  it  the  purple  flower  does  slight, 

Scarce  touching  where  it  lies ; 
But  gazing  back  upon  the  skies. 
Shines  with  a  mornful  light. 
Like  its  own  tear, 
Because  so  long  divided  from  the  sphere ; 
Restless  it  rolls,  and  unsecure. 

Trembling,  lest  it  grow  impure ; 
Till  the  warm  sun  pities  its  pain. 
And  to  the  skies  exliales  it  back  again. 

So  the  soul,  that  drop,  that  ray, 
Of  the  clear  fountain  of  eternal  day. 
Could  it  within  the  human  flower  bo  seen. 
Remembering  still  its  former  height, 
Shuns  the  sweet  leaves  and  blossoms  green, 
And,  recollecting  its  own  light. 
Does,  in  its  pure  and  circling  thoughts,  express 
The  greater  heaven  in  a  heaven  less. 
In  how  coy  a  figure  wound. 
Every  way  it  turns  away ; 
So  the  world  excluding  round. 
Yet  receinng  in  the  day. 
Dark  beneath,  but  bright  above ; 
Here  disdaining,  there  in  love. 
How  loose  and  easy  hence  to  go ! 
How  girt  and  ready  to  ascend ! 
Mo^-ing  but  on  a  point  below, 
It  all  about  does  upwards  bend. 
Such  did  the  manna's  sacred  dew  distU, 
"White  and  entire,  although  congealed  and 
chiU— 


Congealed  on  earth,  but  does,  dissolving,  run 
Into  the  glories  of  the  ^Mmighty  sun. 

Andretv  Makveli, 


SONG. 

PncEsrs,  arise. 

And  paint  the  sable  skies    ' 

With  azure,  white,  and  red, 

Rouse  Memnon's  mother  from  her  Tython's 

bed. 
That  she  thy  career  may  with  roses  spread. 
The  nightingales  thy  coming  each  where  sing 
Make  an  eternal  spring. 
Give  life  to  this  dark  world  which  lieth  dead ; 
Spread  forth  thy  golden  hair 
In  larger  locks  than  thou  was  wont  before, 
And,  emperor -like,  decore 
With  diadem  of  pearl  thy  temples  fair : 
Chase  hence  the  ugly  night. 
Which  serves  but  to  make  dear  thy  glorious 

light. 
This  is  that  happy  morn, 
That  day,  long-wished  day. 
Of  all  my  life  so  dark, 
(If  cruel  stars  have  not  my  ruin  sworn. 
And  fates  my  hopes  betray,) 
Which,  purely  white,  deserves 
An  everlasting  diamond  should  it  mark. 
This  is  the  morn  should  bring  unto  this  grove 
My  love,  to  hear,  and  recompense  my  love. 
Fair  king,  who  all  preserves, 
But  show  thy  blushing  beams. 
And  thou  two  sweeter  eyes 
Shalt  see  than  those  which  by  Peneus'  streams 
Did  once  thy  heart  sm-prise : 
Nay,  suns,  which  sliine  as  clear 
As  thou  when  two  thou  didst  to  Rome  appear. 
Now,  Flora,  deck  thyself  in  fairest  guise. 
If  that  ye  winds  would  hear 
A  voice  surpassing,  far,  Amphion's  lyre. 
Your  furious  chiding  stay ; 
Let  Zephyr  only  breathe. 
And  with  her  tresses  play, 
Kissing  sometimes  those  purple  ports  of  death. 
The  winds  all  silent  are, 
And  Phoebus  in  his  chair 
Ensaffroning  sea  and  air. 
Makes  vanish  every  star : 
Night  like  a  drunkard  reels 


MAY. 


15 


Beyond  the  hills,  to  shun  his  flaming  wheels. 
The  fields  with  flowers  are  decked  in  every 

hue, 
The  clouds  with  orient  gold  spangle  their 

hlue: 
Here  is  the  pleasant  place. 
And  nothing  wanting  is,  save  she,  alas ! 

WrLLiAir  Deitmiioxd. 


SPRING. 


Now  the  lusty  Spring  is  seen ; 

Golden  yellow,  gaudy  blue, 

Daintily  innate  the  view. 
Everywhere,  on  every  green, 
Roses  blushing  as  they  blow. 

And  enticing  men  to  pull ; 
Lnies  whiter  than  the  snow ; 
Woodbines  of  sweet  honey  full — 

All  love's  emblems,  and  all  cry : 

Ladies,  if  not  plucked,  we  die ! 

BEArMONT  AND   PlETCHEE. 


MAY. 


I  FEEL  a  newer  life  in  every  gale ; 

The  winds  that  fan  the  flowers, 
And  with  their  welcome  breathings  fill  the  saU, 
TeU  of  serener  hours, — 
Of  hours  that  glide  unfelt  away 
Beneath  the  sky  of  May. 

The  spirit  of  the  gentle  south- wind  calls 
From  his  blue  throne  of  air. 
And  where  his  whispering  voice  in  music  falls. 
Beauty  is  budding  there ; 
The  bright  ones  of  the  valley  break 
Their  slumbers,  and  awake. 

The  waving  verdure  rolls  along  the  plain. 

And  the  wide  forest  weaves. 
To  welcome  back  its  playful  mates  again, 
A  canopy  of  leaves ; 
And  from  its  darkening  shadow  floats 
A  gush  of  trembling  notes. 

Fairer  and  brighter  spreads  the  reign  of  May ; 

The  tresses  of  the  woods 
"With  the  light  dallying  of  the  west-wind  play ; 

And  the  full-brimming  floods, 


As  gladly  to  their  goal  they  run, 


Hail  the  returning  sun. 


James  Gates  Percivai. 


SONG  TO  MAY. 

Mat!  queen  of  blossoms. 

And  fulfilling  flowers, 
With  what  pretty  music 

Shall  we  charm  the  hom-s  ? 
TVilt  thou  have  pipe  and  reed, 
Blown  in  the  open  mead? 
Or  to  the  lute  give  heed 

In  the  green  bowers  ? 

Thou  hast  no  need  of  us, 

Or  pipe  or  wire. 
That  hast  the  golden  bee 

Ripened  Avith  fire ; 
And  many  thousand  more 
Songsters,  that  thee  adore. 
Filling  earth's  grassy  floor 

With  new  desire. 

Thou  hast  thy  mighty  herds, 

Tame,  and  free  livers ; 
Doubt  not,  thy  music  too 

In  the  deep  rivers ; 
And  the  whole  plumy  flight. 
Warbling  the  day  and  night — 
Up  at  the  gates  of  light. 

See,  the  lark  quivers ! 

When  with  the  jacinth 

Coy  fountains  are  tressed : 

And  for  the  mournfid  bii-d 
Greenwoods  are  dressed. 

That  did  for  Tereus  pine ; 

Then  shall  our  songs  be  thine. 

To  whom  our  hearts  incline : 
May,  be  thou  blessed ! 

LoED  Thuei.ow, 


SUMMER  LONGINGS. 

Las  mananas  floridas 
De  Abril  y  j\Iayo. 

Caldebon. 

All !  my  heart  is  weary  waiting — 
Waiting  for  the  May — 
Waiting  for  the  pleasant  rambles, 
Where  the  fragrant  hawthorn  brambles, 


IG                                                      POEMS   OF 

NATURE. 

"With  tlie  -woodbine  alternating, 

On  lovers  long  lying. 

Scent  the  dewy  way. 

Cease  vowing  and  sighing* 

All !  my  heart  is  weary  waiting — 

The  night  is  nigh  gone. 

"Waiting  for  the  May. 

The  fields  are  o'erflowing 

Ah !  my  lieart  is  sick  with  longing, 

'SS'ith  gowans  all  glowing, 

Longing  for  the  May — 

And  white  hlies  growing. 

Longing  to  escape  from  study. 

A  thousand  as  one ; 

To  the  young  face  fair  and  ruddy, 

The  sweet  ring-dove  cooing, 

And  tlie  tliousand  charms  belonging 

His  love  notes  renewing. 

To  the  summer's  day. 

Now  moaning,  now  suing ; 

Ah !  my  heart  is  sick  with  longing. 

The  night  is  nigh  gone. 

Longing  for  the  May. 

The  season  excelling, 

Ah !  my  heart  is  sore  with  sighing, 

In  scented  flowers  smelling, 

Sighing  for  the  May — 

To  kind  love  compelling 

Sighing  for  their  sure  returning, 

Our  hearts  every  one ; 

When  the  summer  beams  are  burninc;, 

"With  sweet  ballads  moving 

07 

Hopes  and  dowers  that,  dead  or  dying. 

The  maids  we  are  loving. 

All  tlie  winter  lay. 

Mid  musing  and  roving 

Ah !  my  heart  is  sore  with  sighing, 

The  night  is  nigh  gone. 

Sighing  for  the  May. 

<• 

Of  war  and  fair  women 

Ah !  my  heart  is  pained  with  throbbing. 
Throbbing  for  the  May — 
Throbbing  for  the  sea-side  billows. 

The  young  knights  are  dreaming, 
"With  bright  breastplates  gleaming, 
And  plumed  helmets  on ; 

Or  the  water-wooing  willows ; 
"Where,  in  lauarhinff  and  in  sobbing, 

The  barbed  steed  neighs  lordly. 
And  shakes  his  mane  proudly. 

"     '-'5                 "     O             O    "                           ^  ■" '-'        Dj 

Glide  the  streams  away. 

For  war-trumpets  loudly 

Ah !  my  heart,  my  heart  is  throbbing. 

Say  night  is  nigh  gone. 

Throbbing  for  the  May. 

I  see  the  flags  flowing, 

The  warriors  all  glowing. 

"Waiting  sad,  dejected,  weary. 

And,  snorting  and  blowing, 

"Waiting  for  the  May : 

7                                 O                                                 O  7 

The  steeds  rushing  on ; 

Spring  goes  by  with  wasted  warnings — 

The  lances  are  crashing. 

Moonlit  evenings,  suubright  mornings — 

Out  broad  blades  come  flashing 

Summer  comes,  yet  dark  and  dreary 

Mid  shouting  and  dashing — 

Life  stiU  ebbs  away ; 

The  night  is  nigh  gone. 

Man  is  ever  weary,  weary, 

Alexandee  Montgomebt. 

Waiting  for  the  May ! 

Version  of  Allan  Cunningham. 

Denis  Flokence  McCarthy. 

4 

4 

MOENING  IN  LONDON. 

NIGHT  IS  NIGH  GONE. 

Eaeth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair : 

Het,  now  the  day 's  dawning ; 

Didl  would  he  be  of  soid  who  could  pass  by 

The  jolly  cock's  crowing; 

A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty : . 

The  eastern  sky 's  glowing ; 

This  city  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 

Stars  fade  one  by  one ; 

The  beauty  of  the  morning ;  silent,  bare. 

Tlie  thistle-cock 's  crying 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 

EARLY   SUMMER. 


11 


Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  tlie  sky, 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Xever  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep, 
In  his  first  splendor,  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 
]Sre'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 
The  river  ghdeth  at  his  own  sweet  will ; 
Dear  God !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep ; 
And  aU  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still ! 

"WlLLIAil  "WOEDS-WOETH. 


THE  SABBATH  MOROTNG. 

With  silent  awe  I  hail  the  sacred  morn. 

That  slowly  wakes  Avhile  aU  the  fields  are  still ! 

A  soothing  calm  on  every  breeze  is  borne ; 

A  graver  mm-mur  gurgles  from  the  rill ; 

And  echo  answers  softer  from  the  hill ; 

And  softer  sings  the  linnet  from  the  thorn : 

The  skylark  warbles  in  a  tone  less  shrill. 

Hail,  light  serene !  hail,  sacred  Sabbath  morn ! 

The  rooks  float  silent  by  in  airy  drove ; 

The  sun  a  placid  yellow  lustre  throws ; 

The  gales  that  lately  sighed  along  the  grove. 

Have  hushed  their  downy  wings  in  dead  re- 
pose; 

The  hovering  rack  of  clouds  forgets  to  move — 

So  smiled  the  day  when  the  first  morn  arose ! 

John  Letden. 


THEY  COME !  THE  MERRY  SUMMER 
MONTHS. 

TuEY  come!  the  merry  summer  moiiths  of 
beauty,  song,  and  flowers ; 

They  come!  the  gladsome  months  that  bring 
thick  leafiness  to  bowers. 

Up,  up,  my  heart !  and  walk  abroad ;  fling 
cark  and  care  aside ; 

Seek  silent  hills,  or  rest  thyself  where  peace- 
ful Avaters  glide ; 

Or,  underneath  tlic  shadow  vast  of  patri- 
archal tree. 

Scan  through  its  leaves  the  cloudless  sky  in 
rapt  tranquillity. 

The  grass  is  soft,  its  velvet  touch  is  .gratefifl 

to  the  hand ; 
And,  like  the  kiss  of  maiden  love,  the  breeze 

is  sweet  and  bland ; 

7 


The  daisy  and  the  buttercup  are  nodding 
courteously  ; 

It  stirs  their  blood  with  kindest  love,  to  bless 
and  welcome  thee ; 

And  mark  how  with  thine  own  thin  locks— 
they  now  are  silvery  gray — 

That  blissful  breeze  is  wantoning,  and  whis- 
pering, "  Be  gay !  " 

There  is  no  cloud  that  saOs  along  the  ocean 

of  yon  sky. 
But  hath  its  own  winged  mariners  to  give  it 

melody ; 
Thou  seest  their  glittering  fans  outspread,  all 

gleaming  like  red  gold ; 
And   hark!  with  shrill  pipe  musical,  their 

merry  course  they  hold. 
God  bless  them  all,  those  little  ones,  who,  far 

above  this  earth. 
Can  make  a  scofl['  of  its  mean  joys,  and  vent 

a  nobler  mirth. 

But  soft !  mine  ear  upcaught  a  sound, — from 

yonder  wood  it  came ! 
The  spirit  of  the  dim  green  glade  did  breathe 

his  own  glad  name : — 
Yes,  it  is  he!   the  hermit  bird,  that,  apart 

from  all  his  kind. 
Slow  spells  his  beads  monotonous  to  the  soft 

western  wind ; 
Cuckoo !  Cuckoo !  he  sings  again, — his  notes 

are  void  of  art ; 
But  simplest  strains  do   soonest  sound  the 

deep  founts  of  the  heart. 

Good  Lord !  it  is  a  gracious  boon  for  thought- 
crazed  wight  like  me. 

To  smell  again  these  summer  flowers  beneath 
this  summer  tree ! 

To  suck  once  more  in  every  breath  their  lit- 
tle souls  away, 

And  feed  my  fancy  with  fond  dreams  of 
youth's  bright  summer  day, 

When,  rushing  forth  like  untamed  colt,  the 
reckless,  truant  boy 

Wandered  through  greenwoods  all  day  long, 
a  mighty  heart  of  joy! 

I'm  sadder  now — I  have  had  cause ;  but  0  ! 

I'm  proud  to  think 
That  each  pure  joy-fount,  loved  of  yore,  I  ye* 

delight  to  drink ; — 


18 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Leaf,  blossom,  blade,  hill,  valley,  stream,  the 

calm,  imclouded  sky, 
Still  mingle  music  with  my  dreams,  as  in  tlie 

days  gone  by. 
TVhen  summer's  loveliness  and  hght  fall  round 

me  dark  and  cold, 

I'll  be.ar  indeed  life's  heaviest  curse, — a  heart 

that  hath  waxed  old ! 

William  Motherwell. 


MORNING. 

Haek — hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
IBs  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies : 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes ; 
"With  every  thing  that  pretty  bin. 

My  lady  sweet,  arise ; 

Arise,  arise; 

Shakespeaeb. 


TO  THE  SKYLARK. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  sph-it ! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher. 

From  the  earth  thou  springest. 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire ; 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest. 
And  singing  stUl  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever 
singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  setting  sun, 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightenmg. 
Thou  dost  float  and  run ; 
Like  an  embodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale,  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight ; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven. 
In  the  broad  daylight. 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill 
dehght. 


Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere. 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 

In  the  white  dawn  clear. 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare. 
From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven 
is  overflowed. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 

What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow-clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see. 
As  from   thy   presence   showers   a  rain  of 
melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 
Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded 
not ; 

Like  a  high-bom  maiden, 

In  a  palace  tower. 
Soothing  her  love-laden 
Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows 
her  bower ; 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden, 

In  a  dell  of  dew. 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass  which  screen  it 
from  the  view ; 

Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves. 
By  warm  winds  deflowered. 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy- 
winged  thieves. 

Soimd  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass. 
Rain-awakened  flowers, 
AH  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  fresh,  and  clear,  thy  music  doth 
surpass. 


THE   LARK. 


19 


Teach  us  sprite  or  bird 
"WTiat  sweet  thongMs  are  thine : 

I  have  never  heard 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal, 

Or  triumphant  chant, 
Matched  with  thine  woidd  be  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden 
want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains  ? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind  ?  what  ignorance 
of  pain  ? 

With  thy  clear,  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be ; 
Shades  of  annoyance 
Never  come  near  thee ; 
Thou  lovest,  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking,  or  asleep, 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  or  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream ; 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal 
stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not ; 
Our  sincerest  laughter 
With  some  pain  is  fraught ; 
Om*  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  sad- 
dest thought. 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear; 
If  we  were  things  born 
iJs'ot  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come 
near. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound ; 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the 
ground ! 


Teach  me  half  the  gladness 
That  thy  brain  must  know, 

Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow. 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  hsteu- 

Peect  Btssiie  Shelley. 


THE  LARK. 

Bird  of  the  wilderness. 
Blithesome  and  cumberless, 

Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea ! 
Emblem  of  happiness, 
Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place — 

Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee ! 
Wild  is  thy  lay,  and  loud. 
Far  in  the  downy  cloud ; 

Love  gives  it  energy — ^love  gave  it  birth ! 
Where,  on  thy  dewy  wing — 
Where  art  thou  journeying? 

Thy  lay  is  in  heaven — thy  love  is  on  earth. 

O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen. 
O'er  moor  and  mountain  green. 

O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day ; 
Over  the  cloudlet  dim. 
Over  the  rainbow's  rim. 

Musical  cherub,  soar,  singing,  away ! 

Then,  when  the  gloaming  comes. 
Low  in  the  heather  blooms, 

Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be ! 
Emblem  of  happiness. 
Blest  is  thy  dweUing-place — 

Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee ! 

James  Hogg. 


SONG. 


'T  IS  sweet  to  hear  the  merry  lark, 

That  bids  a  blithe  good-morrow ; 
But  sweeter  to  hark,  in  the  twinkling  dark 

To  the  soothing  song  of  sorrow. 
O  nightingale !     What  doth  she  ail  ? 

And  is  she  sad  or  jolly? 
For  ne'er  on  earth  was  sound  of  mirth 

So  like  to  melancholy. 

The  merry  lark,  he  soars  on  high, 
No  worldly  thought  o'crtakcs  him ; 


20 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


lie  sings  aloud  to  the  clear  blue  sky, 
And  the  daylight  that  awakes  him. 

As  sweet  a  lay,  as  loud,  as  gay, 
The  nightingale  is  trihing ; 

With  feeling  bliss,  no  less  than  his, 
Her  little  heart  is  thrilling. 

Yet  ever  and  anon,  a  sigh 

Peers  through  her  lavish  mirth  ; 
For  the  lark's  bold  song  is  of  the  sky. 

And  hers  is  of  the  earth. 
By  night  and  day,  she  tunes  her  lay. 

To  di'ive  away  all  sorrow ; 
For  bliss,  alas !  to-night  must  pass. 

And  woe  may  come  to-morrow. 

Haetley  Colekidqe. 


SOXG. 


Pack  clouds  away,  and  welcome  day. 
With  night  we  banish  sorrow ; 

Sweet  air,  blow  soft ;  mount,  lark,  aloft. 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow. 

Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind, 
Notes  from  the  lark  I'U  borrow : 

Bird,  prune  thy  wing ;  nightingale,  sing. 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow. 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow, 
Notes  from  them  all  I'll  borrow. 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  robin  redbreast, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow ; 
And  from  each  hill  let  music  shrill 

Give  my  fair  love  good-morrow. 
Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush. 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow. 
You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves, 

Sing  my  fair  love  good-morrow. 

To  give  my  love  good-morrow. 

Sing,  bu-ds  in  every  furrow. 

TiioiTAS  IIetvood 


THE  AXGLEE'S  TRYSTIXG-TREE. 

SiXG,  sweet  thrushes,  forth  and  sing ! 

Meet  the  mom  upon  the  lea ; 
Are  the  emeralds  of  the  spring 

On  the  angler's  trysting-tree  ? 

Tell,  sweet  thrushes,  tell  to  me ! 


Are  there  buds  on  our  wiUow-tree  ? 
Buds  and  birds  on  our  trysting-tree  ? 

Sing,  sweet  thrushes,  fortli  and  sing ! 

Have  you  met  the  honey-bee. 
Circling  upon  rapid  wing, 

'Round  the  angler's  trysting-tree  ? 

Up,  sweet  thrushes,  up  and  see ! 

Are  there  bees  at  our  willow -tree? 

Birds  and  bees  at  the  trysting-tree. 

Sing,  sweet  thrushes,  forth  and  sing ! 

Are  the  fountains  gushing  free  ? 
Is  the  south  wind  wandering 

Through  the  angler's  trysting-tree  ? 

Up,  sweet  thrushes,  teU  to  me ! 

Is  there  wind  tip  our  willow-tree  ? 

Wind  or  calm  at  our  trysting-tree  ? 

Sing,  sweet  thrushes,  forth  and  sing ! 

Wile  US  with  a  merry  glee ; 
To  the  flowery  haunts  of  spring — 

To  the  angler's  trysting-tree. 

Tell,  sweet  thrushes,  teU  to  me ! 

Are  there  flowers  'neath  our  willow-tree? 

Spring  and  flowers  at  the  trysting-tree  ? 

TnoMAS  Tod  Stodbart. 


THE  ANGLER. 

On !  the  gallant  fisher's  life, 

It  is  the  best  of  any : 
'T  is  full  of  pleasure,  void  of  strife. 
And  't  is  beloved  by  many ; 

Other  joys 

Are  but  toys ; 

Only  this 

Lawful  is ; 

For  our  skill 

Breeds  no  ill, 
But  content  and  pleasure. 

In  a  morning,  up  we  rise. 
Ere  Auroi'a's  peeping ; 
Drink  a  cup  to  wash  our  eyes, 
Leave  the  sluggard  sleeping ; 
Then  we  go. 
To  and  fro. 
With  our  knacks 
At  our  backs, 


ANGLING. 


21 


To  such  streams 
As  tlie  Thames, 
If  we  have  the  leisure. 

When  we  please  to  walk  abroad 

For  our  recreation ; 
In  the  fields  is  our  abode, 
Full  of  delectation, 

Where,  in  a  brook, 
With  a  hook — 
Or  a  lake, — 
Fish  -we  take ; 
There  we  sit. 
For  a  bit, 
Till  we  fish  entangle. 

We  have  gentles  in  a  horn. 

We  have  paste  and  worms  too ; 
We  can  watch  both  night  and  morn, 
Suffer  rain  and  storms  too ; 
None  do  here 
Use  to  swear : 
Oaths  do  fraj 
Fish  away ; 
We  sit  still. 
Watch  our  quUl : 
Fishers  must  not  wrangle. 

If  the  sun's  excessive  heat 

Make  our  bodies  swelter, 
To  an  osier  hedge  we  get. 
For  a  friendly  shelter ; 

Where — in  a  dyke. 

Perch  or  pike, 

Eoach  or  daice, 

We  do  chase, 

Bleak  or  gudgeon, 

Without  grudging ; 
We  are  stiU  contented. 

Or,  we  sometimes  pass  an  hour 

Under  a  green  willow, 
That  defends  us  from  a  shower, 
Making  eai'th  our  pillow ; 

Where  we  may 

Think  and  pray, 

Before  death 

Stops  our  breath ; 

Other  joys 

Are  but  toys, 
And  to  be  lamented, 

John  Chalkhilu 


VERSES  IX  PRAISE  OF  Ais^GLmG. 

QuiVEEnyG  fears,  heart-tearing  cares, 
Anxious  sighs,  untimely  tears, 

Fly,  fly  to  courts. 

Fly  to  fond  worldlings'  sports. 
Where  strained  sardonic  smiles  are  glosing  still. 
And  grief  is  forced  to  laugh  against  her  wiU, 

Where  mirth  's  but  mummery. 

And  sorrows  only  real  be. 

Fly  from  our  country  pastimes,  fly, 

Sad  troops  of  human  misery, 
Come,  serene  looks. 
Clear  as  the  crystal  brooks, 

Or  the  pure  azured  heaven  that  smiles  to  see 

The  rich  attendance  on  our  poverty  ; 
Peace  and  a  secure  mind, 
Wliich  all  men  seek,  we  only  find. 

Abused  mortals !  did  you  know 

Where  joy,  heart's  ease,  and  comforts  grow. 
You  'd  scorn  proud  towers 
And  seek  them  in  these  bowers. 

Where  winds,  sometimes,  our  woods  perhaps 
may  shake. 

But  blustering  care  could  never  tempest  make ; 
Nor  murmurs  e'er  come  nigh  us. 
Saving  of  fountains  that  glide  by  us. 

Here 's  no  fantastic  mask  nor  dance. 
But  of  our  kids  that  frisk  and  prance ; 

Nor  wars  are  seen. 

Unless  upon  the  green 
Two  harmless  lambs  are  butting  one  the  other. 
Which  done,  both  bleating  run,  each  to  his 
mother ; 

And  wounds  are  never  found. 

Save  what  the  ploughshare  gives  the 
ground. 

Here  are  no  entrapping  baits 
To  hasten  to,  too  hasty  fates ; 

Unless  it  be 

The  fond  credulity 
Of  silly  fish,  which  (worlding  like)  stiU  look 
Upon  the  bait,  but  never  on  the  hook ; 

Nor  envy,  'less  among 

The  birds,  for  price  of  their  sweet  song. 

Go,  let  the  diving  negro  seek 

For  gems,  hid  in  some  forlorn  creek : 


22 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


"Wc  all  peai-ls  scorn 

Save  Avliat  the  dewy  morn 
Congeals  npon  each  little  spire  of  grass, 
Which  careless  shepherds  beat  down  as  they 
pass; 

And  gold  ne'er  here  appears, 

Save  what  the  yellow  Ceres  bears. 

Blest  silent  groves,  oh,  may  you  be, 
For  ever,  mu-th's  best  nursery ! 

May  pure  contents 

For  ever  pitch  their  tents 
Upon  these  downs,  these  meads,  these  rocks, 

these  mountains ; 
And  peace  still   slumber   by  these  purling 
fountains, 

"Which  we  may  every  year 

Meet,  when  we  come  a-fishing  here. 
Sir  IlE>rET  Wotton. 


THE  A^^GLER'S  WISH. 

I  IN  these  flowery  meads  would  be, 

These  crystal  streams  should  solace  me ; 

To  whose  harmonious  bubbling  noise 

I,  with  my  angle,  would  rejoice. 

Sit  here,  and  see  the  turtle-dove 
Com-t  his  chaste  mate  to  acts  of  love ; 

Or,  on  that  bank,  feel  the  west  wind 
Breathe  health  and  jjleaty ;  please  my  mind. 
To  see  sweet  dew-drops  kiss  these  flowers, 
And  then  washed  off  by  April  showers ; 
Here,  hear  my  kenna  sing  a  song : 
There,  see  a  blackbird  feed  her  young, 

Or  a  laverock  build  her  nest ; 

Here,  give  my  weary  spirits  rest, 

And  raise  my  low-pitched  thoughts  above 

Earth,  or  what  poor  mortals  love. 

Thus,  free  from  lawsuits,  and  the  noise 
Of  piinces'  courts,  I  would  rejoice ; 

Or,  with  my  Bryan  and  a  book, 

Loiter  long  days  near  Shawford  brook ; 

There  sit  by  him,  and  eat  my  meat ; 

There  see  the  sun  both  rise  and  set ; 

There  bid  good  morning  to  next  day ; 

There  meditate  my  time  away ; 

And  angle  on ;  and  beg  to  have 
A  quiet  passage  to  a  welcome  grave. 

IzAAK  "Walton. 


THE  BOBOLINK. 

Bobolink  !  that  in  the  meadow, 
Or  beneath  the  orchard's  shadow, 
Keepest  up  a  constant  rattle 
Joyous  as  my  children's  prattle, 
Welcome  to  the  noi-th  again ! 
Welcome  to  mine  eai*  thy  strain. 
Welcome  to  mine  eye  the  sight 
Of  thy  buff,  thy  black  and  white. 
Brighter  plumes  may  greet  the  sun 
By  the  banks  of  Amazon ; 
Sweeter  tones  may  weave  the  spell 
Of  enchanting  Philomel ; 
But  the  tropic  bird  would  fail, 
And  the  English  nightingale. 
If  we  should  compare  their  worth 
With  thine  endless,  gushing  mirth. 

When  the  ides  of  May  are  past, 
June  and  Summer  ncaring  fast, 
While  from  depths  of  blue  above 
Comes  the  mighty  breath  of  love, 
Calling  out  each  bud  and  flower 
With  resistless,  secret  power, — 
Waking  hope  and  fond  desire. 
Kindling  the  erotic  fire, — 
Filling  youths'  and  maidens'  dreams 
With  mysterious,  pleasing  themes ; 
Then,  amid  the  sunlight  clear 
Floating  in  the  fragrant  air, 
Thou  dost  fill  each  heart  with  pleasure 
By  thy  glad  ecstatic  measure. 

A  single  note,  so  sweet  and  low. 
Like  a  full  heart's  overflow. 
Forms  the  prelude ;  but  the  strain 
Gives  no  such  tone  again. 
For  the  wild  and  saucy  song 
Leaps  and  skips  the  notes  among, 
With  such  quick  and  sportive  play, 
Ne'er  was  madder,  merrier  lay. 

Gayest  songster  of  the  Spring ! 
Thy  melodies  before  me  bring 
Visions  of  some  dream-built  land, 
Where,  by  constant  zephyrs  fanned, 
I  might  walk  the  livelong  day, 
Embosomed  in  perpetual  May. 
Nor  care  nor  fear  thy  bosom  knows ; 
For  thee  a  tempest  never  blows ; 


THE    CUCKOO. 


23 


But  wlicn  our  northern  Summer 's  o'er, 
Bj  Delaware's  or  Schuylkill's  shore 
The  wild  rice  lifts  its  airy  head, 
And  royal  feasts  for  thee  are  spread. 
And  when  the  Winter  threatens  there. 
Thy  tireless  wings  yet  own  no  fear, 
But  bear  thee  to  more  southern  coasts, 
Far  beyond  the  reach  of  frosts. 

Bobolink !  still  may  thy  gladness 
Take  from  me  all  taints  of  sadness ; 
Fill  my  soul  with  trust  unshaken 
In  that  Being  who  has  taken 
Care  for  every  living  thing, 
In  Summer,  Winter,  Fall,  and  Spring. 

Tno.MAS  Hill. 


TO  THE  CUCKOO. 

Hail,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove! 

Thou  messenger  of  Spring ! 
Ifow  heaven  repairs  thy  rural  seat. 

And  woods  thy  welcome  sing. 

Soon  as  the  daisy  decks  the  green, 

Thy  certain  voice  we  hear. 
Hast  thou  a  star  to  guide  thy  path, 

Or  mark  the  rolling  year  ? 

Dehghtful  vistant !  with  thee 

I  hail  the  tune  of  flowers. 
And  hear  the  sound  of  music  sweet 

From  birds  among  the  bowers. 

The  schoolboy,  wandering  through  the  wood 

To  pull  the  primrose  gay, 
Starts,  thy  most  curious  voice  to  hear. 

And  imitates  thy  lay. 

What  time  the  pea  puts  on  the  bloom, 

Thou  flicst  thy  vocal  vale. 
An  annual  guest  in  other  lands, 

Another  Spring  to  hail. 

Sweet  bird !  thy  bower  is  ever  green. 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 

No  Winter  in  thy  year ! 

Oh,  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  witli  thee ! 

We  'd  make,  with  joyful  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe. 

Attendants  on  the  Spring. 

Jous  LOOAK. 


TO  THE  CUCKOO. 

0  BLITHE  new-comer !  I  have  heard, 

1  hear  thee  and  rejoice. 

0  Cuckoo !  shall  I  caU  thee  bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  voice  ? 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass, 
Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear ; 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass,  ■ 
At  once  far  ofi",  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  vale. 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 
Of  visionary  hours. 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 

No  bu'd,  but  an  invisible  thing, 

A  voice,  a  mystery ; 

The  same  that  in  my  school-boy  days 

1  listened  to-^-that  cry 

Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways, 
In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 
Through  woods  and  on  the  green ; 
And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love — 
Still  longed  for,  never  seen. 

And  I  can  listen  to  thee  yet ; 
Can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen  till  I  do  beget 
That  golden  time  again. 

0  blessed  bird!  the  earth  we  pace. 

Again  appears  to  be 

An  unsubstantial,  faery  place, 

That  is  fit  home  for  thee ! 

William  "Woeds-wortu. 


THE  CUCKOO  AND  THE  NIGHTIN- 
GALE. 

I. 

The  God  of  Love, — ah  henedicite! 
How  mighty  and  how  great  a  lord  is  he ! 
For  he  of  low  hearts  can  make  high ;  of  high 
He  can  make  low,  and  unto  death  bring  nigh ; 
And  hard  hearts,  he  can  make  them  kind  and 
free. 


2-t 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


n. 

"Witliiu  a  little  time,  as  liatli  boon  found, 

lie  can  make  sick  folk  whole  and  fresli  and 

sound : 
Them  who  ai'e  whole  in  body  and  in  mind, 
lie  can  make  sick ;  bind  can  he  and  unbind 
All  that  he  will  have  bound,  or  have  unbound. 

III. 

To  tell  his  might  my  wit  may  not  suffice ; 
Foolish  men  he  can  make  them  out  of  wise — 
For  he  may  do  all  that  he  will  devise ; 
Loose  livers  he  can  make  abate  their  vice, 
And  proud  hearts  can.  make  tremble  in  a  trice. 

IV. 

In  brief,  the  whole  of  what  he  will  he  may ; 
Against  him  dare  not  any  wight  say  nay ; 
To  humble  or  afflict  whome'er  he  will, 
To  gladden  or  to  grieve,  he  hath  like  skill ; 
But  most  his  might  he  sheds  on  the  eve  of 
May. 

V. 

For  every  true  heart,  gentle  heart  and  free, 
That  with  him  is,  or  thinketh  so  to  be, 
Now,  against  May,  shall  have  some  stirring, — 

whether 
To  joy,  or  be  it  to  some  mourning ;  never, 
At  other  time,  methinks,  in  like  degree. 

VI. 

For  now,  when  they  may  hear  the  small  birds' 

song, 
Aiid  see  the  budding  leaves  the  branches 

throng. 
This  unto  their  remembrance  doth  bring 
AU  kinds  of  pleasure,  mixed  with  sorrowing ; 
And  longing  of  sweet  thoughts  that  ever  long. 

vn. 

And  of  that  longing  heaviness  doth  come, 
"Whence  oft  great  sickness  grows  of  heart  and 

home; 
Sick  are  they  all  for  lack  of  their  desire ; 
And  thus  in  May  their  hearts  are  set  on  fire, 
So  that  they  biu-n  forth  in  great  martyrdom. 

Tm. 
In  sooth,  I  speak  from  feehng;  what  though 

now 
Old  am  I,  and  to  genial  pleasm-e  slow; 


Yet  have  I  felt  of  sickness  through  the  May, 
Both  hot  and  cold,  and  heart-aches  every 

day,— 
How  hard,  alas !  to  bear,  I  only  know. 


IX. 


Such  shaking  doth  the  fever  in  me  keep 
Through  all  this  May,  that  I  have  httle  sleep 
Ajid  also  'tis  not  likely  unto  me. 
That  any  living  heai't  should  sleepy  be. 
In  which  Love's  dtu-t  its  fiery  point  doth  steep. 


But  tossing  lately  on  a  sleepless  bed, 
I  of  a  token  thought,  which  lovers  heed : 
How  among  them  it  was  a  common  tale, 
That  it  was  good  to  hear  the  nightingale 
Ere  the  vile  cuckoo's  note  be  uttered. 

XI. 

And  then  I  thought  anon,  as  it  was  day, 
I  gladly  would  go  somewhere  to  essay 
If  I  perchance  a  nightingale  might  hear ; 
For  yet  had  I  heard  none,  of  all  that  year ; 
And  it  was  then  the  third  night  of  the  May. 

XII. 

And  soon  as  I  a  glimpse  of  day  espied, 

No  longer  would  I  in  my  bed  abide ; 

But  straightway  to  a  wood,  that  was  hard  by, 

Forth  did  I  go,  alone  and  fearlessly. 

And  held  the  pathway  down  by  a  brook-side ; 

xni. 

Till  to  a  lawn  I  came,  all  white  and  green ; 

I  in  so  fair  a  one  had  never  been : 

The  ground  was  green,  with  daisy  powdered 

over ; 
Tall  were  the  flowers,  the  grove  a  lofty  cover, 
AE  green  and  white,  and  nothing  else  was 


seen. 


XIV. 


There   sat   I   down   among  the   fair,   fresh 

flowers, 
And  saw  the  birds  come  ti'ipxjing  from  their 

bowers. 
Where  they  had  rested  them  aU  night ;  and 

they. 
Who  were  so  joyful  at  the  light  of  day. 
Began  to  honor  May  with  all  their  powers. 


THE    CUCKOO   AND   THE   NIGHTINGALE. 


XT. 

Well  did  they  kuow  that  sernce  all  by  rote ; 
And  there  was  many  and  many  a  lovely  note — 
Some,  singing  loud,  as  if  they  had  complained ; 
Some  with  their  notes  another  manner  feigned ; 
And  some  did  sing  all  out  with  the  full  throat. 

XVI. 

They  pruned  themselves,  and  made  themselves 

right  gay, 
Dancing  and  leaping  light  upon  the  spray ; 
And  ever  two  and  two  together  were, 
Tlie  same  as  they  had  chosen  for  the  year. 
Upon  Saint  Valentine's  retm'ning  day. 

xvn. 

Meanwhile  the  stream,  whose  bank  I  sat  upon, 
Was  making  such  a  noise  as  it  ran  on, 
Accordant  to  the  sweet  birds'  harmony ; 
Methought  that  it  was  the  best  melody 
Which  ever  to  man's  ear  a  passage  vs^on. 

xvm. 

And  for  delight,  but  how  I  never  wot, 
I  in  a  slumber  and  a  swoon  was  caught, 
Not  all  asleep  and  yet  not  waking  wholly  ; 
And  as  I  lay,  the  Cackoo,  bird  unholy. 
Broke  silence,  or  I  heard  him  in  my  thought, 

XIX. 

And  that  was  right  upon  a  tree  fast  by. 
And  who  was  then  ill  satisfied  but  I  ? 
Now  God,  quoth  I,  that  died  upon  the  rood, 
From  thee  and  thy  base  throat  keep  all  that's 

good; 
Fiill  little  joy  have  I  now  of  thy  cry. 

XX. 

And,  as  I  with  the  Cuckoo  thus  'gan  chide. 
In  the  next  bush  that  was  me  fast  beside, 
I  heard  the  lusty  Nightingale  so  sing. 
That  her  clear  voice  made  a  loud  rioting. 
Echoing  through  all  the  greenwood  wide. 

XXI. 

Ah !  good  sweet  Nightingale !  for  my  heart's 

cheer, 
Hence  hast  thou  stayed  a  little  Avhile  too  long ; 
For  we  have  had  the  sorry  Cuckoo  here. 
And  slic  hath  been  before  thee  with  her  song ; 
E\-il  light  on  her !  she  hath  done  me  wrong. 
8 


xxn. 
But  hear  you  now  a  wondrous  thing,  I  pray; 
As  long  as  in  that  swooning-fit  I  lay, 
Methought  I  wist  right  well  what  these  birds 

meant. 
And  had  good  knowing  both  of  their  intent, 
And  of  their  speech,  and  all  that  they  would 

say. 

XXIII. 

The  Nightingale  thus  in  my  hearing  spake : — 
Good  Cuckoo,  seek  some  other  bush  or  brake, 
And,  prithee,  let  us,  that  can  sing,  dwell  here ; 
For  every  wight  eschews  thy  song  to  hear, 
Such  uncouth  singing  verily  dost  thou  make. 

XSIV. 

What !  quoth  she  then,  Avhat  is 't  that  ails  thee 

now  ? 
It  seems  to  me  I  sing  as  well  as  thou ; 
For  mine's  a  song  that  is  both  true  and 

plain, — 
Although  I  cannot  quaver  so  in  vain 
As  thou  dost  in  thy  throat,  I  wot  not  how. 

XXT. 

All  men  may  understanding  have  of  me. 
But,  Nightingale,  so  may  tliey  not  of  thee ; 
For  thou  hast  many  a  foohsh   and  quaint 

cry : — 
Thou  sayest  Osee,  Osee,  then  how  may  I 
Have  knowledge,  I  thee  pray,  what  this  may 

be? 

XXVI. 

Ah!  fool,  quoth  she,  wist  thou  not  what  it  is? 
Oft  as  I  say  Osee,  Osee,  I  wis, 
Tlien  mean  I,  that  I  should  be  wondrous  fain 
That  shamefully  they  one  and  aU  were  slam. 
Whoever  against  Love  mean  aught  amiss. 

xxvn. 

And  also  would  I  that  they  all  were  dead. 
Who  do  not  think  in  love  their  life  to  lead, 
For  who  is  loth  the  God  of  Love  to  obey 
Is  only  fit  to  die,  I  dare  well  say ; 
And  for  that  cause  Osee  I  cry ;  take  heed ! 

xxvin. 
Ay,  quoth  the  Cuckoo,  that  is  a  quaint  law— 
That  all  must  love  or  die ;  but  I  withdraw, 
And  take  my  leave  of  all  such  company, 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


For  my  intent  it  neitlier  is  to  die, 

Xor  ever  wliile  I  live  Love's  yoke  to  draw. 

5XIX. 

For  lovers,  of  all  folk  that  be  alive, 
The  most  disquiet  have,  and  least  do  thrive; 
Most  feeling  have  of  sorrow,  woe,  and  care, 
And  the  least  welfare  cometh  to  their  share ; 
\Vhat  need  is   there    against   the  truth  to 
strive  ? 

xxs. 
"What !  quoth  she,  thou  art  all  out  of  thy  mind. 
That,  in  thy  churlishness,  a  cause  canst  find 
To  speak  of  Love's  true  servants  in  this  mood ; 
For  in  this  world  no  service  is  so  good, 
To  every  wight  that  gentle  is  of  kind. 

XXXI. 

For  thereof  comes  all  goodness  and  all  worth ; 
And  gentUess  and  honor  thence  come  fortli ; 
Thence  worship   comes,   content,    and    true 

heart's  pleasui-e. 
And  full-assured  trust,  joy  without  measure, 
And  jollity,  fresh  cheerfulness,  and  mirth; 

XXXII. 

And  bounty,  lowliness,  and  courtesy. 
And  seemliness,  and  faithful  company. 
And  dread  of  shame  that  will  not  do  amiss ; 
For  he  that  faithfully  Love's  servant  is. 
Rather  than  be  disgraced,  woidd  chuse  to  die. 

XXXIII. 

And  that  the  very  truth  it  is  which  1 
i^ow  say, — in  such  belief  I  '11  live  and  die ; 
And,  Cuckoo,  do  tliou  so,  by  my  advice. 
Then,  quoth  she,  let  me  never  hope  for  bliss. 
If  with  that  counsel  I  do  e'er  comply. 

xxxrv. 

Good  Nightingale!  thou  speakest  wondrous 

fair. 
Yet,  for  all  that,  the  truth  is  found  elsewhere ; 
For  Love  in  young  folk  is  but  rage,  I  wis. 
And  Love  in  old  folk  a  great  dotage  is ; 
Who  most  it  useth,  him  't  will  most  impair. 

XXXV. 

For  thereof  come  aU  contraries  to  gladness ; 
Thence   sickness  comes,  and  overwhelming 
sadness, 


Mistrust  and  jealousy,  despite,  debate, 

Dishonor,  shame,  envy  importunate, 

I'ride,  anger,  mischief,  poverty,  and  madness. 

XXXVI. 

Loving  is  aye  an  office  of  despair, 

And  one  thing  is  therein  which  is  not  fair : 

For  whoso  gets  of  love  a  little  bliss, 

Unless  it  always  stay  with  him,  I  Avis 

lie  may  full  soon  go  with  an  old  man's  hair. 

XXXVII. 

And  therefore.  Nightingale!    do  thou  keep 

nigh ; 
For,  trust  me  well,  in  spite  of  thy  quaint  cry, 
If  long  time  from  thy  mate  thou  be,  or  far, 
Thou  'It  be  as  others  that  forsaken  are ; 
Then  shalt  thou  raise  a  clamor  as  do  I. 

XXXVIII. 

Fie,  quoth  she,  on  thy  name,  bird  ill  beseen ! 
The  God  of  Love  aflBict  thee  with  aU  teen. 
For  thou  art  worse  than  mad  a  thousand-fold ; 
For  many  a  one  hath  virtues  manifold, 
Who  had  been  naught,  if  Love  had  never  been, 

XXXIX. 

For  evermore  his  servants  Love  amendeth. 
And  he  from  every  blemish  them  defendeth : 
And  maketh  them  to  burn,  as  in  a  fire. 
In  loyalty  and  worshipful  desire ; 
And,  when  it  likes  him,  joy  enough  them 
sendeth, 

XL. 

Thou  Nightingale !  the  Cuckoo  said,  be  still. 
For  Love  no  reason  hath  but  his  own  will ; — 
For  to  til'  untrue  he  oft  gives  ease  and  joy ; 
True  lovers  doth  so  bitterly  annoy, 
He  lets  them  perish  through  that  grievous  iU. 

SLI. 

With  such  a  master  would  I  never  be. 
For  he,  in  sooth,  is  bhnd,  and  may  not  see, 
And  knows  not  when  he  hurts  and  when  he 

heals ; 
Within  his  court  full  seldom  truth  avails, 
So  diverse  in  his  wilfulness  is  he. 

XLH. 

Then  of  tlie  Nightingale  did  I  take  note — 
How  from  her  inmost  heart  a  sigh  she  brought, 


THE  CUCKOO  AND  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 


21 


And  said :  Alas  that  ever  I  vras  born ! 
Xot  one  word  have  I  now,  I  'm  so  forlorn : 
^Vnd  with  that  word,  she  into  tears  burst  out. 

XLin. 

Alas,  alas !  my  very  heart  will  break, 
Quoth  she,  to  hear  this  churlish  bird  thus 

speak 
Of  Love,  and  of  his  holy  ser\ices ; 
Is^ow,  God  of  Love !  thou  help  me  in  some 

wise. 
That  vengeance  on  this  Cuckoo  I  may  wreak. 

XLIV. 

And  so,  methought,  I  started  up  anon, 
And  to  the  brook  I  ran  and  got  a  stone, 
Which  at  the  Ouckoo  hardily  I  cast, 
That  he  for  dread  did  fly  away  full  fast; 
And  glad,  in  sooth,  was  I  when  he  was  gone. 

XLT. 

And  as  he  flew,  the  Cuckoo,  ever  and  aye. 
Kept  crying:    "Farewell! — farewell.  Popin- 
jay!" 
As  if  in  scornful  mockery  of  me ; 
And  on  I  hunted  him  from  tree  to  tree, 
nil  he  was  far,  aU  out  of  sight,  away. 

SLVI. 

JThen  straightway  came  the  Nightingale  to  me, 
And  said:  Forsooth,  my  friend,  do  I  thank 

thee. 
That  thou  wert  near  to  rescue  me ;  and  now 
Unto  the  God  of  Love  I  make  a  vow. 
That  all  this  May  I  will  thy  songstress  be. 

SLvn. 

Well  satisfied,  I  thanked  her ;  and  she  said : 
By  this  mishap  no  longer  be  dismayed, 
Tliough  thou  the  Cuckoo  heard,   ere  thou 

heard'st  me ; 
Yet  if  I  live  it  shall  amended  be. 
When  next  May  comes,  if  I  am  not  afraid. 

XLVIII. 

And  one  thing  will  I  counsel  thee  also : 
The  Oackoo  trust  not  thou,  nor  his  Love's  saw ; 
All  that  he  said  is  an  outrageous  lie. 
Xay,  nothing  shall  me  bring  thereto,  quoth  I, 
For  Love  and  it  hath  done  me  mighty  woe. 


xux. 
Yea,  hath  it  ?    Use,  quoth  she,  this  medicine : 
This  May-time,  every  day  before  thou  dine. 
Go  look  on  the  fresh  daisy ;  then  say  I, 
Although,  for  pain,  thou  mayst  be  hke  to  die, 
Thou  wilt  be  eased,  and  less  wilt  droop  and 
pine. 

L. 

And  mind  always  that  thou  be  good  and  true, 
And  I  wUl  sing  one  song,  of  many  new. 
For  love  of  thee,  as  loud  as  I  may  cry. 
And  then  did  she  begin  this  song  fall  high, 
"  Beshrew  all  them  that  are  in  love  untrue." 

LI. 

And  soon  as  she  had  sung  it  to  an  end, 
Now  farewell,  quoth  she,  for  I  hence  must 

wend ; 
And,  God  of  Love,  that  can  right  well  and 

may. 
Send  unto  thee  as  mickle  joy  this  day, 
As  ever  he  to  lover  yet  did  send. 

i-n. 

Thus  takes  the  Nightingale  her  leave  of  me ; 
I  pray  to  God  with  her  always  to  be. 
And  joy  of  love  to  send  her  evermore ; 
And  shield  us  from  the  Cuckoo  and  her  lore. 
For  there  is  not  so  false  a  bird  as  she. 

Lni. 

Forth  then  she  flew,  the  gentle  Nightingale, 
To  aU  the  birds  that  lodged  within  that  dale. 
And  gathered  each  and  all  into  one  place, 
And  them  besought  to  hear  her  doleful  case ; 
And  thus  it  was  that  she  began  her  tale : 

LIV. 

The  Cuckoo, —  't  is  not  well  that  I  should 

hide 
How  she  and  I  did  each  the  other  chide. 
And  without  ceasing,  since  it  was  daylight ; 
And  now  I  pray  you  all  to  do  me  riglit 
Of  that  false  bird,  whom  Love  cannot  abide. 

LV. 

Then  spake  one  bird,  and  full  assent  all  gave : 
This  matter  asketh  counsel  good  as  grave ; 
For  birds  we  are — all  here  togetlier  brouglit ; 
And,  in  good  sooth,  the  Cuckoo  here  is  not ; 
And  therefore  we  a  Parliament  will  have. 


28 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


I,VI. 

Ami  tlioreat  shall  the  Eagle  be  our  Lord, 
And  other  Peers  whose  names  are  ou  record. 
A  summons  to  the  Cuckoo  shall  be  sent, 
And  judgment  there  be  given ;  or,  that  intent 
Failing,  we  finally  shall  make  accord. 

LYII. 

And  aU  this  shall  be  done,  without  a  nay, 
The  morrow  after  Saint  Valentine's  day. 
Under  a  maple  that  is  well  beseen 
Before  the  chamber-window  of  the  Queen, 
At  Woodstock,  on  the  meadow  green  and 

gay. 

LYIII. 

She  thanked  them;  and  then  her  leave  she 

took, 
And  flew  into  a  hawthorn  by  that  brook ; 
And  there  she  sat  and  sung,  upon  that  tree, 
"For  term  of  life  Love  shall  have  hold  of 

me," — • 
So  loudly,  that  I  with  that  song  awoke. 


Unlearned  Book  and  rude,  as  well  I  know, — 
For  beauty  thou  hast  none,  nor  eloquence, — 
Who  did  on  thee  the  hardiness  bestow 
To  appear  before  my  Lady  ?  But  a  sense 
Thou  surely  hast  of  her  benevolence. 
Whereof  her  hourly  bearing  proof  doth  give ; 
For  of  aU  good  she  is  the  best  alive. 

Alas,  poor  Book !  for  thy  unworthiness 
To  show  to  her  some  pleasant  meanings,  writ 
In  winning  words,  since  through  her  gentUess 
Thee  she  accepts  as  for  her  service  fit ! 
Oh !  it  repents  me  I  have  neither  wit 
Nor  leisure  unto  thee  more  worth  to  give ; 
For  of  aU  good  she  is  the  best  alive. 

Beseech  her  meekly  with  all  lowliness, 
Though  I  be  far  from  her  I  reverence, 
To  think  upon  my  truth  and  steadfastness ; 
And  to  abridge  my  sorrow's  violence 
Caused  by  the  wish,  as  knows  your  sapience, 
She  of  her  liking  proof  to  me  would  give ; 
For  of  aU  good  she  is  the  best  alive. 

l'envot. 

Pleasure's  Aurora,  day  of  gladsomoness ! 
Lima  by  night,  with  heavenly  influence 


Illumined !  root  of  beauty  and  goodness ! 

Write,  and  allay,  by  your  beneficence. 

My  sighs  breathed  forth  in  silence, — comfort 


give ! 


Since  of  all  good  you  are  the  best  alive. 

GeOFFKEY  CnATTCEB. 

Version  of  "William  Woedswokth. 


SONG. 


See,  oh  see ! 

How  every  tree, 

Every  bower. 

Every  flower, 
A  new  life  gives  to  others'  joy<5 ; 

While  that  I 

Grief-stricken  he, 

JsTor  can  meet 

With  any  sweet 
But  what  faster  mine  destroys. 
Wlaat  are  aU  the  senses'  pleasures. 
When  the  mind  has  lost  all  measures  ? 

Hear,  oh  hear ! 

How  sweet  and  clear 

The  nightingale 

And  water's  fall 
In  concert  join  for  others'  ear; 

While  to  me, 

For  harmony, 

Every  air 

Echoes  despair,  ^ 

And  every  drop  provokes  a  tear. 

What  are  aU  the  senses'  pleasures, 

When  the  soul  has  lost  all  measures  ? 

Lord  Bristol. 


THE  GREEN  LINNET. 

Beneath  these  fruit-tree  boughs,  that  shed 
Their  snow-white  blossoms  on  my  head. 
With  brightest  sunshine  round  me  spread, 

Of  Spring's  unclouded  weather — 
In  this  sequsstercd  nook,  how  sweet 
To  sit  upon  my  orchard-seat ! 
And  birds  and  flowers  once  more  to  greet, 

My  last  year's  friends  together. 

One  have  I  marked,  the  happiest  guest 
In  aU  this  covert  of  the  blest ; 


ARETHUSA. 


2^ 


Hail  to  thee,  far  above  the  rest 

In  joy  of  voice  and  pinion ! 
Thou,  Linnet !  in  thy  green  array. 
Presiding  spirit  here  to-day, 
Dost  lead  the  revels  of  the  May, 

And  this  is  thy  dominion. 

"While  birds,  and  butterflies,  and  flowers 
Make  all  one  band  of  paramours. 
Thou,  ranging  up  and  down  the  bowers, 

^Vrt  sole  in  thy  employment ; 
A  hfe,  a  presence  like  the  air. 
Scattering  thy  gladness  without  care. 
Too  blest  with  any  one  to  pair — 

Thyself  thy  own  enjoyment. 

Amid  yon  tuft  of  hazel-trees, 
That  twinkle  to  the  gusty  breeze. 
Behold  him  perched  in  ecstasies. 

Yet  seeming  still  to  hover ; 
There !  where  the  flutter  of  his  wings 
Upon  his  back  and  body  flings 
Shadows  and  sunny  glimmerings. 

That  cover  him  afl  over. 

My  dazzled  sight  he  oft  deceives — 
A  brother  of  the  dancing  leaves — 
Then  flits,  and  from  the  cottage-eaves 

Pours  forth  a  song  in  gushes ; 
As  if  by  that  exulting  strain 
He  mocked,  and  treated  with  disdain 
The  voiceless  form  he  chose  to  feign. 

While  fluttering  in  the  bushes. 

William  Wordswoeth. 


THE  BLACK  COOK. 

Goon-MORROW  to  thy  sable  beak, 
And  glossy  plumage,  dark  and  sleek ; 
Thy  crimson  moon  and  azure  eye- 
Cock  of  the  heath,  so  wildly  shy ! 
I  see  thee  slowly  cowering  through 
That  wiry  Avcb  of  silver  dew, 
Tliat  twinkles  in  the  morning  air 
Like  casement  of  my  lady  fair. 

A  maid  there  is  in  yonder  tower, 
•  AYho,  peeping  from  her  early  bower. 
Half  shows,  like  thee,  with  simple  wile. 
Her  braided  hair  and  morning  smile. 


The  rarest  things,  witli  wayward  will, 
Beneath  the  covert  hide  them  still ; 
The  rarest  things,  to  hght  of  day 
Look  shortly  forth,  and  break  away. 

One  fleeting  moment  of  delight 
I  warmed  me  in  her  cheering  sight ; 
And  short,  I  ween,  the  time  wiU  bo 
That  I  shall  parley  hold  with  thee. 
Through  Snowden's  mist,  red  beams  the  day ; 
The  climbing  herd-boy  chants  his  lay ; 
The  gnat-flies  dance  their  sunny  ring ; 
Thou  art  already  on  the  wing. 

Joanna  Baillib. 


ARETHUSA. 

ARETnrsA  arose 

From  her  couch  of  snows 
In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains, — 

From  cloud  and  from  crag 

"With  many  a  jag, 
Shepherding  her  bright  fountains. 

She  leapt  down  the  rocks 

"With  her  rainbow  locks 
Streaming  among  the  streams;  — 

Her  steps  paved  with  green 

The  downward  ravine 
"Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams : 

And,  gliding  and  springing, 

She  went,  ever  singing 
Li  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep ; 

The  Earth  seemed  to  love  her. 

And  Heaven  smiled  above  her, 
As  she  hngered  towards  the  deep. 

Then  Alpheus  bold. 

On  his  glacier  cold, 
"With  his  trident  the  mountains  strook ; 

And  opened  a  chasm 

In  the  rocks ; — with  the  spasm 
All  Erymanthus  shook. 

And  the  black  south  wind. 

It  concealed  behind 
The  urns  of  the  silent  snow. 

And  earthquake  and  thunder 

Did  rend  in  sunder 
The  bars  of  the  springs  below ; 

The  beard  and  the  liair 

Of  the  river-god  wei'e 
Seen  through  the  torrent's  sweep, 


hO                                                         POEMS    OF   NATURE. 

As  he  followed  the  light 

At  noontide  they  flow 

Of  the  fleet  nymph's  flight 

Through  the  woods  below, 

To  the  brink  of  the  Doi'ian  deep. 

And  the  mc-adows  of  asphodel; 

And  at  night  they  sleep 

"  Oh,  save  mo !     Oh,  guide  me ! 

In  the  rocking  deep 

And  bid  the  deep  hide  me, 

Beneath  the  Ortygian  shore ; — 

For  he  grasps  me  now  by  the  hair !  " 

Like  spirits  that  lie 

The  loud  Ocoaa  heard. 

In  the  azure  sky, 

To  its  blue  depth  stu-red, 

When  they  love  l)ut  live  no  more. 

And  divided  at  her  prayer ; 

Peecy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

And  under  the  water 

The  Earth's  white  daughter 

Fled  like  a  sunny  beam ; 

THE  FOUNTAIN". 

Behind  her  descended 

Her  billows,  unblended 

Into  the  sunshine, 

With  the  brackish  Dorian  stream. 

FuU  of  light. 

Like  a  gloomy  stain 

Leaping  and  flashing 

On  the  emerald  main, 

From  morn  till  night ; 

Alpheus  rushed  behind, — 

Into  the  moonlight. 

As  an  eagle  pursuing 

Whiter  than  snow, 

A  dove  to  its  ruin 

Waving  so  4iower-like, 

Down  the  streams  of  the  cloudy  wind. 

When  the  winds  blow  I 

Under  tlie  bowers 

Into  the  starlight, 

Where  the  ocean  powers 

Rushing  in  spray. 

Sit  on  their  pearled  thrones ; 

Happy  at  midnight — 

Through  the  coral  woods 

Happy  by  day ! 

Of  the  weltering  floods, 

O                           7 

Over  heaps  of  unvalued  stones ; 
Through  the  dim  beams 
Which  amid  the  streams 

Ever  in  motion, 

BUtliesome  and  cheery, 
Still  climbing  heavenward, 

Weave  a  network  of  colored  light ; 

Never  aweary ; 

And  under  the  caves, 

Glad  of  aU  weathers, 

Where  the  shadowy  waves 

Still  seeming  best, 

Are  as  green  as  the  forest's  night — 

Upward  or  downward. 

Outspeeding  the  shark. 

Motion  thy  rest : 

And  the  sword-fish  dark, 

Under  the  ocean  foam ; 

Full  of  a  nature 

And  up  through  the  rifts 

Notliing  can  tame, 

Of  the  mountain  clifts 

Changed  every  moment — 

They  passed  to  their  Dorian  home. 

Ever  the  same ; 

Ceaseless  aspiring, 

And  now  from  their  fountains 

X.                 D7 

Ceaseless  content. 

In  Enna's  mountains. 

7 

Darkness  or  sunshine, 

Down  one  vale  where  the  morning  basks, 

7 

Thy  element; 

Like  friends  once  parted, 

»/                                                  7 

Grown  single-hearted. 

Glorious  fountain ! 

They  ply  their  watery  tasks. 

Let  my  heart  be 

At  sunrise  they  leap 

Fresh,  changeful,  constant. 

From  their  cradles  steep 

Upward,  like  thee ! 

In  the  cave  of  the  shelving  hiU ; 

James  Eussell  Lowell, 

LITTLE    STREAMS.                                                          '6\ 

Fretting  like  a  peevish  child ; 

LITTLE  STEEAMS. 

Through  the  hamlet,  where  all  day 

In  their  waves  the  children  play ; 

Little  streams  are  light  and  shadow ; 

Eunning  west,  or  running  east. 

Flowing  through  the  pastux-e  meadow, 

Doing  good  to  man  and  beast — 

Flowing  by  the  green  way-side, 

Always  giving,  weary  never. 

Through  the  forest  dim  and  wide, 

Little  streams,  I  love  you  ever. 

Tlirough  the  hamlet  still  and  small — 

Makt  Howrrr. 

By  the  cottage,  by  the  hall. 
By  the  ruin'd  abbey  still ; 

♦     • 

Turning  here  and  there  a  mill. 

Bearing  tribute  to  the  river — 

THE  WATEE !     THE  WATEE  ! 

Little  streams,  I  love  you  ever. 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

Summer  music  is  there  flowing — 

The  joyous  brook  for  me. 

Flowering  plants  in  them  are  growing ; 

That  tuneth  through  the  quiet  night 

Happy  life  is  in  them  all. 

Its  ever-living  glee. 

Creatures  innocent  and  small ; 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

Little  birds  come  down  to  drink. 

That  sleepless,  merry  heart, 

Fearless  of  their  leafy  brink  ; 

Which  gurgles  on  unstintedly, 

Koble  trees  beside  them  grow. 

And  loveth  to  impart, 

Glooming  them  with  branches  low ; 

To  all  around  it,  some  small  measure 

And  between,  the  sunshine,  glancing 

Of  its  own  most  perfect  pleasure. 

In  their  little  waves,  is  dancing. 

The  Water !  the  Water ! 

Little  streams'have  flowers  a  many, 

The  gentle  stream  for  me. 

Beautiful  and  fair  as  any ; 

That  gushes  from  the  old  gray  stone, 

Typha  strong,  and  green  bur-reed  ; 

Beside  the  alder-tree. 

Willow-herb,  with  cotton-seed ; 

The  Water !  the  Water ! 

Arrow-head,  with  eye  of  jet ; 

That  ever-bubbling  spring 

And  the  water-violet. 

I  loved  and  looked  on  while  a  child, 

There  the  flowering-rush  you  meet. 

In  deepest  wondering, — 

And  the  plumy  meadow-sweet ; 

And  asked  it  whence  it  came  and  went, 

And,  in  jjlaces  deep  and  stilly. 

And  when  its  treasures  would  be  spent. 

Marble-like,  the  water-lily. 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

Ijittle  streams,  their  voices  cheery, 

The  merry,  wanton  brook 

Sound  forth  welcomes  to  the  weary. 

That  bent  itself  to  pleasure  me. 

Flowing  on  from  day  to  day. 

Like  mine  old  shepherd  crook. 

Without  stint  and  without  stay ; 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

Here,  upon  their  flowery  bank. 

That  sang  so  sweet  at  noon, 

In  the  old  time  pilgrims  drank — 

And  sweeter  still  all  night,  to  win 

Here  have  seen,  as  now,  pass  by, 

Smiles  from  the  pale,  proud  moon, 

King-fisher,  and  dragon-fly; 

And  from  the  little  fairy  faces 

Tliose  bright  things  that  have  their  dwelling. 

That  gleam  in  heaven's  remotest  places. 

Where  the  little  streams  are  welling. 

The  Water !  the  Water ! 

Down  in  valleys  green  and  lowly, 

The  dear  and  blessed  thing, 

Murmuring  not  and  gliding  slowly; 

That  all  day  fed  the  little  flowers 

Up  in  mountain-hollows  wild, 

On  its  banks  blossoming. 

b2                                                     POEMS    OF 

NATURE. 

The  Water !  the  Water ! 

That  miinnured  in  my  ear 

SONG  OF  THE  BROOK. 

llynms  of  a  saint-like  purity, 

. 

That  angels  well  might  hear, 

I  COME  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern  : 

And  whisper  in  the  gates  of  heaven, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally 

IIow  meek  a  pilgrim  had  been  shriven. 

And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern. 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

Where  I  have  shed  salt  tears, 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 

In  loneliness  and  friendliness, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges ; 

A  thing  of  tender  years. 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 

The  Water !  the  Water ! 

And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

Where  I  have  happy  been, 

And  showered  upon  its  bosom  flowers 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 

Culled  from  each  meadow  green ; 

To  join  the  brimming  river ; 

And  idly  hoped  my  life  would  be 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

So  crowned  by  love's  idolatry. 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

My  heart  yet  burns  to  think 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles ; 

How  cool  thy  fountain  sparkled  forth. 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

For  parched  lip  to  drink. 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

Of  mine  own  native  glen — 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 

The  gladsome  tongue  I  oft  have  heard, 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow. 

But  ne'er  shall  hear  again. 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 

Though  fancy  fills  my  ear  for  aye 

With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

With  sounds  that  live  so  far  away ! 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

To  join  the  brimming  river; 

The  mild  and  glassy  wave. 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

Upon  whose  broomy  banks  I  've  longed 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

To  find  my  silent  grave. 
The  Water!  the  Water! 

0,  blest  to  me  thou  art ! 
Thus  sounding  in  life's  solitude 

The  music  of  my  heart. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout. 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  filling  it,  despite  of  sadness, 
With  dreamings  of  departed  gladnesg. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 
Upon  me,  as  I  travel. 

The  Water!  the  Water! 
The  mournful,  pensive  tone 

With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 
Above  the  golden  gravel  ; 

That  whispered  to  my  heart  how  soon 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 

This  weary  life  was  done. 

To  join  the  brimming  river ; 

The  Water!  the  Water! 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

That  rolled  so  bright  and  free, 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

And  bade  me  mark  how  beautiful 

Was  its  soul's  purity ; 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots ; 

And  how  it  glanced  to  heaven  its  wave. 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers ; 

As,  wandering  on,  it  sought  its  grave. 

I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

■William  Mothek'well. 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

NATURE, 


33 


I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance. 
Among  mj  skimming  swallows , 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses ; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river ; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 


But  I  go  on  for  ever. 


Alfeed  Tenntso.v. 


THE  QUESTION. 

I  DREAMED  that,  as  I  wandered  by  the  way, 
Bare  Winter  was  changed  suddenly  to  Spring, 
And  gentle  odors  led  my  steps  astray. 
Mixed  with  the  sound  of  waters  murmuring, 
Along  a  shelvy  bank  of  turf,  which  lay 
Under  a  copse,  and  hardly  dared  to  fling 
Its  green  arms  round  the  bosom  of  the  stream, 
Dut  kissed  it  and  then  fled,  as  thou  mightest 
in  a  dream. 

There  grew  pied  wind-flowers  and  violets. 
Daisies — ^those  pearled  Arcturi  of  the  earth. 
The  constellated  flower  that  never  sets ; 
Faint  oxlips;    tender   blue-bells,    at  whose 

birth 
The  sod  scarce  heaved ;  and  that  tall  flower 

that  wets 
Its  mother's  face  with  heaven-collected  tears. 
When  the  low  wind,  its  playmate's  voice,  it 

hears. 

And  in  the  warm  hedge  grew  bush-eglantine. 
Green  cow-bind  and  the  moonlight-colored 

ilay ; 
And  cherry-blossoms,  and  white  caps  whose 

wine 
Was  the  briglit  dew  yet  drained  not  by  the 

day ; 

And  wild  roses,  and  ivy  serpentine 

With   its  dark  buds  and  leaves  wandering 

astray ; 

9 


And  flowers  azure,  black  and  streaked  with 

gold, 
Fairer  than  any  wakened  eyes  behold. 

And  nearer  to  the  river's  trembling  edge. 
There  grew  broad  flag-flowers,  purple  prankl 

with  white ; 
And  starry  river  buds  among  the  sedge 
And  floating  water-lilies,  broad  and  bright. 
Which  lit  the  oak  that  overhung  the  hedge 
With  moonlight  beams  of  their  own  watery 

light ; 
And  bulrushes,  and  reeds  of  such  deep  green 
As  soothed  the  dazzled  eye  with  sober  sheen. 

Methought  that  of  these  visionary  flowers 
I  made  a  nosegay,  bound  in  such  a  way 
That  the  same  hues,  which  in  their  natural 

bowers 
Were  mingled  or  opposed,  the  like  array 
Kept  these  imprisoned  children  of  the  Hours 
Within  my  hand — and  then,  elate  and  gay, 
I  hastened  to  the  spot  whence  I  had  come, 
That  I  might  there  present  it!  Oh  to  whom? 

Percy  Byssiie  Siielley. 


NATUEE. 

The  bubbling  brook  doth  leap  when  I  come  by. 

Because  my  feet  find  measure  with  its  call ; 

The  birds  know  when  the  friend  they  love  is 
nigh. 

For  I  am  known  to  them,  both  great  and 
small. 

The  flower  that  on  the  lonely  hill-side  grows 

Expects  me  there  when  Spring  its  bloom  has 
given ; 

And  many  a  tree  and  bush  my  wanderings 
knows. 

And  e'en  the  clouds  and  silent  stars  of  hea- 
ven ; 

For  he  who  with  his  Maker  walks  aright, 

Shall  be  their  lord  as  Adam  was  before ; 

His  ear  shall  catch  each  sound  with  new  de- 
light. 

Each  object  wear  the  dress  that  then  it  wore; 

And  he,  as  when  erect  in  soul  he  stood. 

Hear  from  his  Father's  lips  that  all  is  good. 

Jones  Vert. 


34 


FUEMS    OF    NATURE. 


TO  THE  SMALL  CELANDINE. 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies ; 
Let  them  live  upon  their  praises ; 
Long  as  there 's  a  sun  that  sets, 
Primroses  will  have  their  glory ; 
Long  as  there  are  violets. 
They  will  have  a  place  in  story : 
There 's  a  flower  that  shall  be  mine, 
'T  is  the  little  Celandine. 

Eyes  of  some  men  travel  far 
For  the  finding  of  a  star ; 
Up  and  down  the  heavens  they  go, 
Men  that  keep  a  mighty  rout ! 
I  'm  as  great  as  they,  I  trow. 
Since  the  day  I  found  thee  out. 
Little  flower! — I'll  make  a  stir. 
Like  a  sage  astronomer. 

Modest,  yet  withal  an  elf 
Bold,  and  lavish  of  thyself; 
Since  we  needs  must  first  have  met, 
I  have  seen  thee,  high  and  low. 
Thirty  years  or  more,  and  yet 
'T  was  a  face  I  did  not  know ; 
Thou  hast  now,  go  where  I  may. 
Fifty  greetings  in  a  day. 

Ere  a  leaf  is  on  a  hush. 

In  the  time  before  the  thrush 

Has  a  thought  about  her  nest. 

Thou  wilt  come  with  half  a  call, 

Spreading  out  thy  glossy  breast 

Like  a  careless  prodigal ; 

Telling  tales  about  the  sun. 

When  we've  little  warmth,  or  none. 

Poets,  vain  men  in  their  mood, 
Travel  with  the  multitude ; 
Never  heed  them ;  I  aver 
That  they  all  are  wanton  wooers ; 
But  the  thrifty  cottager, 
"Who  stirs  little  out  of  doors, 
Joys  to  spy  thee  near  at  home  ; 
Spring  is  coming,  thou  art  come ! 

Comfort  have  thou  of  thy  merit. 
Kindly,  unassuming  spirit ! 


Careless  of  thy  neighborhood. 
Thou  dost  show  thy  pleasant  face 
On  the  moor,  and  in  the  wood. 
In  the  lane ; — there 's  not  a  place, 
Howsoever  mean  it  be. 
But 't  is  good  enough  for  thee. 

Ill  befall  the  yellow  flowers, 
Childi'en  of  the  flaring  Hours ! 
Buttercups,  that  will  he  seen, 
"Whether  we  will  see  or  no ; 
Others,  too,  of  lofty  mien ; 
They  have  done  as  worldlings  do, 
Taken  praise  that  should  be  thine, 
Little,  humble  Celandine. 

Prophet  of  delight  and  mirth, 
Ill-requited  upon  earth ; 
Herald  of  a  mighty  band. 
Of  a  joyous  train  ensuing; 
Serving  at  my  heart's  command. 
Tasks  that  are  no  tasks  renewing, 
I  will  sing,  as  doth  behoove, 
Hymns  in  praise  of  what  I  love ! 

William  "Wokdswoeth, 


TO  VIOLETS. 

Welcome,  maids  of  honor, 

You  do  bring 

In  the  Spring, 
And  wait  upon  her. 

She  has  virgins  many, 

Fresh  and  fair ; 

Yet  you  are 
More  sweet  than  any. 

Y'  are  the  Maiden  Posies, 

And  so  graced, 

To  be  placed, 
'Fore  damask  roses. 

Yet  though  thus  respected, 

By  and  by 

Ye  do  lie. 
Poor  girls,  neglected. 

Egbert  Heeeick. 


FLOWERS.                                                                     85 

'T  is  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth, 

TO  PPJMKOSES, 

Merely  to  show  your  worth, 

And  lose  you  quite. 

FILLED   WITH   MOENING   DEW. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 

Why  do  ye  weep,  sweet  babes?     Can  tears 

May  read  how  soon  things  have 

Speak  grief  in  you, 

Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave; 

Who  were  but  born 

And,  after  they  have  shown  their  pride 

Just  as  tbe  modest  morn 

Like  you  awhile,  they  glide, 

Teemed  ber  refreshing  dew  ? 

Into  the  grave. 

Alas !  ye  have  not  known  tbat  shower 

Egbert  Heebiok 

Tbof  TTiiir^  fi  floAver  ■ 

1    11  cl  L    XAlC*i-  O     i-V    Ll\J  \<   \~  L    , 

Nor  felt  tb'  unkind 

Breath  of  a  blasting  wind ; 

TO  DAFFODILS. 

Nor  are  ye  worn  with  years ; 

Or  warped,  as  we. 

Fair  daffodils !  we  weep  to  see 

Who  think  it  strange  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon ; 

Such  pretty  flowers,  like  to  orphans  young. 

As  yet  the  early-rising  sun 

Speaking  by  tears  before  ye  have  a  tongue. 

Has  not  attained  his  noon : 

Stay,  stay 

Speak,    whimpering  younglings,    and  make 

Until  the  hastening  day 

known 

Has  run 

The  reason  why 

But  to  the  even-song ; 

Ye  droop  and  weep. 

And,  having  prayed  together,  we 

Is  it  for  want  of  sleej). 

Will  go  with  you  along. 

Or  chUdish  lullaby? 

We  have  short  time  to  stay  as  you , 

Or,  that  ye  have  not  seen  as  yet 
The  violet? 

Or  broucfht  a  kiss 

We  have  as  short  a  Spring ; 

As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 

From  that  sweetheart  to  this  ? 

As  you,  or  any  thing : 

We  die, 
As  your  hours  do ;  and  dry 

No,  no ;  this  sorrow,  shown 

By  your  tears  shed. 

Away 

Would  have  this  lecture  read : — 

Like  to  the  summer's  rain, 

"That  things  of  greatest,  so  of  meanest  worth. 

Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning  dew. 
Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

Conceived  with  grief  are,   and  with  tears 

brought  forth." 

Egbert  Heerick. 

EOBEET    IIkRKICK. 

♦ 

♦ 

DAFFODILS. 

TO  BLOSSOMS. 

I  WANDERED,  loucly  as  a  cloud 

Fa  Hi  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree, 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast? 

O                                                                                        7 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd — 

Your  date  is  not  so  past 

A  host  of  golden  daffodils 

But  you  may  stay  yet  here  awhile 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees. 

To  blush  and  gently  smile, 

7                                                                             ' 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

And  go  at  last. 

Continuous  a.s  the  stars  that  shine 

What !  were  ye  born  to  be 

And  tAvinkle  on  the  milky  way, 

An  hour  or  half's  delight, 

They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

And  so  to  bid  good-night? 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay : 

i.       . ., — 

POEMS    OF    NATUHE. 


Toil  tliousand  saw  I,  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  daucc. 

Tlie  Avaves  beside  tliem  danced,  but  thcy 

Outdid  the  sparkling  Avaves  in  glee  ; 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay. 

In  such  a  jocund  company; 

I  gazed — and  gazed — but  little  thought 

"^'hat  -ft-ealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought: 

For  oft,  -when  on  my  coucli  I  lie, 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude. 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills. 
And  dances  with  the  dafl:bdils. 

WlILLAil   W^OEDSWOCTH. 


TRAILmG  AEBUTUS. 

Daelin'gs  of  the  forest ! 
Blossoming,  alone. 
When  Earth's  grief  is  sorest 
For  her  jewels  gone — 
Ere  the  last  snow-drift  melts,  your  tender 
buds  have  blown. 

Tinged  v.'ith  color  faintly, 
Like  the  morning  sky, 
Or,  more  pale  and  saintly, 
Wrapped  in  leaves  ye  lie — - 
Even  as  children  sleep  in  faith's  simplicity. 

There  the  wild  wood-robin, 
Hymns  your  solitude ; 
And  the  rain  comes  sobbing 
Through  the  budding  wood. 
While  the  low  south  wind  sighs,  but  dare  not 
be  more  rude. 

Were  your  pure  lips  fashioned 
Out  of  air  and  dew — 
Starlight  unimpassioned. 
Dawn's  most  tender  hue. 
And   scented  by  the   vroods  that  gathered 
sweets  for  you  ? 

Fairest  and  most  lonely. 
From  the  world  apart; 
Made  for  beauty  only. 


Veiled  from  Nature's  heart 
With  such  unconscious  grace  as  makes  tlie 
dream  of  Art ! 

Were  not  mortal  sorrow 

An  immortal  shade, 

Then  would  I  to-morrow 

Such  a  flower  be  made, 

And  live  in  the  dear  woods  where  my  losi 

childhood  played. 

Hose  Terky. 


THE  RHODOEA. 

LIKES   ON  BEING   ASKED,   -WnENOE  18  THE 
FLOWEE  ? 

In  May.  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  soli- 
tudes, 
I  found  the  fresh  Ehodora  in  the  woods 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook  : 
The  purple  petals  fallen  in  the  pool 
Made  the  black  waters  with  their  beautj 

gay- 
Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to 

cool, 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his 

array. 

Ehodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  marsh  and  sky 

Dear,  tell  them,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for 

seeing, 

Then  beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being. 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose ! 

I  never  thought  to  ask ;  I  never  knew, 

But  in  my  simple  ignorance  suppose 

The  selfsame  Power  that  brought  me  there, 

brought  you. 

Ealpu  "Waldo  Emeeso:*. 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY, 

ON   TDKNING   ONE   DOWN  WITH  THE   PLOron 
IN  APEIL  1T86. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem : 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power. 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 


THE    DAISY. 


37 


Alas !  it 's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet, 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet 

Wi'  speckled  breast, 
"When  upward-springing,  blithe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

•  Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm — 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield, 
High  shelt'ring    woods    and    wa's    maun 

shield ; 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 


There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sunward  spread. 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies ! 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid, 
Sweet  floweret  of  the  rural  shade ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betrayed. 

And  guileless  trust. 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soiled,  is  laid 

Low  i'  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard. 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred ; 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore. 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard. 

And  whelm  him  o'er ! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  given. 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striven, 
By  human  pride  or  cunning  driven 

To  misery's  brink. 
Till,  wrenched  of  every  stay  but  Heaven, 

He,  ruined,  sink ! 


Even  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's  fate, 
That  fate  is  thine — no  distant  date ; 
Stern  ruin's  ploughshare  drives  elate, 

Full  on  thy  Lloom, 
Till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight 

Shall  be  thy  doom ! 

Egbert  Bukns. 


TO  A  DAISY. 

There  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower 
"With  silver  crest  and  golden  eye. 
That  welcomes  every  changing  hour, 
And  weathers  every  sky. 

The  prouder  beauties  of  the  field. 
In  gay  but  quick  succession  shine  ; 
Race  after  race  their  honors  yield, 
They  flourish  and  decline. 

But  this  small  flower,  to  Nature  dear, 
While  moons  and  stars  their  courses  run, 
Enwreathes  the  circle  of  the  year. 
Companion  of  the  sun. 

It  smiles  upon  the  lap  of  May, 
To  sultry  August  spreads  its  charm, 
Lights  pale  October  on  his  way. 
And  twines  December's  arm. 

The  purple  heath  and  golden  broom. 
On  moory  mountains  catch  the  gale ; 
O'er  lawns  the  lily  sheds  perfume. 
The  violet  in  the  vale. 

But  this  bold  floweret  climbs  the  hill, 
Hides  in  the  forest,  haunts  the  glen, 
Plays  on  the  margin  of  the  rill, 
Peeps  round  the  fox's  den. 

Within  the  garden's  cultured  round 
It  shares  the  sweet  carnation's  bed ; 
And  blooms  on  consecrated  ground 
In  honor  of  the  dead. 

The  lambkin  crops  its  crimson  gem ; 
The  wild  bee  murmurs  on  its  breast ; 
The  blue-fly  bends  its  pensile  stem, 
Light  o'er  the  skylark's  nest. 


i4r>.54n 


38 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


'Tis  Flora's  page — in  every  place, 
111  every  season,  fresh  and  fair ; 
It  opens  ^vitli  perennial  grace, 
And  blossoms  every  where. 

On  -waste  and  woodland,  rock  and  plain, 
Its  humble  buds  unheeded  rise  ; 
The  rose  has  but  a  summer  reign ; 
The  Daisy  never  dies ! 

James  Montgomery. 


TO  THE  DAISY. 


Her  divine  sliill  tauglit  me  this: 
That  from  every  thing  I  saw 
I  could  some  instruction  draw, 
And  raise  pleasure  to  the  height 
Tlirough  the  meanest  object's  sight. 
By  the  murmur  of  a  spring, 
Or  the  least  bough's  rustelling ; 
By  a  daisy  whose  leaves  spread 
Shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bed ; 
Or  a  shady  bush  or  tree. 
She  could  more  infuse  in  me, 
Than  all  Nature's  beauties  can 
In  some  other  wiser  man. 

Geoegb  Withek. 


Ix  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went. 
From  hill  to  hill,  in  discontent 
Of  pleasure  high  and  turbulent — 

Most  pleased  when  most  uneasy  ; 
But  now  my  own  delights  I  make, 
;My  thirst  at  every  rill  can  slake, 
And  gladly  Nature's  love  partake, 

Of  thee,  sweet  Daisy  ! 

Thee,  Winter  in  the  garland  wears 
That  thinly  decks  his  few  gray  hairs  ; 
Spring  parts  the  clouds  with  softest  airs. 

That  she  may  sun  thee ; 
"Whole  summer-fields  are  thine  by  right ; 
And  Autumn,  melancholy  wight, 
Doth  in  thy  crimson  head  delight 

When  rains  are  on  thee. 

lu  shoals  and  bands,  a  morrice  train, 
Tliou  greet'st  the  traveller  in  the  lane  ; 
Pleased  at  his  greeting  thee  again, 

Yet  nothing  daunted 
For  grieved,  if  thou  be  set  at  naught ; 


And  oft  alone  in  nooks  remote 
We  meet  thee,  like  a  pleasant  thought 
When  such  are  wanted. 

Be  violets  in  their  sacred  mews 

The  flowers  the  wanton  zephyrs  choose ; 

Proud  be  the  rose,  with  rains  and  dews 

Tier  head  impearling ; 
Thou  liv'st  with  less  ambitious  aim, 
Yet  hast  not  gone  without  thy  fame ; 
Thou  art  indeed  by  many  a  claim 

The  poet's  darling. 

If  to  a  rock  from  rains  he  fly. 
Or,  some  bright  day  of  April  sky, 
Imprisoned  by  hot  sunshine,  lie 

Near  the  green  holly, 
And  wearily  at  length  should  fare ; 
He  needs  but  look  about,  and  there 
Thou  art ! — a  friend  at  hand,  to  scare 

His  melancholy. 

A  hundred  times,  by  rock  or  bower, 
Ere  thus  I  have  lain  couched  an  hour, 
Have  I  derived  from  thy  sweet  power 

Some  apprehension ; 
Some  steady  love ;  some  brief  delight ; 
Some  memory  that  had  taken  flight ; 
Some  chime  of  fancy,  wrong  or  right ; 

Or  stray  invention. 

If  stately  passions  in  me  burn. 

And  one  chance  look  to  thee  should  turn, 

I  drink  out  of  an  humbler  urn 

A  lowlier  pleasure ; 
The  homely  sympathy  that  heeds 
The  common  life  our  nature  breeds ; 
A  wisdom  fitted  to  the  needs 

Of  hearts  at  leisure. 


Fresh-smitten  by  the  morning  ray, 
AVhen  thou  art  up,  alert  and  gay, 
Then,  cheerful  flower !  my  spirits  play 

With  kindred  gladness ; 
And  when,  at  dusk,  by  dews  opprest, 
Thou  sink'st,  the  image  of  thy  rest 
Hath  often  eased  my  pensive  breast 

Of  careful  sadness. 


THE    DAISY. 


39 


And  all  day  long  I  number  yet, 

A  little  Cyclops  with  one  eye 

All  seasons  through,  another  debt, 

Staring  to  threaten  and  defy. 

Which  I,  -n-herever  thou  art  met, 

That  thought  comes  next, — and  instantly 

To  thee  am  owing ; 

The  freak  is  over ; 

An  instinct  call  it,  a  blind  sense  ; 

The  shape  will  vanish, — and  behold 

A  happy,  genial  influence, 

A  silver  shield  with  boss  of  gold 

Coming  one  kno  u's  not  how,  nor  whence, 

That  spreads  itself,  some  fairy  bold 

Nor  whither  going. 

In  fight  to  cover. 

Child  of  the  year !  that  round  dost  run 

I  see  thee  glittering  from  afar, — 

Thy  pleasant  course, — when  day  's  begun, 

And  then  thou  art  a  pretty  star ; 

As  ready  to  salute  the  sun 

Not  quite  so  fair  as  many  are 

As  lark  or  leveret — 

In  heaven  above  thee  ! 

Thy  long-lost  praise  thou  shalt  regain, 

Yet  like  a  star,  with  glittering  crest. 

Nor  be  less  dear  to  future  men 

Self-poised  in  air  thou  seem'st  to  rest  ;— 

Than  in  old  time ; — thou  not  in  vain 

May  peace  com.e  never  to  his  nest. 

Art  Nature's  favorite. 

Who  shall  reprove  thee ! 

Bright  flower !  for  by  that  name  at  last, 

When  all  my  reveries  are  past. 

I  call  thee,  and  to  that  cleave  fast, — 

Sweet,  silent  creature ! 

TO    THE   SAME   FLOWER. 

That  breath'st  with  me  in  sun  and  air, 

Do  thou,  as  thou  art  wont,  repair 

With  little  here  to  do  or  see 

My  heart  with  gladness  and  a  share 

Of  things  that  in  the  great  world  be 

Of  thy  meek  nature  ! 

Daisy !  again  I  talk  to  thee, 

"Willi Aai  Woedswoeth. 

For  thou  art  worthy ; — 

Thou  unassuming  commonplace 
Of  Nature,  with  that  homely  face, 

And  yet  with  something  of  a  grace, 

Which  love  makes  for  thee  ! 

SONG  OF  SPEING. 

Oft  on  the  dappled  turf  at  ease 

Laud  the  first  Spring  daisies  ; 

I  sit,  and  play  with  similes — 

Chaunt  aloud  their  praises ; 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees. 

Send  the  children  up 

Thoughts  of  thy  raising ; 

To  the  high  hill's  top  ; 

And  many  a  fond  and  idle  name 

Tax  not  the  strength  of  their  young  hands 

I  give  to  thee,  for  praise  or  blame, 

To  increase  your  lands. 

As  is  the  humor  of  the  game. 

Gather  the  primroses, 

While  I  am  gazing. 

Make  handfuls  into  posies ; 

Take  them  to  the  little  girls  who  are  at  work 

A.  nun  demure,  of  lowly  port ; 

in  mills ; 

Or  sprightly  maiden  of  Love's  court, 

Pluck  the  violets  blue, — 

In  thy  simplicity  the  sport 

Ah,  pluck  not  a  few  ! 

Of  all  temptations ; 

Knowest  thou  what  good  thoughts  from  Hea- 

A queen  in  crown  of  rubies  drest ; 

ven  the  violet  instils  ? 

A  starveling  in  a  scanty  vest ; 

Are  all,  as  seems  to  suit  thee  best. 

Give  the  children  holidays, 

Thy  appellations. 

(And  let  these  be  jolly  days, 

10                                                     rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 

Grant  tVoodoiii  to  tlie  children  in  this  joyous 

Are  ready  to  be  woven  into  garlands  for  iia 

Spring ; 

good. 

Better  men,  hereafter. 

Or,  upon  summer  earth, 

Shall  we  have,  for  laughter 

To  die,  in  virgin  worth ; 

Freely  shouted  to   the   woods,  till   all  the 

Or  to  be  strewn  before  the  bride, 

echoes  ring. 

And  the  bridegroom,  by  her  side. 

Send  the  children  up 

To  the  high  hill's  top. 

Come  forth  on  Sundays ; 

Or  deep  into  the  wood's  recesses, 

Come  forth  on  Mondays ; 

To  woo  Spring's  caresses. 

Come  forth  on  any  day ; 

Children,  come  forth  to  play ; — 

See,  the  birds  together. 

Worship  the  God  of  Nature  in  your  child- 

In this  splendid  weather. 

hood  ; 

"Worship  God — (for  he  is  God  of  birds  as 

Worship  Him  at  your  tasks  with  best  en- 

well as  men) : 

deavor  ; 

And  each  feathered  neighbor 

Worship  Him  in  your  sports ;  worship  Him 

Enters  on  his  labor, — 

ever ; 

Sparrow,  robin,  redpole,  finch,  the  linnet. 

Worship  Him  in  the  wild  wood ; 

and  the  wren. 

Worship  Him  amidst  the  flowers ; 

As  the  year  advances. 

In  the  greenwood  bowers ; 

Trees  their  naked  branches 

Pluck  the  buttercups,  and  raise 

Clothe,  and  seek  your  pleasure  in  their  green 

Your  voices  in  His  praise ! 

apparel. 

Ebwakb  Tofl. 

Insect  and  wild  beast 

Keep  no  Lent,  but  feast ; 

Spring  breathes  uj)on  the  earth,  and  their 

joy  's  increased. 

THF,  BEOOM-FLOWEE. 

And  the  rejoicing  birds  break  forth  in  one 

loud  carol. 

On  the  Broom,  the  yellow  Broom, 

The  ancient  poet  sung  it. 

Ah,  come  and  woo  the  Spring ; 

And  dear  it  is  on  summer  days 

List  to  the  birds  that  sing ; 

To  lie  at  rest  among  it. 

Pluck  the  primroses  ;  pluck  the  violets ; 

Pluck  the  daisies. 

I  know  the  realms  where  people  say 

Sing  their  praises ; 

The  flowers  have  not  their  fellow  ; 

Friendship    with    the  flowers    some    noble 

I  know  where  they  shine  out  like  suns?, 

thought  begets. 

The  crimson  and  the  yellow. 

Come  forth  and  gather  these  sweet  elves, 

(More  witching  are  they  than  the  fays  of 

I  know  where  ladies  live  enchained 

old,) 

In  luxury's  silken  fetters. 

Come  forth  and  gather  them  yourselves  ; 

And  flowers  as  bright  as  glittering  gems 

Learn  of  these  gentle  flowers  whose  worth 

Are  used  for  written  letters. 

is  more  than  gold. 

But  ne'er  was  flower  so  fair  as  this, 

Corne,  come  into  the  wood ; 

In  modern  days  or  olden  ; 

Pierce  into  the  bowers 

It  groweth  on  its  nodding  stem 

Of  these  gentle  flowers, 

Like  to  a  garland  golden. 

Which,  not  in  solitude 

Dwell,  but  with  each  other  keep  society  : 

And  all  about  my  mother's  door 

And  vrith  a  simple  piety. 

Shine  out  its  glittering  bushes. 

FLOWERS. 


41 


And  down  the  glen,  where  clear  as  light 
The  mountain-water  gushes. 

Take  all  the  rest ;  but  give  me  this, 
And  the  bird  that  nestles  in  it ; 

I  love  it,  for  it  loves  the  Broom — 
The  green  and  yellow  linnet. 

Well,  call  the  rose  the  queen  of  flowers, 
And  boast  of  that  of  Sharon, 

Of  lilies  like  to  marble  cups, 
And  the  golden  rod  of  Aaron : 

I  care  not  how  these  flowers  may  be 
Beloved  of  man  and  woman ; 

The  Broom  it  is  the  flower  for  me. 
That  groweth  on  the  common. 

Oh  the  Broom,  the  yellow  Broom, 

The  ancient  poet  sung  it, 
And  dear  it  is  on  summer  days 


To  lie  at  rest  among  it. 


Mary  Howitt. 


THE  BEAMBLE  ELOWER. 

TiiT  fruit  full  well  the  schoolboy  knows, 

Wild  bramble  of  the  brake ! 
So,  put  thou  forth  thy  small  white  rose ; 

I  love  it  for  his  sake. 
Though  woodbines  flaunt  and  roses  glow 

O'er  all  the  fragrant  bowers, 
Thou  need'st  not  be  ashamed  to  show 

Thy  satin-threaded  flowers ; 

For  dull  the  eye,  the  heart  is  dull, 

That  cannot  feel  how  fair. 
Amid  all  beauty  beautiful. 

Thy  tender  blossoms  are, 
How  delicate  thy  gauzy  frill, 

How  rich  thy  branchy  stem, 
How  soft  thy  voice  when  woods  are  still. 

And  thou  sing'st  hymns  to  them ; 

While  silent  showers  are  falling  slow, 

And,  'mid  the  general  hush, 
A  sweet  air  lifts  the  little  bough, 

Lone  whispering  througli  the  bush! 
10 


The  primrose  to  the  grave  is  gone  ; 

The  hawthorn  flower  is  dead  ; 
The  violet  by  the  mossed  gray  stone 

Hath  laid  her  weary  head  ; 

But  thou,  wild  bramble !  back  dost  bring, 

In  all  their  beauteous  power, 
The  fresh  green  days  of  life's  fair  Spring, 

And  boyhood's  blossomy  hour. 
Scorned  bramble  of  the  brake !  once  more 

Thou  bidd'st  me  be  a  boy, 
To  gad  with  thee  the  woodlands  o'er. 

In  freedom  and  in  joy. 

Ebenezee  Elliott. 


THE  WILD  HOJ^EYSUCKLE. 

Fair  flower,  that  dost  so  comely  grow, 

Hid  in  this  silent,  dull  retreat. 
Untouched  thy  honeyed  blossoms  blow. 
Unseen  thy  little  branches  greet : 
ISTo  roving  foot  shall  crush  thee  here, 
No  busy  hand  provoke  a  tear. 

By  Nature's  self  in  white  arrayed. 

She  bade  thee  shun  the  vulgar  eye. 
And  planted  here  the  guardian  shade. 
And  sent  soft  waters  murmuring  by 
Thus  quietly  thy  summer  goes — • 
Thy  days  declining  to  repose. 

Smit  with  those  charms,  that  must  decay 

I  grieve  to  see  your  future  doom ; 
They  died — nor  were  those  flowers  more  gay- 
The  flowers  that  did  in  Eden  bloom ; 
Unpitying  frosts  and  Autumn's  power 
Shall  leave  no  vestige  of  this  flower. 


From  morning  suns  and  evening  dews 

At  first  thy  little  being  came : 
If  nothing  once,  you  notliing  lose, 
For  when  you  die  you  are  the  same ; 
The  space  between  is  but  an  hour, 
Tlie  frail  duration  of  a  flower. 

Puii.ii*  Feeneau. 


■il 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE, 


THE  BRIER. 

J[y  brier  that  smellodst  sweet, 
"When  gentle  Spring's  first  heat 
Ran  tln-ough  thy  qnict  veins ; 
Tliou  that  couldst  injure  none, 
But  wouldst  be  left  alone, 
Alone  thou  leavest  me,  and  nought  of  thine 
remains. 

What !  hath  no  poet's  lyre 
O'er  thee,  sweet-breathing  brier, 

Iluug  fondly,  ill  or  well  ? 
And  yet,  methinks,  with  thee 
A  poet's  sympathy, 
WTiether  in  weal  or  woe,  in  life  or  death, 
might  dwell. 

Hard  usage  both  must  bear, 
Few  hands  your  youth  will  rear, 

Few  bosoms  cherish  you  ; 
Your  tender  prime  must  bleed 
Ere  you  are  sweet ;  but,  freed 
Fi'om  life,  you  then  are  prized ;  thus  prized 
are  poets  too. 

"Walter  Savage  Landok. 


TO  THE  DANDELION'. 

Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside 
the  way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold  ! 

First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride,  up- 
hold— 
Iligh-heartod  buccaneers,   o'erjoyed    that 
they 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found. 

Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 
May  mat(jh  in  wealth ! — thou  art  more  dear 

to  me 
Than  all  the  prouder  summer-blooms  may  be. 

Gold  such  as  thine  ne'er  drew  the  Spanish 
prow 
Through  the  primeval  hush  of  Indian  seas ; 

For  wrinkled  the  lean  brow 
Of  age,  to  rob  the  lover's  heart  of  ease. 


'T  is  the  Spring's  largess,  which  she  scatters  no-* 
To  rich  and  jioor  alike,  Avith  lavish  hand; 
Though  most  hearts  never  understand 
To  take  it  at  God's  value,  but  pass  by 
The  oflered  wealth  with  unrewarded  eye. 

Thou  art  my  tropics  and  mine  Italy ; 
To  look  at  thee  unlocks  a  warmer  clime ; 

The  eyes  thou  givest  me 
Are  in  the  heart,  and  heed  not  space  or  time: 
Not  in  mid  June  the  golden-cuirassed  bee 
Feels  a  more  summer-like,  warm  ravishment 
In  the  white  lily's  breezy  tent. 
His  conquered  Sybaris,  than  I,  when  first 
From  the  dark  green  thy  yellow  circles 
burst. 

Then  think  I  of  deep  shadows  on  the  grass ; 
Of  meadows  where  in  sun  the  cattle  graze. 

Where,  as  the  breezes  pass. 
The  gleaming  rushes  lean  a  thousand  ways ; 
Of  leaves  that  slumber  In  a  cloudy  mass. 
Or  whiten  in  the  wind  ;  of  waters  blue. 
That  from  the  distance  sparkle  through 
Some  woodland  gap  ;  and  of  a  sky  above, 
Where  one  white  cloud  like  a  stray  lamb 
doth  move. 

My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked 
with  thee ; 
The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 

Who,  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door,  sang  clearly  all  day  long ; 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety. 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 

With  news  from  heaven,  which  he  did 
bring 
Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears. 
When  birds  and  flowers  and  I  were  happy 
peers. 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem. 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art ! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 
More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart. 

Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 
Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret 
show, 
Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe. 
And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 
On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book, 
James  EtssEi.L  Lo'wei.l. 


FLOWERS.                                                                   43 

Nor  will  I  dreary  rosemarye, 

THE  AaOLET. 

That  always  mourns  the  aead ; — 

But  I  will  woo  the  dainty  rose. 

0 !  faint,  delicious,  spring-time  violet. 

With  her  cheeks  of  tender  red. 

Thine  odor,  like  a  key. 

Turns  noiselessly  in  memory's  wiirds  to  let 

The  lily  is  all  in  white,  like  a  saint. 

A  thought  of  sorrow  free. 

And  so  is  no  mate  for  me — 

And  the  daisy's  cheek  is  tipped  with  a  blush, 

The  breath  of  distant  fields  upon  my  brow 

She  is  of  such  low  degree  ; 

Blows  through  tliat  open  door 

Jasmine  is  sweet,  and  has  many  loves. 

The  sound  of  AA'ind-borne  bells,  more  sweet 

And  the  broom 's  belfrothed  to  the  bee  ; — 

and  low. 

But  I  will  plight  with  the  dainty  rose. 

And  sadder  than  of  yore 

For  ftvirest  of  all  is  she. 

Thomas  Hood. 

It  comes  afar,  from  that  beloved  place, 
And  that  beloved  hour. 

When  life   hung  ripening   in   love's  golden 

THE  EOSE. 

grace, 

Like  grapes  above  a  bower. 

Go,  lovely  rose ! 

Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me 

A  spring  goes  singing  through  its  reedy  grass ; 

That  now  she  knows. 

The  lark  sings  o'er  my  head. 

When  I  resemble  her  to  thee. 

Drowned  in  the  sky — 0  pass,  ye  visions,  pass ! 

How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

I  would  that  I  were  dead  ! — 

Tell  her  that 's  young. 

Why  hast  thou  opened  that  forbidden  door 

And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

From  which  I  ever  flee  ? 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 

0  vanished  Joy !    0  Love,  that  art  no  more. 

In  deserts  where  no  men  abide, 

Let  my  vexed  spirit  be ! 

Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

0  violet !  thy  odor  through  my  brain 

Small  is  the  worth 

Hath  searched,  and  stung  to  grief 

Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired; 

1                             o            o 

This  sunny  day,  as  if  a  curse  did  stain 

Bid  her  come  forth — 

Thy  velvet  leaf. 

*     Sufffer  herself  to  be  desired. 

William  "W.  Stoey. 

And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die,  that  she 

The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

FLOWERS. 

May  read  in  thee — 

, 

How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 

I  WILL  not  have  the  mad  Clytie, 

That  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair. 

Wliose  head  is  turned  by  the  sun  ; 

Edmund  Waller, 

Tlie  tulip  is  a  courtly  quean, 

Whom,  therefore,  I  will  shun  ; 

The  cowslip  is  a  country  wench 

The  violet  is  a  nun  ; — 

CAI>TZOFET. 

But  I  will  woo  the  dainty  rose. 

The  queen  of  every  one. 

Flowers  are  fresh,  and  bushes  green, 

Clieerily  the  linnets  sing ; 

The  poa  is  but  a  wanton  witch. 

Winds  are  soft,  and  skies  serene ; 

In  too  much  haste  to  wed, 

Time,  however,  soon  shall  throw 

And  clasps  her  rings  on  every  hand  ; 

"Winter 's  snow 

The  wolfsbane  I  should  dread ; —                               0  'er  the  buxom  breast  of  Spring  I 

44 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE, 


Hope,  that  buds  in  lover's  heart, 

Lives  not  tlirougli  the  scorn  of  years ; 

Time  makes  love  itself  depart ; 

Time  and  scorn  congeal  the  mind — 

Looks  unkind 
Freeze  affection's  warmest  tears. 

Time  shall  make  the  bushes  green ; 
Time  dissolve  the  winter  snow ; 
Winds  be  soft,  and  slv^es  serene  ; 
Linnets  sing  their  wonted  strain. 

But  again 
Blighted  love  shall  never  blow ! 

Luis  de  Camokns,  (Portuguese.) 
Translation  of  Lokd  Steangfoed. 


OHORIJS  OF  FLOWERS. 

We  are  the  sweet  flowers. 
Born  of  sunny  showers, 
(Think,  whene'er  you  see  us,  what  our  beauty 
saith ;) 
Utterance,  mute  and  bright, 
Of  some  unknown  delight. 
We  fill  the  air  with  pleasure,  by  our  simple 
breath : 
All  who  see  us  love  us — 
We  befit  all  places ; 
Unto  sorrow  we  give  smiles — and  unto  graces, 
races.  * 

Mark  our  ways,  how  noiseless 
All,  and  sweetly  voiceless, 
Though  the  Uarch-winds  pipe  to  make  our 
passage  clear ; 
Not  a  whisper  tells 
Where  our  small  seed  dwells, 
Nor  is  known  the  moment  green  when  our 
tips  appear. 
We  thread  the  earth  in  silence. 
In  silence  build  our  bowers — 
And  leaf  by  leaf  in  silence  show,  till  we  laugh 
a-top,  sweet  flowers. 

The  dear  lumpish  baby, 
Humming  with  the  May-bee, 
Hails  us  with  his    bright    star,    stumbling 
through  the  grass ; 


The  honey-dropping  moon. 
On  a  night  in  June, 
Kisses  our  pale  pathway  leaves,  that  felt  t)ie 
bridegroom  pass. 
Age,  the  withered  dinger. 
On  us  mutely  gazes. 
And  wraps  the  thought  of  his  last  bed  in  his 
childhood's  daisies. 

See  (and  scorn  all  duller 
Taste)  how  Heaven  loves  color ; 
How  great  Nature,  clearly,  joys  in  red  and 
green ; 
What  sweet  thoughts  she  thinks 
Of  violets  and  pinks. 
And  a  thousand  flushing  hues  made  solely  to 
be  seen ; 
See  her  whitest  lilies 
Chill  the  silver  showers, 
And  what  a  red  mouth  is  her  rose,  the  woman 
of  her  flowers. 

Uselessness  divinest. 

Of  a  use  the  finest, 
Painteth  us,  the  teachers  of  the  end  of  use ; 

Travelers,  weary-eyed. 

Bless  us,  far  and  wide  ; 
Unto  sick  and  prisoned  thoughts  we  give  sud- 
den truce ; 

Not  a  poor  town  window 

Loves  its  sickliest  planting. 
But  its  wall  speaks  loftier  truth  than  Babylo- 
nian vaunting. 

Sagest  yet  the  uses 

Mixed  with  our  sweet  juices, 

Whether  man  or  May -fly  profit  of  the  balm ; 
As  fair  fingers  healed 
Knights  from  the  olden  field. 

We  hold  cups  of  mightiest  force  to  give  the 
wildest  calm. 
Even  the  terror,  poison. 
Hath  its  plea  for  blooming  ; 

Life  it  gives  to  reverent  lips,  though  death  to 
the  presuming. 

And  oh !  our  sweet  soul-taker, 
That  thief,  the  honey -maker. 
What  a  house  hath  he,  by  the  thymy  glen  1 
In  his  talking  rooms 
How  the  feasting  fumes. 


I 


FLOWERS. 


43 


Till  the  gold  cups  overilow  to  the  mouths  of 
men! 
The  butterflies  come  aping 
Those  fine  thieves  of  ours, 
And  flutter  round  our  rifled  tops,  like  tickled 
flowers  with  flowers. 

See  those  tops,  how  beauteous ! 
What  fair  service  duteous 
Round  some  idol  waits,  as  on  their  lord  the 
ISTine. 
Elfin  court 't  would  seem, 
And  taught,  perchance,  that  dseam 
Which  the  old  Greek  mountain  dreamt,  upon 
nights  divine. 
To  expound  such  wonder 
Human  speech  avails  not , 
Yet  there  dies  no  poorest  weed,  that  such  a 
glory  exhales  not. 

Think  of  all  these  treasures, 
Matchless  works  and  pleasures. 
Every  one  a  marvel,  more  than  thought  can 
say 
Tnen  think  in  what  bright  showers 
We  thicken  fields  and  bowers, 
And  with  what  heaps  of  sweetness  half  stifle 
wanton  May ; 
Think  of  the  mossy  forests 
By  the  bee-birds  haunted, 
And  all  those  Amazonian  plains,  lone  lying 
as  enchanted. 

Trees  themselves  are  ours ; 
Fruits  are  born  of  flowers ; 
Peach,  and  roughest  nut,  were  blossoms  in 
the  Spring ; 
The  lusty  bee  knows  well 
The  news,  and  comes  pell-mell. 
And  dances  in  the  gloomy  thicks  with  dark- 
some antheming ; 
Beneath  the  very  burden 
Of  planet-pressing  ocean. 
We  wash  our  smiling  cheeks  in  peace — a 
thought  for  meek  devotion. 

Tears  of  Phoebus — missings 
Of  Oytherea's  kissings, 
riave  in  us  been  found,  and  wise  men  find 
them  still ; 


Drooping  grace  unfurls 
Still  Hyacinthus'  curls. 
And  Narcissus  loves  himself  in  the  selfish 
rill ; 
Thy  red  lip,  Adonis, 
Still  is  wet  with  morning ; 
And  the  step   that  bled  for  thee  +ho   rosy 
brier  adorning. 

Oh !  true  things  are  fables, 
Fit  for  sagest  tables. 
And  the  flowers  are  true  things — yet  no  fa- 
bles they ; 
Fables  were  not  more 
Bright,  nor  loved  of  yore — 
Yet  they  grew  not,  like  the  flowers,  by  every 
old  pathway ; 
Grossest  hand  can  test  us — 
Fools  may  prize  us  never — 
Yet  we  rise,  and  rise,  and  rise — marvels  sweet 
for  ever. 

Who  shall  say  that  flowers 
Dress  not  heaven's  own  bowers  ? 

Who  its  love,  without  us,  can  fancy — or  aweet 
floor? 
Who  shall  even  dare 
To  say  we  sprang  not  there — 

And  came  not  down,  that  Love  might  bring 
one  piece  of  heaven  the  more  ? 
Oh !  pray  believe  that  angles 
From  those  blue  dominions 

Brought  us  in  their  white  laps  down,  'twixt 

their  golden  pinions. 

Leigh  IIitnt. 


FLOWERS. 

Spake  full  well,  in  language  quaint  and  olden. 
One  Avho  dwelleth  by  the  castled  PJiiue, 

When  he  called  the  flowers,    so  blue  and 
golden, 
Stars,  tliat  in  earth's  firmament  do  shine. 

Stars  they  are,  wherein  Ave  read  our  history, 
As  astrologers  and  seers  of  eld ; 

Yet  not  wrapped  about  with  awful  mystery. 
Like  the  burning  stars  which  they  beheld. 


4l'. 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 


"Wondrous  trnths,  and  manifold  as  wondrous, 
God  hath  written  in  those  stars  ahove  ; 

But  not  less  in  the  bright  flowerets  under  us 
Stands  the  revelation  of  Ms  love. 

Bridit  and  glorious  is  that  revelation, 
Writ  all  over  this  great  world  of  ours — 

Making  evident  our  own  creation, 

In  these  stars  of  earth,  these  golden  flow- 
ers. 

And  the  poet,  faithful  and  far-seeing. 
Sees,  alike  in  stars  and  flowers,  a  part 

Of  the  self-same,  universal  being 

AVhich  is  throbbing  in  his  brain  and  heart. 

Gorgeous  flowerets  in  the  sunlight  shining. 
Blossoms  flaunting  in  the  eye  of  day, 

Tremulous  leaves,  with  soft  and  silver  lining. 
Buds  that  open  only  to  decay  ; 

Brilliant  hopes,  all  woven  in  gorgeous  tissues. 
Flaunting  gayly  in  the  golden  light ; 

Large  desires,  with  most  uncertain  issues, 
Tender  wishes,  blossoming  at  night ; 

These  in  flowers  and  men  are  more  than 
seeming ; 

"Workings  are  they  of  the  self-same  powers 
Which  the  poet,  in  no  idle  dreaming, 

Seeth  in  himself  and  in  the  flowers. 

Everywhere  about  us  are  they  glowing — 
Some,  like  stars,  to  tell  us  Spring  is  born ; 

Others,  their  blue  eyes  with  tears  o'erflowing. 
Stand,  like  Euth,  amid  the  golden  corn. 

Not  alone  in  Spring's  armorial  bearing, 
And  in  Summer's  green-emblazoned  field. 

But  in  arms  of  brave  old  Autumn's  wearing. 
In  the  centre  of  his  brazen  shield ; 

Xot  alone  in  meadows  and  green  alleys. 
On  the  mountain-top,  and  by  the  brink 

Of  sequestered  pools  in  woodland  valleys, 
Where  the  slaves  of  Nature  stoop  to  drink ; 

Not  alone  in  her  vast  dome  of  glory. 
Not  on  graves  of  bird  and  beast  alone, 

But  in  old  cathedrals,  high  and  hoary. 
On  the  tombs  of  heroes,  carved  in  stone ; 


In  the  cottage  of  the  rudest  peasant ; 

In  ancestral  homes,  whose  crumbling  tow- 
ers. 
Speaking  of  the  Past  unto  the  Present, 

Tell  us  of  the  ancient  Games  of  Flowers. 

In  all  places,  then,  and  in  all  seasons. 
Flowers  expand  their  light  and  soul-like 
wings, 

Teaching  us,  by  most  persuasive  reasons, 
IIow  akin  they  are  to  human  things. 

And  with  childlike,  credulous  afiection, 
"We  behold  their  tender  buds  expand — 

Emblems  of  our  own  great  resurrection. 
Emblems  of  the  bright  and  better  land. 
Henry  AVadswokth  Longfellow 


HYMN  TO  THE  FLO"WEPvS. 

Day-stars!    that  ope  your  eyes  with  morn 
to  twinkle 
From  rainbow  galaxies  of  earth's  creation, 
And  dew-drops  on  her  lonely  altars  sprinkle 
As  a  libation ! 

Ye  matm  worshippers  !  who  bending  lowly 

Before  the  uprisen  sun — God's  lidless  eye — 
Throw  from  your  chalices  a  sweet  and  holy 
Incense  on  high ! 

Ye  bright  mosaics!  that  with  storied  beauty 

The  floor  of  Nature's  temple  tesseUate, 
"What  numerous  emblems  of  instructive  duty 
Your  forms  create ! 

'Neath  cloistered  boughs,  each  floral  bell  that 
swingeth 
And  tolls  its  perfume  on  the  passing  air. 
Makes  sabbath  in  the  flelds,  and  ever  ringeth 
A  call  to  prayer. 

Not  to  the  domes  where  crumbling  arch  and 
column 
Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal  hand, 
But  to  that  fane,  most  catholic  and  solemn. 
Which  God  hath  planned  ■ 


NATURE    AND    THE    POETS. 


41 


To  that  cathedral,  boundless  as  our  wonder, 
Whose  quenchless  lamps  the  sun  and  moon 
supply- 
Its  choir  the  winds  and  waves,  its  organ 
thunder, 

Its  dome  the  sky. 

There — as  in  solitude  and  shade  I  wander 
Through  the  green  aisles,  or,  stretched  upon 
the  sod. 
Awed  by  the  silence,  reverently  ponder 
The  ways  of  God — 

Your  voiceless  lips,  0  Flowers,  are  living 
preachers, 
Each  cup  a  pulpit,  and  each  leaf  a  book, 
Supplying  to  my  fancy  numerous  teachers 
From  loneliest  nook. 

Floral  apostles !  that  in  dewy  splendor 
"  "Weep  without  woe,  and  blush  without  a 


crime, 


O  may  I  deeply  learn,  and  ne'er  surrender. 
Your  lore  sublime ! 

"  Thou  wert  not,  Solomon !  in  all  thy  glory, 
Arrayed,"  the  lilies  cry,    "  in  robes  like 
ours; 
How  vain  your  grandeur !  Ah,  how  transitory 
Are  human  flowers !  " 

In  the  sweet-scented  pictures,  Heavenly  Art- 
ist! 
With  which  thou  paintest  Nature's  wide- 
spread hall, 
What  a  delightful  lesson  thou  impartest 
Of  love  to  all. 

Not  useless  are  ye.  Flowers !  though  made 
for  pleasure : 
Blooming  o'er  field  and  wave,  by  day  and 
night. 
From  every  source  your  sanction  bids  me 
treasure 

Harmless  delight. 

Ephemeral  sages  !  what  instructors  hoary 
For  such  a  world  of  thought  could  furnish 
scope  ? 
Each  fading  calyx  a  memento  mori, 
Yet  fount  of  hope. 


Posthumous  glories !  angel-like  collection ! 
Upraised  from  seed  or  bulb   interred  in 
earth. 
Ye  are  to  me  a  type  of  resurrection, 
And  second  birth. 

Were  I,  0  God,  in  churchless  lands  remain- 
ing 
Far  from  all  voice  of  teachers  or  divines, 
My  soul  would  find,  in  flowers  of  thy  ordain- 
ing, 

Priests,  sermons,  shrines ! 

Horace  Smith. 


NATURE  AND  THE  POETS. 

I  STOOD  tiptoe  upon  a  little  hill. 

The  air  was  cooling,  and  so  very  still, 

That  the  sweet  buds,  which  with  a  modest 

pride 
Pull  droopingly,  in  slanting  curve  aside, 
Their  scanty-leaved  and  finely-tapering  stems. 
Had  not  yet  lost  their  starry  diadems 
Caught  from  the  early  sobbing  of  the  morn. 
The  clouds  were  pure  and  white  as  flocks 

new-shorn, 
And  fresh  from  the  clear  brook  ;    sweetly 

they  slept 
On  the  blue  fields  of  heaven,  and  then  there 

crept 
A  little  noiseless  noise  among  the  leaves, 
Bom  of  the  very  sigh  that  silence  heaves ; 
For  not  the  faintest  motion  could  be  seen 
Of  all  the  shades  that  slanted  o'er  the  green. 
There  was  wide  wandering,  for  the  greediest 

eye 
To  peer  about  upon  variety — 
Far  round  the  horizon's  crystal  air  to  skim, 
And  trace  the  dwindled  edgings  of  its  brim- 
To  picture  out  the  quaint  and  curious  bond- 
ing 
Of  a  fresh  woodland  alley  never-ending — 
Or  by  the  bowery  clefts,  and  leafy  shelves, 
Guess  where  the  jaunty  streams  refresh  them- 
selves. 
I  gazed  awhile,  and  felt  as  light  and  free 
As  though  the  fanning  wings  of  Mercury 
Had  played  upon  my  heels:    I  was  light- 
hearted. 
And  many  pleasures  to  my  vision  started  ; 


48 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 


So  I  straightway  began  to  pluck  a  posy, 
Of  luxuries  bright,  milky,  soft  and  rosy: 
A  busli  of  May-flowers  with  the  bees  about 

them ; 
Ah,  sure  uo  tasteful  nook  could  bo  without 

them ! 
And  let  a  lush  laburnum  oversweep  them. 
And  let  long  gi*ass  gi'ow  round  the  roots,  to 

keep  them 
Moist,  cool,  and  green ;  and  shade  the  violets, 
That  they  may  bind  the  moss  iu  leafy  nets. 

A  filbert-hedge  with  wild  brier  overtwined, 
And   clumps   of  woodbine,  taking  the   soft 

wind 
Upon  their  summer  thrones  ;  there  too  should 

be 
The  frequent  chequer  of  a  youngling  tree, 
That  with  a  score  of  light  green  brethren 

shoots 
From  the  quaint  mossiness  of  aged  roots. 
Bound  which  is  heard  a  spring-head  of  clear 

Avaters, 
Babbling  so  wildly  of  its  lovely  daughters, 
The  spreading  blue-bells :  it  may  haply  mourn 
That  such  fair  clusters  should  be  rudely  torn 
From  their  fresh  beds,  and,  scattered  thought- 
lessly 
By  infant  hands,  left  on  the  path  to  die. 

Open  afresh  your  round  of  starry  folds. 
Ye  ardent  marigolds ! 

Dry  up  the  moisture  from  your  golden  lids, 
For  great  Apollo  bids 
That  in  these  days  your  praises  should  be 

sung 
On  many  harps,  which  he  has  lately  strung ; 
And  when  again  your  dewiness  he  kisses. 
Tell  him,  I  have  you  in  my  world  of  blisses : 
So,  haply,  when  I  rove  in  some  far  vale. 
His  mighty  voice  may  come  upon  the  gale. 

Here  are  sweet  peas,  on  tiptoe  for  a  flight — 
With  wings  of  gentle  flush  o'er  delicate  white. 
And  taper  fingers  catching  at  all  things, 
Tc  bind  them  all  about  with  tiny  rings. 
Linger  awhile  upon  some  bending  planks 
That  lean  against  a  streamlet's  rushy  banks. 
And  watch  intently  Nature's  gentle  doings : 
Tliey  will  be  found  softer  than  ring-doves' 
cooings. 


IIow  silent  comes  the  Avater  round  that  bendl 
Not  the  minutest  whisper  does  it  send 
To  the  o'erhanging  sallows :  blades  of  grass 
Slowly  across  the  chequer'd  shadows  pass. 
Why  you  might  read  two  sonnets,  ere  they 

reach 
To  where  the  hurrying  freshnesses  aye  preach 
A  natural  sermon  o'er  their  pebbly  beds ; 
Where  swarms  of  minnows  show  their  little 

heads, 
Staying  their  wavy  bodies  'gainst  the  streams, 
To  taste  the  luxury  of  sunny  beams 
Tempered  with   coolness.    How  they   ever 

Avrestle 
With  their  own    sweet  delight,   and    ever 

nestle 
Their  silver  bellies  on  the  pebbly  sand ! 
If  you  but  scantily  hold  out  the  hand,   - 
That  very  instant  not  one  will  remain ; 
But  turn  your  eye,  and  they  are  there  again. 

The  ripples  seem  right  glad  to  reach  those 

cresses. 
And  cool  themselves    kmong  the   emerald 

tresses ; 
The  while  they  cool  themselves,  they  fresh- 
ness give, 
xlnd  moisture,  that  the  bowery  green  may  live  : 
So  keeping  up  an  interchange  of  favors, 
Like  good  men  in  the  truth  of  their  beha- 
viors. 
Sometimes  goldfinches  one  by  one  will  drop 
From  low-hung  branches ;  little  space  they 

stop, 
But  sip,  and  twitter,  and  their  feathers  sleek ; 
Then  ofi"  at  once,  as  in  a  wanton  freak  : 
Or  perhaps,  to  show  their  black  and  golden 

wings. 
Pausing  upon  their  yellow  fiutterings. 

Were  I  in  such  a  place,  I  sure  should  pray 
That  nought  less  sweet  might  call  my  thoughts 

away, 
Than  the  soft  rustle  of  a  maiden's  gown 
Fanning  away  the  dandelion's  down  ; 
Than  the  light  music  of  her  nimble  toes 
Patting  against  the  sorrel  as  she  goes. 
How  she  would  start  and  blush,  thus  to  be 

caught 
Playing  in  all  her  innocence  of  thought ' 


NATURE    AND    THE    POETS. 


49 


0  let  me  lead  her  gently  o'er  the  brook, 
Watch  her  half-smiling  lips  and  downward 

look; 
0  let  me  for  one  moment  touch  her  wrist ; 
Let  me  one  moment  to  her  breathing  list ; 
And  as  she  leaves  me,  raaj  she  often  turn 
Her  fair  eyes  looking  through  her  locks  au- 
burn. 

What  next  ?  a  tuft  of  evening  primroses, 
O'er  which  the  mind  may  hover  till  it  dozes ; 
O'er  which  it  well  might  take   a  pleasant 

sleep, 
But  that  'tis  ever  startled  by  the  leap 
Of  buds  into  ripe  flowers ;  or  by  the  flitting 
Of  divers  moths,  that  aye  their  rest  are  quit- 
tin""  ■ 
Or  by  the  moon  lifting  her  silver  rim 
Above  a  cloud,  and  with  a  gradual  swim 
Coming  into  the  blue  with  all  her  light. 

O  Maker  of  sweet  poets !  dear  delight 
Of  this  fair  world  and  all  its  gentle  livers  ; 
Spangler  of  clouds,  halo  of  crystal  rivers, 
Miugler  with  leaves,  and  dew,  and  tumbling 

streams  ; 
Closer  of  lovely  eyes  to  lovely  dreams  ; 
Lover  of  loneliness,  and  wandering. 
Of  upcast  eye,  and  tender  pondering ! 

Thee  must  I  praise  above  all  other  glories 
That  smile  us  on  to  tell  delightful  stories. 
For  what  has  made  the  sage  or  poet  Avrite, 
But  the  fair  paradise  of  iSTature's  light  ? 
In  the  calm  grandeur  of  a  sober  line, 
We  see  the  waving  of  the  mountain  pine  ; 
And  when  a  tale  is  beautifully  staid, 
We  feel  the  safety  of  a  hawthorn  glade  ; 
When  it  is  moving  on  luxurious  wings. 
The  soul  is  lost  in  pleasant  smotherings ; 
Fair  dewy  roses  brush  against  our  faces. 
And  flowering  laurels  spring  from  diamond 

vases ; 
O'erhead   we  sec  the  jasmine    and  sweet- 
brier. 
And   bloomy   grapes   laughing  from    green 

attire ; 
While  at  our  feet,  the  voice  of  crystal  bub- 
bles 
Charms  us  at  once  away  from  all  our  trou- 
bles, 

11 


So  that  we  feel  uplifted  from  the  world, 
Walking  upon  the  white  clouds  wreathed  and 
curled. 

So  felt  he  who  first  told  how  Psyche  went 

On  the  smooth  wind  to  realms  of  wonder- 
ment ; 

What  Psyche  felt,  and  Love,  when  their  full 
lips 

First  touched ;  what  amorous  and  fondling 
nips 

They  gave  each  other's  cheeks — with  all 
their  sighs, 

And  how  they  kist  each  other's  tremulous 
eyes  ; 

The  silver  lamp — the  ravishment — the  won- 
der— 

The  darkness — loneliness — the  fearful  tliun- 
der ; 

Their  woes  gone  by,  and  both  to  heaven  up 
flown, 

To  bow  for  gratitude  before  Jove's  throne. 

So  did  he  feel,  who  pulled  the  boughs  aside, 
That  we  might  look  into  a  forest  wide, 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  Fauns,  and  Dryades 
Coming  with  softest  rustle  through  the  trees; 
And  garlands  woven  of  flowers  wild,  and 

sweet, 
Upheld  on  ivory  wrists,  or  sporting  feet : 
Telling  us  how  fair  trembling  Syrinx  fled 
Ai'cadian  Pan,  with  such  a  fearful  dread. 
Poor  ISTymph, — poor  Pan, — how  did  he  weep 

to  find 
Nought  but  a  lovely  sighing  of  the  wind 
Along  the  reedy  stream !  a  half-heard  strain. 
Full  of  sweet  desolation — balmy  pain. 

What  first  inspired  a  bard  of  old  to  sing 
Narcissus  pining  o'er  tlie  untainted  spring  ? 
In  some  delicious  ramble  he  had  found 
A  little  space,  with  boughs  all  woven  round; 
And  in  the  midst  of  all,  a  clearer  pool 
Than  e'er  reflected  in  its  pleasant  cool 
The  blue  sky  here  and  there  serenely  peep- 

Through  tendril  wreaths  fantastically  creep- 
ing. 
And  on  the  bank  a  lonely  flower  he  spied, 
A  meek  and  forlorn  flower,  with  nought  of 
pride. 


50 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 


Drooping  its  beauty  o'er  the  watery  clear- 

'  ness, 
To  woo  its  own  sad  image  into  nearness. 
Deaf  to  light  Zephyrus  it  woukl  not  move  ; 
Bat  still  woulcl  seem  to  droop,  to  pine,  to 

love. 
So  while  the  poet  stood  in  this  sweet  spot, 
Some  fainter  gleamings  o'er  his  fancy  shot ; 
Nor  was  it  long  ere  he  had  told  the  tale 
Of  young  Narcissus,  and  sad  Echo's  bale. 

Where  had  he  been,  from  whose  warm 
head  outflow 
That  sweetest  of  all  songs,  that  ever  knew 
That  aye  refreshing,  pure  deliciousness. 
Coming  ever  to  bless 

The  wanderer  by  moonlight — to  him  bring- 
ing 
Shapes  from  the  invisible  world,  uneartlily 

singing 
l^'rom  out  the  middle  air,  from  flowery  nests, 
And  from  the  pillowy  silkiness  that  rests 
Full  in  the  speculation  of  the  stars  ? 
Ah  !  surely  he  had  burst  our  mortal  bars  ; 
Into  some  wondrous  region  he  had  gone, 
To  search  for  thee,  divine  Endymion  ! 

lie  was  a  poet,  sure  a  lover  too, 
"Who  stood  on  Latmos'  top,  what  time  there 

blew 
Soft  breezes  from  tlie  myrtle  vale  below  ; 
And  brought,  in  faintness  solemn,  sweet,  and 

slow, 
A  hymn  from  Dian's  temple ;  while  upswell- 

The  incense  went  to  her  ov\'n  starry  dwell- 
ing. 

But  though  her  face  was  clear  as  infants' 
eyes, 

Though  she  stood  smiling  o'er  the  sacrifice. 

The  poet  wept  at  her  so  piteous  fate. 

Wept  that  such  beauty  should  be  desolate. 

So  in  fine  wrath  some  golden  sounds  he 
won. 

And  gave  meek  Cynthia  her  Endymion. 

Queen  of  the  wide  air ;  thou  most  lovely 
queen 
Of  all  the  brightness  that  mine  eyes  have 
seen ! 


As  thou  exceedest  all  things  in  tliy  siiiue. 
So  every  tale  does  this  sweet  tale  of  thine. 
O  for  three  words  of  honey,  that  I  might 
Tell  but  one  wonder  of  thy  bridal  night ! 

Where  distant  ships  do  seem  to  show  theii 
keels, 
Phoebus  awhile  delayed  his  mighty  wheels, 
A.nd  turned  to  smile  upon  thy  bashful  eyes, 
Ere  he  his  unseen  pomp  would  solemnize. 
The  evening  weather  was  so  bright,  and  clear, 
That  men  of  health  were  of  unusual  cheer, 
Stepping  like  Homer  at  the  trunipet's  call, 
Or  young  Apollo  on  the  pedestal ; 
And  lovely  women  were  as  fair  and  warm, 
As  Venus  looking  sideways  in  alarm. 

Tlie  breezes  were  ethereal,  and  pure. 

And  crept  through  half-closed  lattices  to  cure 

The  languid  sick  :  it  cool'd  their  fever'd  sleep. 

And  soothed  them  into  slumbers  full  and 
deep. 

Soon  they  awoke  clear-eyed  ;  nor  burn'd 
with  thirsting, 

Nor  with  hot  fingers,  nor  with  temples  burst- 
ing ; 

And  springing  up,  they  met  the  wondering 
sight 

Of  th.eir  dear  friends,  nigh  foolish  with  de- 
light. 

Who  feel  their  arms  and  breasts,  and  kiss, 
and  stare. 

And  on  their  placid  foreheads  part  the  hair. 

Young  men  and  maidens  at  each  other  gazed. 

With  hands  held  back,  and  motionless, 
amazed 

To  see  the  brightness  in  each  other's  eyes  ; 

And  so  they  stood,  filled  with  a  sweet  sur- 
prise, 

Until  their  tongues  were  loosed  in  poesy. 

Therefore  no  lover  did  of  anguish  die  ; 

But  the  soft  numbers,  in  that  moment  spoken, 

Made  silken  ties  that  never  may  be  broken. 

Cynthia !  I  cannot  tell  the  greater  blisses 
That  foUow'd  thine,  and  thy  dear  shepherd's 

kisses : 
Was  there  a  poet  born  ? — But  now  no  more — 
My  wandering  spirit  must  no  farther  soar. 

John  Keats. 


THE    NIGHTINGALE.                                                        51 

Senseless  trees,  they  cannot  hear  thee ; 

TO   THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

Ruthless  bears,  they  will  not  clieer  thee ; 

King  Pandion,  he  is  dead ; 

0  Nightingale,  that  on  yon  bloomy  spray 

All  thy  friends  are  lapped  in  lead : 

Warblest  at  eve,  when  all  the  woods  are 

All  thy  fellow-birds  do  sing. 

still. 

Careless  of  thy  sorrowing ! 

Thou  with  fresh  hope  the  lover's  heart  dost 

Whilst  as  fickle  Fortune  smiled. 

fill, 

Thou  and  I  were  both  beguiled, 

While   the  jolly  hours  lead    on    propitious 

Every  one  that  flatters  thee 

May. 

Is  no  friend  in  misery. 

Thy  liquid  notes,  that  close  the  eye  of  day, 

Words  are  easy,  like  the  wind ; 

First  heard  before  the   shallow  cuckoo's 

Faithful  friends  are  hard  to  find. 

bill, 

Every  man  will  be  thy  friend 

Portend  success  in  love.  Oh  if  Jove's  will 

Whilst  thou  hast  wherewith  to  spend; 

Have  linked  that  amorous  power  to  thy 

But,  if  stores  of  crowns  be  scant. 

soft  lay. 

No  man  will  supply  thy  want. 

Now  timely  sing,  ere  the  rude  bird  of  hate 

If  that  one  be  prodigal. 

Foretell  my  hopeless  doom  in  some  grove 

Bountiful  they  will  him  call ; 

nigh; 

And,  with  such-like  flattering, 

As  thou  from  year  to  year  hast  sung  too 

"Pity  but  he  were  a  king." 

late 

If  he  be  addict  to  vice. 

For  my  relief,  yet  hadst  no  reason  why. 

Quickly  him  they  will  entice ; 

Whether  the  Muse  or  Love  call  thee  his 

But  if  Fortune  once  do  frown. 

mate. 

Then  farewell  his  great  renown : 

Both  them  I  serve,  and  of  their  train  am  I. 

They  that  fawned  on  him  before, 

John  Milton. 

Use  his  company  no  more. 

He  that  is  thy  friend  indeed, 

—  ♦ 

He  will  help  thee  in  thy  need ; 

If  thou  sorrow,  he  will  weep. 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

If  thou  wake,  he  cannot  sleep. 

Thus,  of  every  grief  in  heart, 

As  it  fell  upon  a  day, 

He  with  thee  doth  bear  a  part. 

In  the  merry  month  of  May, 

These  are  certain  signs  to  know 

Sitting  in  a  pleasant  shade 

Faithful  friend  from  flattering  foe. 

Which  a  grove  of  myrtles  made, 
Beasts  did  leap,  and  birds  did  sicg. 

ElCHAED   BaRITFIELD. 

Trees  did  grow,  and  plants  did  spring ; 

Every  thing  did  banish  moan, 

Save  the  nightingale  alone. 
She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 

TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

Lean  'd  her  breast  up-till  a  thorn ; 

Dear   chorister,  who  from    those  shadows 

And  there  sung  the  dolefull'st  ditty 

sends — 

That  to  hear  it  was  great  pity. 

Ere  that  the  blushing  morn  dare  show  her 

Fie,  fie,  fie!  now  would  she  cry; 

light- 

Teru,  teru,  by-and-by; 

Such  sad  lamenting  strains,   that  night  at- 

That, to  hear  her  so  complain, 

tends. 

Scarce  I  could  from  tears  refrain ; 

Become  all  ear,  stars  stay  to  hear  thy  plight; 

For  her  griefs,  so  lively  shown, 

If  one  whose  grief  even  reach  of  thought 

Made  me  think  upon  mine  own. 

transcends. 

All !  (thought  I)  thou  mourn  'st  in  vain ; 

Who  ne'er  (not  in  a  dream)  did  taste  delight, 

None  takes  pity  on  thy  pain ; 

May  thee  importune  wlio  like  case  pretends, 

I: -J, 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


And  seems  to  joy  in  woe,  in  woe's  despite ; 
Toll  me  (so  may  thou  fortune  milder  trv, 
And  long,   long  sing!)  for  what  thou  thus 

complains, 
Since  "Winter's  gone,  and  sun  in  dappled  sky 
Enamored    smiles    on    woods    and    flowery 

plains  ? 

The  bird,  as  if  my  questions  did  her  move, 

With  trembling  wings  sighed  forth,  "I  love, 

I  love." 

"William  Dkummond. 


ODE  TO  A  NIGHTINGALE. 

My  heart  aches,  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains 

My  sense,  as  though  of  hemlock  I  had  drunk ; 
Or  emptied  some  dull  opiate  to  the  drains 

One  minute  past,  and  Lethe-ward  had  sunk. 
'T  is  not  through  envy  of  thy  happy  lot. 

But  being  too  happy  in  thy  happiness. 
That  thou,  light-winged  Dryad  of  the  trees. 
In  some  melodious  plot 

Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless, 
Singest  of  Summer  in  full-throated  ease. 

Oh  for  a  draught  of  vintage 

Cooled  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth, 
Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  country  green. 
Dance,  and  Provencal  song,  and  sun-burned 
mirth ! 
Oh  for  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm  South, 

Full  of  the  true,  the  blushful  Hippocrene, 
"With  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  the  brim. 
And  purple-stained  mouth — 
That  I  might  drink,  and  leave  the  world 
unseen. 
And  with  thee  fade  away  into  the  forest  dim. 

Fade  far  away,  dissolve,  and  quite  forget 
What  thou  among  the  leaves  hast  never 
known — 
The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret ; 
Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other 
groan — 
Where  palsy  shakes   a  few   sad,  last  gray 
hairs — 
"Where  youth  grows  pale,  and  spectre-thin, 
and  dies — 


"Where  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow, 
And  leaden-eyed  despairs — 
"Where  beauty  cannot  keep    her  lustrouf 
eyes. 

Or  new  love  pine  at  them  beyond  to-morrow, 

Away !  away !  for  I  will  fly  to  thee ! 

Not  charioted  by  Bacchus  and  his  pards, 
But  on  the  viewless  wings  of  poesy, 

Though  the  dull  brain  perplexes  and  re 
tards ; 
Already  with  thee  tender  is  the  night. 

And  haply  the  queen-moon  is  on  her  throne, 
Clustered  around  by  all  her  starry  fays ; 
But  here  there  is  no  light. 
Save  what  from  heaven  is  with  the  breezes 
blown 
Through  verdurous  glooms  and  winding  mossy 
ways. 

I  can  not  see  what  flowers  are  at  my  feet, 
Nor   what   soft  incense  hangs  upon  the 
boughs ; 
But,  in  embalmed  darkness  guess  each  sweet 
"Wherewith  the  seasonable  month  endows 
The   grass,   the   thicket,   and  the   fruit-treo 
wild : 
"White  hawthorn  and  the  pastoral  eglantine ; 
Fast-fading  violets,  covered  up  in  leaves ; 
And  mid-May's  oldest  child. 
The  coming  musk-rose,  full  of  dewy  wine. 
The  murmurous  haunt  of  bees  on  summei 
eves. 

Darkling  I  listen ;  and  for  many  a  time 

I  bave  been  half  in  love  with  easeful  Death, 
Called  him   soft  names  in  many  a  mused 
rhyme. 
To  take  into  the  air  ray  quiet  breath  ; 
Now,  more  than  ever,  seems  it  rich  to  die. 

To  cease  upon  the  midnight,  with  no  pain, 
"Wliile  thou  art  pouring  forth  thy  soul  abroad. 
In  such  an  ecstasy  ! 
Still  wouldst  thou  sing,  and  I  have  ears  in 
vain — 
To  thy  high  requiem  become  a  sod. 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  bird! 

No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down ; 
The  voice  I  hear  this  passing  night  was  heard 

In  ancient  days  by  emperor  and  clown : 


THE    NIGHTINGALE.                                                        53 

Perhaps  the  self-same  song  that  found  a  path 

Dost  thou  once  more  essay 

Through  the  sad  heart  of  Euth,  when,  sick 

Thy  flight;  and  feel  come  over  thee. 

for  home, 

Poor  fugitive,  the  feathery  change  ; 

She  Btood  in  tears  amid  the  alien  corn : 

Once  more ;  and  once  more  make  resound, 

The  same  that  oft-times  hath 

With  love  and  hate,  triumph  and  agony, 

Charmed  magic  casements  opening  on  the 

Lone  Daulis,  and  the  high  Cephisian  vale  ? 

foam 

Of  perilous  seas,  in  fairj  lands  forlorn. 

Listen,  Eugenia — 

How  thick  the  bursts  come  crowding  through 

Forlorn !  the  verj  word  i^  like  a  bell, 

the  leaves ! 

To  toll  me  back  from  thee  to  my  sole  self! 

Again — thou  hearest ! 

Adieu !  the  Fancy  can  not  cheat  so  well 

Eternal  passion !  * 

As  she  is  famed  to  do,  deceiving  elf. 

Eternal  pain ! 

Adieu !  adieu !  thy  plaintive  anthem  fades 

Matthew  Aesold 

Past  the    near  meadows,    over  the    still 
stream, 

Up  the  hill-side;  and  now  'tis  buried  deep 

In  the  next  valley -glades : 

THE  NIGHTIXGALE  AND  THE  DOVE. 

Was  it  a  vision  or  a  waking  dream  ? 

Fled  is  that  music—  do  I  wake  or  sleep  ? 

0  Nightingale  !  thou  surely  art 

J0H«r  Keats. 

A  creature  of  a  "fiery  heart"  ; 

These  notes  of  thine, — they  pierce  and  pierce: 
Tumultuous  harmony  and  fierce  ! 

♦ 

Thou  sing'st  as  if  the  god  of  wine 

PHILOMELA. 

Had  helped  thee  to  a  valentine — 

A  song  in  mockery,  and  despite 

Hark  !  ah,  the  Nightingale ! 

Of  shades,  and  dews,  and  silent  night, 

Tlie  tawny-throated ! 

And  steady  bliss,  and  all  the  loves 

Hark !  from  that  moonlit  cedar  what  a  burst ! 

Now  sleeping  in  these  peaceful  groves. 

Wliat  triumph !  hark — what  pain ! 

I  heard  a  stock-dove  sing  or  say 

0  wanderer  from  a  Grecian  shore, 

His  homely  tale,  this  very  day; 

Still — after  many  years,  in  distant  lands — 

His  voice  was  buried  among  trees, 

Still  nourishing  in  thy  bewildered  brain 

Yet  to  be  come  at  by  the  breeze  : 

That  wild,   unquer.jhed,    deep-sunken,    old- 

He  did  not  cease  ;  but  cooed — and  cooed; 

world  pain — 

And  somewhat  pensively  he  wooed  : 

Say,  wiU  it  never  heal  ? 

He  sang  of  love,  with  quiet  blending, 

And  can  this  fragrant  lawn, 

Slow  to  begin,  and  never  ending ; 

"With  its  cool  trees,  and  night. 

Of  serious  faith,  and  inward  glee ; 

And  the  sweet,  tranquil  Thames, 

That  was  the  song,  the  song  for  me ! 

And  moonshine,  and  the  dew. 

"William  Woudswobth. 

To  thy  racked  heart  and  brain 

Afford  no  balm  ? 

■ ♦ 

Dost  thou  to-night  behold. 

THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

Here,  through  the  moonlight  on  this  English 

grass, 

No  cloud,  no  relict  of  the  sunken  day 

Tlie  unfriendly  palace  in  the  Thracian  wild? 

Distinguishes  the  West;  no  long  thin  slip 

Dost  thou  again  peruse, 

Of  sullen  light,  no  obscure  tremuling  hues. 

With  hot  cheeks  and  seared  eyes, 

Come,  we  will  rest  on  this  old  mossy  bridge! 

The  too  clear  web,  and  thy   dumb  sister's 

You  see  the  glimmer  of  the  stream  beneath, 

sliame  ? 

But  hear  no  murmuring;  it  flows  silently 

64 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


O'er  its  soft  bed  of  verdure.     All  is  still ; 
A  balmy  niglit !  and  tliongli  the  stars  be  dim, 
Yet  lot  xis  think  ux^on  the  vernal  showers 
That  gladden  the  green  earth,  and  we  shall 

find 
A  pleasure  in  the  dimness  of  the  stars. 
And  hark  !  the  ISTightingale  begins  its  song — 
''  Most  musical,  most  melaueholy  "  bird ! 
A  melancholy  bird !  Oh,  idle  thought ! 
In  Xature  there  is  nothing  melancholy. 
But  some  night-wandering  man,  whose  heart 

was  pierced 
With  the  remembrance  of  a  grievous  wrong, 
Or  slow  distemper,  or  neglected  love, 
(And  so,  poor  wretch !  filled  all  things  with 

himself. 
And  made  all  gentle  sounds  tell  back  the  tale 
Of  his  own  sorrow) — he,  and  such  as  he, 
First  named  these  notes  a  melancholy  strain. 
And  many  a  poet  echoes  the  conceit — ■ 
Poet  who  hath  been  building  up  the  rhyme 
When  he  had  better  far  have  stretched  his 

limbs 
Beside  a  brook  in  mossy  forest-dell, 
By  sun  or  moonlight ;  to  the  influxes 
Of  shapes,  and  sounds,  and  shifting  elements, 
Surrendering  his  whole  spirit;  of  his  song 
And  of  his  fame  forgetful !  so  his  fame 
Should  share  in  I^ature's  immoi-tality — 
A  venerable  thing! — and  so  his  song 
Should  make  all  Nature  lovelier,  and  itself 
Be  loved  like  Nature !     But  'twill  not  be  so ; 
And  youths  and  maidens  most  poetical. 
Who  lose  the   deepening  twilights  of    the 

Spring 
In  ball-rooms  and  hot  theatres,  they  still, 
Full  of  meek  sympathy,  must  heave  their 

sighs 
O'er  Philomela's  pity-pleading  strains. 

My   friend,  and  thou,  our   sister!    we  have 

learnt 
A  different  lore  :  we  may  not  thus  profane 
Nature's  sweet  voices,  always  full  of  love 
And  joyance  !     'T  is  the  merry  Nightingale 
That  crowds,  and  hurries,  and  precipitates 
With  fast  thick  warble  his  delicious  notes, 
As  he  w'ere  fearful  that  an  April  night 
Would  be  too  short  for  him  to  utter  forth 
His  love-chant,  and  disburthen  his  full  soul 
Of  all  its  music ! 


And  I  know  a  grove 
Of  large  extent,  hard  by  a  castle  huge. 
Which  the  great  ^ord  inhabits  not ;  and  so 
This  grove  is  wild  with  tangling  underwood; 
And  the  trim  walks  are  broken  up ;  and  grass, 
Thin  grass  and  kingcups  grow  within  the  paths. 
But  never  elsewhere  in  one  place  I  knew 
So  many  nightingales.     And  far  and  near, 
In  wood  and  thicket,  over  the  wide  grove, 
They  answer  and  provoke  each  other's  song, 
With  skirmish  and  capricious  passagings. 
And  murmurs  musical  and  swift  jug  jug. 
And  one  "low  piping  sound  more  sweet  than 

all- 
Stirring  the  air  with  such  a  harmony. 
That  should  you  close  your  eyes,  you  might 

almost 
Forget  it  was  not  day  !  On  moon-lit  bushes. 
Whose  dewy  leaflets  are  but  half  disclosed. 
You  may  perchance  behold  them  on  the  twigs, 
Their  bright,    bright  eyes,   their  eyes  both 

bright  and  full. 
Glistening,  while  many  a  glowworm  in  the 

shade 
Lights  up  her  love-torch. 

A  most  gentle  maid, 
Who  dwelkth  in  her  hospitable  home 
Hard  by  the  castle,  and  at  latest  eve, 
(Even  like  a  lady  vowed  and  dedicate 
To  something  more  than  Nature  in  the  grove,) 
Glides  through  the  pathways — she  knows  all 

their  notes, 
That  gentle  maid !  and  oft,  a  moment's  space, 
What  time  the  moon  was  lost  behind  a  cloud. 
Hath  heard  a  pause  of  silence  ;  till  the  moon, 
Emerging,  hath  awakened  earth  and  sky 
With  one  sensation,  and  these  wakeful  birds 
Have  all  burst  forth  in  choral  minstrelsy, 
As  if  some  sudden  gale  had  swept  at  once 
A  hundred    airy    harps !      And    she    hath 

watched 
Many  a  nightingale  perched  giddily 
On  blossomy  twig  still  swinging  from  the 

breeze. 
And  to  that  motion  tune  his  wanton  song. 
Like  tipsy  Joy  that  reels  with  tossing  head. 

Farewell,  O  warbler !  till  to-morrow  eve ; 
And  you,  my  friends !  farewell,  a  short  fare- 
well ! 


THE    NIGHTINGALE. 


55 


We  have  been  loitering  long  and  pleasantly, 
And  now  for  our  dear  homes. — That  strain 


again 


Full  fain  it  would  delay  me  !     Mj  dear  babe, 
Who,  capable  of  no  articulate  sound, 
Mars  all  things  with  his  imitative  lisp, 
How  he  would  place  his  hand  beside  his  ear, 
Ilis  little  hand,  the  small  forefinger  up, 
And  bid  us  listen !     And  I  deem  it  wise 
To  make  him  oSTature's  plaj^mate.    He  knows 

well 
The  evening-star ;  and  once  when  he  awoke 
In  most  distressful  mood,  (some  inward  pain 
Had  made  up  that  strange  thing,  an  infant's 

dream,) 
I  hurried  with  him  to  our  orchard-plot. 
And  he  beheld  the  moon ;  and,  hushed  at  once. 
Suspends  his  sobs,  and  laughs  most  silently. 
While  his  fair  eyes,  that  swam  with  undrop- 

ped  tears. 
Did  glitter  in  the  yellow  moonbeam !  Well ! — 
It  is  a  father's  tale  ;  but  if  that  Heaven 
Should  give  me  life,  his  childhood  shall  grow 

up 
Familiar  with  these   songs,  that  with   the 

night 
He  may  associate  joy. — Once  more,  farewell. 
Sweet  Nightingale !  Once  more,  my  friends  ! 

farewell. 

Samuel  Taylok  Coleridge. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

Peize  thou  the  nightingale, 
Who  soothes  thee  with  his  tale. 
And  wakes  the  woods  around  ; 
A  singing  feather  he — a  winged  and  wandei-- 
ing  sound ; 

Whose  tender  caroling 
Sets  all  ears  listening 
Unto  that  living  Ij  re. 
Whence  flow  the  airy  notes  his  ecstacies  in- 
spire ; 

Whose  shrill,  capricious  song 
Breathes  like  a  flute  along. 
With  many  a  careless  tone — 
ATusic  of  thousand  tongues,  formed  by  one 
tongue  alone. 


O  charming  creature  rare ! 
Can  aught  with  thee  compare  ? 
Thou  art  all  song — thy  breast 
Thrills  for  one  month  o'  th'  year — is  tranquil 
all  the  rest. 

Thee  wondrous  we  may  call — 
Most  wondrous  this  of  all, 
Tliat  such  a  tiny  throat 
Should  wake  so  loud  a  sound,  and  pour  so 
loud  a  note. 
Makia  Tesselschade  Vissciiee.  (Dutch) 
Translation  of  John  Boweino. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

The  rose  looks  out  in  the  valley. 

And  thither  will  I  go ! 
To  the  rosy  vale,  where  the  nightingale 

Sings  his  song  of  woe. 

The  virgin  is  on  the  river  side. 

Culling  the  lemons  pale  : 
Thither — yes !  thither  will  I  go, 

To  the  rosy  vale,  Avhere  the  nightingale 
Sings  his  song  of  woe. 

The  fairest  fruit  her  hand  hath  culled, 

'T  is  for  her  lover  all : 
Thither — yes  !  thither  will  I  go. 

To  the  rosy  vale,  where  the  nightingale. 
Sings  his  song  of  woe. 

In  her  hat  of  straw,  for  her  gentle  swain, 

She  has  placed  the  lemons  pale : 
Thither — yes !  thither  will  I  go. 

To  the  rosy  vale,  where  the  nightingale 
Sings  his  song  of  woe. 

Gil  A'icente.  (Portuguese) 
Translation  of  Joim  Bo  wring. 


THE  MOTHER  NIGHTINGALE. 

I  UAVE  seen  a  nightingale 
On  a  sprig  of  thyme  bewail, 
Seeing  the  dear  nest,  which  was 
Hers  alone,  borne  off,  alas  ! 
By  a  laborer ;  I  heard, 
For  this  outrage,  the  poor  bird 


56 


rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 


Say  a  thousand  inonrnrnl  tilings 
To  the  wind,  Avliich,  on  its  wings, 
From  her  to  the  guardian  of  the  sky, 
liore  her  mehinoholy  cry — 
l>oro  lier  tender  tears.     She  spake 
As  if  her  fond  heart  would  hreak  : 
One  while,  in  a  sad,  sweet  note, 
Gurgled  from  her  straining  throat, 
She  enforced  lior  piteous  tale, 
iNfournful  prayer,  and  plaintive  Avail ; 
One  while,  with  the  shrill  dispute 
Quite  outwearied,  she  was  mute  ; 
Then  afresh,  for  her  dear  hrood, 
Iler  harmonious  shrieks  renewed. 
Kow  she  winged  it  round  and  round  ; 
'Sow  she  skimmed  along  the  ground  ; 
K'ow,  from  hough  to  bough,  in  haste, 
The  delighted  robber  chased, 
And,  alighting  in  his  path. 
Seemed  to  say,  'twixt  grief  and  wrath, 
"  Give  me  back,  fierce  rustic  rude — 
Give  me  back  my  pretty  brood !  " 
And  I  saw  tlie  rustic  still 
Answered,  •'  That,  I  never  will !  " 

EsTEVAN  Manuel  df.  Villegas.  (Spanisli) 
r;-;iP.sbtion  of  Thomas  Eoscoe  . 


TIFE  ITIGnTIKG ALE'S  DEPAETUEE. 

Sweet  poet  of  the  Avoods — a  long  adieu  ! 

Farewell,  soft  minstrel  of  the  early  year ! 
Ah  !  't  Avill  be  long  ere  thou  shalt  sing  aneAv, 
And  pour  thy  music  on  "  the  night's  dull 
ear." 
Whether  on  Spring  thy  Avandering  flights 
await, 
Or  Avhether  silent  in  our  groves  you  dAvell, 
The  pensive  Muse  shall  own  thee  for  her 
mate, 
And  still  protect  the  song  she  loves  so  well. 
With  cautious  step  tlie  love-lorn  youth  shall 
glide 
Thi'ough  the  long  brake  that  shades  thy 
mossy  nest ; 
And  shepherd  girls  from  eyes  profane  shall 
hide 
The  gentle  bird  Avbo  sings  of  pity  best : 
For  still  thy  voice  shall  soft  affections  move, 
And  still  be  dear  to  sorroAv,  and  to  love  ! 

Chaklotte  Smith. 


TO  A  WATEEFO"\VL. 

WnrrnER,  'midst  falling  dew. 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of 

day, 
Far,  'through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou 
pursue 
Thy  solitary  way  t 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee 

Avrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  Avhere  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

There  is  a  poAver  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air,— 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere. 
Yet  stoop  not,  AA'eary,  to  the  welcome  laud, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end  ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and 

rest. 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall 
bend. 
Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou  'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  sAvalloAved  up  thy  form;  yet,  on  my 

heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart : 

lie  Avho,  from  zone  to  zone, 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain 

flight, 
In  the  long  Avay  tliat  I  must  tread  alone. 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


SUM  M  E  R .                                                                      67 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  GRABS. 

JULY. 

EIeee  I  come  creeping,  ci-eeping  every  where ; 

Loud  is  the  Summer's  busy  song, 

By  the  dusty  roadside, 

The  smallest  breeze  can  find  a  tongue, 

On  the  sunny  hill-side, 

While  insects  of  each  tiny  size 

Close  hy  the  noisy  brook. 

Grow  teasing  with  their  melodies, 

In  every  shady  nook. 

Till  noon  burns  with  its  blistering  breath 

I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where. 

Around,  and  day  lies  still  as  death. 

Here  I  come  creeping,  smiling  every  where ; 

The  busy  noise  of  man  and  brute 

All  round  the  open  door. 

Is  on  a  sudden  lost  and  mute ; 

Where  sit  the  aged  poor ; 

Even  the  brook  that  leaps  along. 

Here  where  the  children  play, 

Seems  weary  of  its  bubbling  song, 

In  the  bright  and  merry  May, 

And,  so  soft  its  waters  creep, 

I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where. 

Tired  silence  sinks  in  sounder  sleep ; 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

The  cricket  on  its  bank  is  dumb  ; 

In  the  noisy  city  street 

The  very  flies  forget  to  hum  ; 

My  pleasant  face  you  '11  meet. 

And,  save  the  wagon  rocking  round, 

Cheering  the  sick  at  heart 

The  landscape  sleeps  without  a  sound. 

Toiling  his  busy  part — 

The  breeze  is  stoppedj  the  lazy  bough 

Silently  creeping,  creeping  eveiy  where. 

Hath  not  a  leaf  that  danceth  now  ; 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

The  taller  grass  upon  the  hill, 

You  cannot  see  me  coming. 

And  spider's  threads,  are  standing  still; 

Nor  hear  my  low  sweet  humming ; 

The  feathers,  dropped  from  moorlien's  wing 

For  in  the  starry  night, 

Which  to  the  water's  surface  cling. 

And  the  glad  morning  light, 

Are  steadfast,  and  as  heavy  seem 

I  come  quietly  creeping  every  where. 

As  stones  beneath  them  in  the  stream ; 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

Hawkweed  and  groundsel's  fanny  downs 

More  welcome  than  the  flowers 

Unruffled  keep  their  seedy  crowns ; 

In  Summer's  pleasant  hours ; 

And  in  the  over-heated  air 

The  gentle  cow  is  glad, 

Not  one  light  thing  is  floating  there, 

And  the  merry  bird  not  sad. 

Save  that  to  the  earnest  eye 

To  see  mc  creeping,  creeping  every  where. 

The  restless  heat  seems  t^vittering  by. 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

IsToon  swoons  beneath  the  heat  it  made, 

When  you're  numbered  with  the  dead 

7 

And  flowers  e'en  within  the  shade  ; 

In  your  still  and  narrow  bed. 

Until  the  sun  slopes  in  the  west. 

In  the  happy  Spring  I  '11  come 

Like  weary  traveller,  glad  to  rest 

And  deck  your  silent  home — 

On  i)illowed  clouds  of  many  hues. 

Creeping,  silently  creeping  every  where. 

Then  Nature's  voice  its  joy  renews, 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

And  checkered  field  and  grassy  plain 

My  humble  song  of  praise 

Hum  with  thejr  summer  songs  again, 

Most  joyfully  I  raise 

A  requiem  to  the  day's  decline, 

To  Ilim  at  whose  command 

Whose  sotting  sunbeams  coolly  shine 

I  beautify  the  land, 

As  welcome  to  day's  feeble  powers 

Creeping,  silently  creeping  every  where. 

As  falling  dews  to  thirsty  flowers. 

Sabah  Koberts. 
I -J 

JOHX     CLAP.E, 

rOEMS    OF    NATURE. 


SONG. 

UxDEU  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
Aud  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 
Here  shall  he  see 
iSTo  enemy 
But  Winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats. 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  Winter  and  rough  weather. 

SlIAKESPEA'EE. 


THE   GREENWOOD. 

Oh !  when  't  is  summer  weather. 
And  the  yellow  bee,  with  fairy  sound, 
The  waters  clear  is  humming  round. 
And  the  cuckoo  sings  unseen, 
And  the  leaves  are  waving  green — 

Oh  !  then  't  is  sweet. 

In  some  retreat. 
To  hear  the  murmuring  dove, 
With  those  \vhom  on  earth  alone  we  love. 
And  to  wind  through  the  greenwood  together. 

But  when  't  is  w'inter  weather, 

And  crosses  grieve. 

And  friends  deceive, 

And  rain  and  sleet 

The  lattice  beat, — 

Oh!  then  'tis  sweet 

To  sit  and  sing 
Of  tlie  friends  with  whom,  in  the  days  of 

Spring, 
We  roamed  through  the  greenwood  together. 
William  Lisle  Bowles. 


COME  TO  THESE  SCENES  OF  PEACE 

Come  to  these  scenes  of  peace, 
AVhere,  to  rivers  murmuring, 
The  sweet  birds  all  the  Sunnner  sing, 
AVhere  cares,  and  toil,  and  sadness  cease  1 
Stranger,  does  thy  heart  deplore 
Friends  whom  thou  wilt  see  no  more  ? 
Does  thy  wounded  spirit  prove 
Pangs  of  hopeless,  severed  love  ? 
Thee,  the  stream  that  gushes  clear — 
Thee,  the  birds  that  carol  near 
Shall  soothe,  as  silent  thou  dost  lie 
And  dream  of  their  wild  lullaby ; 
Come  to  bless  these  scenes  of  peace. 
Where  cares,  and  t<,\i,  and  sadness  cease. 
William  Lisle  Bowles. 


THE  GARDEN. 

How  vainly  men  themselves  amaze. 
To  win  the  palm,  the  oak,  or  bays : 
And  their  incessant  labors  see 
Crowned  from  some  single  herb,  or  tree, 
Whose  short  and  narrow-verged  shade 
Does  prudently  their  toils  upbraid  ; 
AVhile  all  the  flowers,  and  trees,  do  close, 
To  weave  the  garlands  of  repose. 

Fair  Quiet,  have  I  found  thee  here, 
And  Innocence,  thy  sister  dear  ? 
Mistaken  long,  I  sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men. 
Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  below. 
Only  among  the  plants  will  grow 
Society  is  all  but  n;de 
To  this  delicious  solitude. 

No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen 

So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 

Fond  lovers,  cruel  as  their  flame. 

Cut  in  these  trees  their  mistress'  name 

Little,  alas !  they  know  or  heed, 

How  far  these  beauties  her  exceed ! 

Fair  trees  !  where'er  your  barks  I  wound, 

No  name  shall  but  your  own  be  found. 

When  we  have  run  our  passion's  heat. 
Love  hither  makes  his  best  retreat. 


THE    GARDEN. 


59 


The  gods. 


o,  who  mortal  beauty  chase, 
Still  in  a  tree  did  end  their  race. 
Apollo  hunted  Daphne  so, 
Only  that  she  might  laurel  grow  : 
And  Pan  did  after  Syrinx  speed, 
ISTot  as  a  nymph,  but  for  a  reed. 

What  wondrous  life  in  this  I  lead ! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head ; 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  month  do  crush  their  wine ; 
The  nectarine,  and  curious  peach, 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach  ; 
Stumbling  on  melons,  as  I  pass, 
Insnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grass. 

Meanwhile  the  mind  from  pleasure  less 

"Withdraws  into  its  happiness. 

The  mind,  that  ocean  where  each  kind 

Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  find  ; 

Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these, 

Far  other  worlds  and  other  seas ; 

Annihilating  all  that 's  made 

To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot. 
Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root, 
Casting  the  bodj^'s  vest  aside, 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide  ; 
There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings. 
Then  whets  and  claps  its  silver  wings. 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

Such  was  the  happy  garden  state, 
While  man  there  walked  without  a  mate  : 
After  a  place  so  pure  and  sweet, 
What  other  help  could  yet  be  meet ! 
But 't  was  beyond  a  mortal's  share 
To  wander  solitary  there  : 
Two  paradises  are  in  one, 
To  live  in  paradise  alone. 

ITow  well  the  skilful  gardener  drew 
Of  flowers,  and  herbs,  this  dial  new  ! 
Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run  : 
And,  as  it  works,  th'  industrious  bee 
Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we. 
Eow  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned,  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  ? 

Andeew  Maevell. 


THE  GARDEN 

Happy  art  thou,  whom  God  does  biess, 
With  the  full  choice  of  thine  own  happiness; 

And  happier  yet,  because  thou  'rt  blest 

With  prudence,  how  to  choose  the  best : 
In  books  and  gardens  thou  hast  placed  aright 

(Things,  which  thou  well  dost  understand ; 
And  both  dost  make  with  thy  laborious  hand) 

Thy  noble,  innocent  delight ; 
And  in  thy  virtuous  wife,  where  thou  again 
dost  meet 

Both  i^leasurcs  more  refined  and  sweet ; 

Tlie  fairest  garden  in  her  looks. 

And  in  her  mind  the  wisest  books. 
Oh,  who  would  change  these  soft,  yet  solid 

joys, 

For  empty  shows  and  senseless  noise  ; 
And  all  which  rank  ambition  breeds. 
Which  seems  such  beauteous  flowers,  and  are 
such  poisonous  weeds  ? 

When  God  did  man  to  his  own  likeness  make, 

As  much  as  clay,  though  of  the  purest  kind, 
By  the  great  potter's  art  refined. 
Could  the  divine  impression  take, 
He  thought  it  fit  to  place  him,  where 
A  kind  of  Heaven  too  did  appear. 

As  far  as  Earth  could  such  a  likeness  bear : 
That  man  no  happiness  might  want. 

Which  Earth  to  her  first  master  could  afibrd, 
He  did  a  garden  for  him  plant 

By  the  quick  hand  of  his  omnipotent  word. 

As  the  chief  help  and  joy  of  human  life. 

He  gave  him  the  first  gift ;  first,  even  before 
a  wife. 

For  God,  the  universal  architect 

'T  had  been  as  easy  to  erect 
A  Louvre  or  Escurial,  or  a  tower 
That  might  with  Heaven  communication  hold, 
As  Babel  vainly  tliought  to  do  of  old  : 

He  wanted  not  the  skill  or  power ; 

In  the  world's  fabric  those  were  shown. 
And  the  materials  were  all  his  own. 
But  well  lie  knew,  what  place  would  best 

agree 
With  innocence  and  with  felicity ; 
And  we  elsewhere  still  seek  for  them  in  vain; 
If  any  part  of  either  yet  remain, 


60 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


If  any  part  of  either  we  expect, 
This  may  our  judgment  in  the  search  direct; 
God  the  tirst  garden  made,  and  the  first  city 
Cain. 

O  blessed  shades !  O  gentle  cool  retreat 

From  all  th'  immoderate  heat, 
In  -which  the  frantic  world  does  burn  and 

sweat ! 
This  does  the  Lion-star,  ambition's  rage  ; 
This  avarice,  the  Dog-star's  thirst,  assuage  ; 
Every  where  else  their  fatal  power  we  see ; 
They  make  and  rule  man's  wretched  destiny: 

They  neither  set,  nor  disappear, 

But  tyrannize  o'er  all  the  year ; 
Whilst  Ave  ne'er  feel  their  flame  or  influence 
here. 

The  birds  that  dance  from  bough  to  bough, 

And  sing  above  in  every  tree. 

Are  not  from  fears  and  cares  more  free 
Than  Ave,  who  lie,  or  sit,  or  walk,  below, 

And  should  by  right  be  singers  too. 
"What  prince's  choir  of  music  can  excel 

That,  Avhich  Avithin  this  shade  does  dwell  ? 

To  Avhich  Ave  nothing  pay  or  give  ; 
They,  like  all  other  poets,  live 
"Without  rcAvard,  or  thanks  for  their  obliging 
pains ; 
'T  is  well  if  they  become  not  prey. 
The  Avhistling  winds   add  their  less  artful 

strains. 
And  a  grave  bass  the  murmuring  fountains 

piay ; 
>>rature  does  all  this  harmony  bestoAV, 
But  to  our  plants,  art's  music  too, 
The  pipe,  theorbo,  and  guitar,  we  owe  ; 
The  lute  itself,  Avhich  once  was  green  and 
mute. 
When  Orpheus  strook  th'  inspired  lute, 
The  trees  danced  round,  and  understood 
By  sympathy  the  voice  of  Avood. 

These  are  the  spells,  that  to  kind  sleep  invite, 
And  nothing  does  Avithin  resistance  make, 
Which  yet  we  moderately  take ; 
Who  would  not  choose  to  be  aAvake, 
While  he 's  encompast  round  with  such  de- 
light. 
To  th'  ear,  the  nose,  the  touch,  the  taste,  and 
sight  ? 


When  Venus  Avould  her  dear  Ascanius  keep 
A  prisoner  in  the  doAvny  bands  of  slee]», 
The  odorous  herbs  and  lloAvers  beneath  him 
spread. 

As  the  most  soft  and  SAveetest  bed  ; 
Not  her  OAvn  lap  would  more  have  charmed 

his  head. 
Who,  that  has  reason  and  his  smell. 
Would  not  among  roses  and  jasmine  dwell, 

Rather  than  all  his  spirits  choke. 
With  exhalations  of  dirt  and  smoke. 

And  all  th'  uncleanness  which  does  dr(j\vn. 
In  pestilential  clouds,  a  populous  toAvn  ? 
The  earth  itself  breathes  better    perfumes 

here. 
Than  all  the  female  men,  or  women,  tliero 
Not  Avithout  cause,  about  them  bear. 

When  Epicurus  to  the  world  had  taught. 

That  pleasure  was  the  chiefest  good, 
(And  Avas,  perhaps,  i'  th'  right,  if  rightly  un- 
derstood) 

His  life  he  to  his  doctrine  brought. 
And  in  a  garden's  shade  that  sovereign  plea- 
sure sought : 
Whoever  a  true  epicure  would  he, 
May  there  find  cheap  and  virtuous  luxin-y. 
Vitellius's  table,  Avhich  did  hold 
As  many  creatures  as  the  ark  of  old  ; 
That  fiscal  table,  to  which  every  day 
All  countries  did  a  constant  tribute  pay, 
Could  nothing  more  delicious  afford 

Than  Nature's  liberality, 
Ilelpcd  Avith  a  little  art  and  industry, 
AUoAvs  the  meanest  gardener's  board. 
The  Avanton  taste  no  fish  or  fowl  can  choose, 
For  which  the  grape  or  melon  she  Avould 

lose ; 
Though  all  th'  inhabitants  of  sea  and  air 
Be  listed  in  the  glutton's  bill  of  fare. 

Yet  still  the  fruits  of  earth  we  see 
Placed  the  third  story  high  in  all  her  luxury. 

But  with  no  sense  the  garden  does  comply, 
None  courts,  or  flatters,  as  it  does,  the  eye. 
When   the   great  IlebreAV  king  did   almost 

strain 
The  wondrous  treasures  of  his  Avealth,  and 

brain. 
His  royal  southern  guest  to  entertain ; 


THE    GARDEN 


61 


Though  she  on  silver  floors  did  tread, 
With  bright  Assyrian  carpets  on  them  spread, 
To  hide  the  metal's  poverty  ; 
Though  she  looked  up  to  roofs  of  gold. 
And  nought  around  her  could  behold 
But  silk,  and  rich  embroidery, 
And  Babylonish  tapestry. 
And  wealthy  Hiram's  princely  dye  ; 
Though   Ophir's    starry   stones    met    every 

where  her  eye ; 
Though  she  herself  and  her  gay  host  were 

drest 
With  all  the  shining  glories  of  the  East ; 
When  lavish  Art  her  costly  work  had  done, 

The  honor  and  the  prize  of  bravery 
Was  by  the  garden  from  the  palace  won 
And  every  rose  and  lily  there  did  stand 

Better  attired  by  Xature's  hand. 
The  case  thus  judged  against  the  king  we  see, 
By  one,  that  would  not  be  so  rich,  though 
wiser  far  than  he. 

Nor  does  tliis  happy  place  only  dispense 
Such  various  pleasures  to  the  sense  ; 
Here  health  itself  does  live, 

Tliat  salt  of  life  which  does  to  all  a  relish  give. 

Its  standing  pleasure  and  intrinsic  wealth. 

The  body's  virtue  and  the  soul's  good-for- 
tune, health. 

The  tree  of  life,  when  it  in  Eden  stood, 

Did  its  immortal  head  to  Heaven  rear ; 

It  lasted  a  tall  cedar,  till  the  flood  ; 

Now  a  small  thorny  shrub  it  does  appear ; 
Xor  will  it  thrive  too  every  where : 
It  always  here  is  freshest  seen, 
'Tis  only  here  an  evergreen. 
If,  through  the  strong  and  beauteous  fence 
Of  temperance  and  innocence, 

A.nd  wholesome  labors,  and  a  quiet  inind, 
Any  diseases  passage  find, 
They  must  not  think  here  to  assail 

A  land  unarmed  or  without  a  guard  ; 

They  must  fight  for  it,  and  dispute  it  hard, 
Before  they  can  prevail : 
Scarce  any  plant  is  growing  here. 

Which  against  death  some  weawon  does  not 
bear. 
Let  cities  boast  tliat  they  provide 
For  life  the  ornaments  of  pride  ; 
But  'tis  the  country  and  the  field, 
Tliat  furnish  it  with  staff  and  shield. 


Where  does  the  wisdom  and  the  power  divine 
In  a  more  bright  and  sweet  reflection  shine  ? 
Where  do  we  finer  strokes  and  colors  see 
Of  the  Creator's  real  poetry, 

Tlian  when  we  with  attention  look 
Upon  the  third  day's  volume  of  the  book  ? 
If  we  could  open  and  intend  our  eye. 

We  all,  like  Moses,  should  esjjy 
Even  in  a  bush  the  radiant  Deity. 
But  we  despise  these,  his  inferior  ways, 
(Though  no  less  full  of  miracle  and  praise.) 

Upon  the  flowers  of  Heaven  we  gaze  ; 
The  stars  of  Earth  no  wonder  in  us  raise  ; 

Though  these  perhaps  do,  more  than  they, 
The  life  of  mankind  sway. 
Although  no  part  of  mighty  Nature  be 
More  stored  with  beauty,  power  and  mystery ; 
Yet,  to  encourage  human  industry, 
God  has  so  ordered,  that  no  other  part 
Such  space  and  such  dominion  leaves  for  Art. 

"We  nowhere  Art  do  so  ti-iumi>hant  see, 

As  when  it  grafts  or  buds  the  tree. 
In  other  things  we  count  it  to  excel. 
If  it  a  docile  scholar  can  appear 
To  Nature,  and  but  imitate  her  Avell ; 
It  over-rules  and  is  her  master,  here. 
It  imitates  her  Maker's  power  divine, 
And  changes  her  sometimes,  and  sometimes 

does  refine. 
It  does,  like  grace,  the  fallen  tree  restore 
To  its  blest  state  of  Paradise  before. 
Who  would  not  joy  to  see  his  conquering  hand 
O'er  all  the  vegetable  world  command  ? 
And  the  wild  giants  of  the  wood  receive 

"What  law  he  's  pleased  to  give  ? 
He  bids  th'  ill-natured  crab  produce 
The  gentle  apple's  winy  juice, 

The  golden  fruit  that  worthy  is 

Of  Galatea's  purple  kiss. 

He  does  the  savage  hawthorn  teach 

To  bear  the  medlar  and  the  pear  ; 

He  bids  the  rustic  plum  to  rear 

A  noble  trunk,  and  be  a  peach. 

Ev'n  Daphne's  coyness  he  does  mock. 

And  weds  the  cherry  to  her  stock, 

Though  she  refused  Apollo's  suit ; 

Even  she,  that  chaste  and  virgin  tree. 

Now  wonders  at  herself,  to  see 
That  she's  a  mother  made,  and  blushes  in  her 
fruit. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


Methinks  I  see  great  Dioclesiau  walk 
In  the  Saloniau  garden's  noble  shade, 
Wliit'h  by  his  own  imperial  hands  was  made. 
[  see  him  smile,  methinks,  as  he  does  talk 
With  the  ambassadors,  who  come  in  vain 

T'  entioo  him  to  a  throne  again. 
'•  It'  I,  my  friends,"  (said  he,)  "should  to  you 

show 
All  the  delights  which  in  these  gardens  grow, 
'Tis  likelier,  much,  that  you  should  with  me 

stay, 
Than  'tis  that  you  should  carry  me  away ; 
And  trust  me  not,  my  friends,  if  eveiy  day, 

I  walk  not  here  with  more  delight 
Than  ever,  after  the  most  happy  sight, 
In  triumph  to  the  Capitol  I  rode 
To  thank  the  gods,  and  to  be  thought  myself 


almost  a  god." 


Abraham  Cowlet. 


INSCRIPTION  IN  A  HERMITAGE. 

Beneath  this  stony  roof  reclined, 
I  soothe  to  peace  my  pensive  mind; 
And  while,  to  shade  my  lowly  cave. 
Embowering  elms  their  umbrage  wave ; 
And  while  the  maple  dish  is  mine — 
The  beechen  cup,  unstained  with  -vine — 
I  scorn  the  gay  licentious  crowd, 
Nor  heed  the  toys  that  deck  the  proud. 

"Within  my  limits,  lone  and  still, 
The  black-bird  pipes  in  artless  trill; 
Fast  by  my  couch,  congenial  guest. 
The  wren  has  wove  her  mossy  nest ; 
From  busy  scenes,  and  brighter  skies. 
To  lurk  with  innocence,  she  flies, 
Here  hopes  in  safe  repose  to  dwell. 
Nor  aught  suspects  the  sylvan  cell. 

At  morn  I  take  my  customed  round. 
To  mark  how  buds  yon  shrubby  mound, 
And  every  opening  primrose  count. 
That  trimly  paints  my  blooming  mount ; 
Or  o'er  the  sculptures,  quaint  and  rude. 
That  grace  my  gloomy  solitude, 
I  teach  in  winding  wreaths  to  stray 
Fantastic  ivy's  gadding  spray. 


At  eve,  witliin  yon  studious  nook, 

I  ope  my  brass-embo.sscd  book. 

Portrayed  with  many  a  holy  deed 

Of  martyrs,  crowned  with  heavenly  meed. 

Then,  as  my  taper  waxes  dim, 

Chant,  ere  I  sleep,  my  measured  hymn. 

And  at  the  close,  the  gleams  behold 

Of  parting  wings,  be-dropt  with  gold. 

While  such  pure  joys  my  bliss  create. 
Who  but  would  smile  at  guilty  state? 
Who  but  would  wish  his  holy  lot 
In  calm  oblivion's  humble  grot? 
AVlio  but  would  cast  his  pomp  away, 
To  take  my  staff,  and  amice  gray ; 
And  to  the  world's  tumultuous  stage 
Prefer  tlie  blameless  hermitage  ? 

Thomas  Warton. 


THE  RETIREMENT. 

Fakewell,  thou  busy  world,  and  may 
We  never  meet  again ; 
Here  I  can  eat,  and  sleep,  and  pray, 
And  do  more  good  in  one  short  day, 
Than  he  who  his  whole  age  out-wears 
Upon  the  most  conspicuous  theatres. 
Where  nought  but  vanity  and  vice  appears. 

Good  God !  how  sweet  are  all  things  here! 
How  beautiful  the  fields  appear ! 

How  cleanly  do  we  feed  and  lie ! 
Lord !  what  good  hours  do  we  keep ! 
How  quietly  we  sleep ! 

What  peace,  what  unanimity  ! 
How  innocent  from  the  lewd  fashion, 
Is  all  our  business,  all  our  recreation ! 

Oh,  how  happy  here 's  our  leisure ! 
Oh,  how  innocent  our  pleasure ! 
O  ye  valleys !     O  ye  mountains ! 
O  ye  groves,  and  crystal  fountains ! 
How  I  love,  at  liberty. 
By  turns  to  come  and  visit  ye ! 

Dear  solitude,  the  soul's  best  friend. 
That  man  acquainted  with  himself  dost  make, 
And  all  his  Maker's  wonders  to  intend. 


THE-  USEFUL   PLOUGH. 


63 


With  thee  I  here  converse  at  will, 
And  woi^ld  be  glad  to  do  so  still, 
For  is  it  thou  alone  that  keep'st  the  soul 
awake. 

How  calm  and  quiet  a  delight 
Is  it,  alone 

To  read,  and  meditate,  and  write, 

By  none  offended,  and  offending  none ! 

To  walk,  ride,  sit,  or  sleep  at  one's  own 
ease; 
And,  pleasing  a  man's  self,  none  other  to  dis- 
please. 

0  my  beloved  nymph,  fair  Dove, 
Princess  of  rivers,  how  I  love 

Upon  thy  flowery  banks  to  lie. 
And  view  thy  silver  stream. 
When  gilded  by  a  Summer's  beam ! 
And  in  it  aU  thy  wanton  fry 
Playing  at  liberty, 
And,  with  my  angle,  upon  them, 
The  aU  of  treachery 

1  ever  learned  industriously  to  try ! 

Such  streams  Pome's  ycUow  Tiber  cannot 

show. 
The  Iberian  Tagus,  or  Ligurian  Po ; 
The  Maese,  the  Danube,  and  the  Rhine, 
Are  puddle-water,  all,  compared  with  thine ; 
And  Loire's  pure  streams  yet  too  polluted  are 
With  thine,  much  purer,  to  compare ; 
The  rapid  Garonne  and  the  winding  Seine 
Are  both  too  mean. 

Beloved  Dove,  with  thee 

To  vie  priority ; 
Nay,  Tame  and  Isis,  when  conjoined,  submit. 
And  lay  their  trophies  at  thy  silver  feet. 

O  my  beloved  rocks,  that  rise 

To  awe  the  earth  and  brave  the  skies ! 

From  some  aspiring  moimtain's  crown 

How  dearly  do  I  love. 
Giddy  with  pleasure,  to  look  down ; 
And,  from  the  vales,  to  view  the  noble  heights 

above ; 
O  my  beloved  caves !  from  dog-star's  heat, 
And  all  anxieties,  my  safe  retreat ; 
What  safety,  privacy,  what  true  delight. 
In  the  artificial  night 


Your  gloomy  entrails  make. 

Have  I  taken,  do  I  take ! 
How  oft,  when  grief  has  made  me  fly, 
To  hide  me  from  society 
E'en  of  my  dearest  friends,  have  I, 

In  your  recesses'  friendly  shade, 

All  my  sorrows  open  laid. 
And  my  most  secret  woes  intrusted  to  your 
privacy ! 

Lord !  would  men  let  me  alone. 
What  an  over-happy  one 

Should  I  think  myself  to  be — 
Might  I  in  this  desert  place, 
(Which  most  men  in  discourse  disgrace,) 

Live  but  undisturbed  and  free ! 
Here,  in  this  despised  recess. 

Would  I,  maugre  Winter's  cold, 
And  the  Summer's  worst  excess. 
Try  to  hve  out  to  sixty  fuU  years  old ; 
And,  all  the  while. 

Without  an  envious  eye 
On  any  thriving  under  Fortune's  smile. 
Contented  live,  and  then  contented  die. 

Charles  Cottcx. 


THE  USEFUL  PLOUGH. 

A  ootraTRT  life  is  sweet ! 
In  moderate  cold  and  heat. 

To  walk  in  the  air,  how  pleasant  and  fair ! 
In  every  field  of  wheat, 

The  fairest  of  flowers  adorning  the  bowers, 
And  every  meadow's  brow ; 

So  that  I  say,  no  courtier  may 

Compare  with  them  who  clothe  in  gray. 
And  follow  the  useful  plough. 

They  rise  with  the  morning  lark. 
And  labor  till  almost  dark ; 
Then  folding  their  sheep,  they  hasten  to 
sleep ; 
While  every  pleasant  park 

iText  morning  is  ringing  Avith  birds  that  arc 
singing, 
On  each  green,  tender  bough. 

With  what  content  and  merriment 
Their  days  are  spent,  whose  minds  are  bent 
To  follow  the  useful  plough ! 

ANOirriious. 


ct 


rOEMS   OF   NATURE 


EEVE  DU  MIDI. 

Whex  o'er  the  mountain  steeps, 
The  hazy  noontide  creeps, 
And  tlie  slirill  cricket  sleeps 
Under  the  grass ; 
When  soft  the  shadows  lie, 
And  clouds  sail  o'er  the  sky. 
And  the  idle  winds  go  hy, 
liVith  the  heavy  scent  of  blossoms  as  they 
pass — 

Then  when  the  silent  stream 
Lapses  as  in  a  dream, 
And  the  water-lilies  gleam 
Up  to  the  sun ; 

"When  the  hot  and  burdened  day 
Bests  on  its  downward  way, 
When  the  moth  forgets  to  play 
And  the  plodding  ant  may  dream  her  work  is 
done — 

Then,  from  the  noise  of  war 
And  the  din  of  earth  afar. 
Like  some  forgotten  star 
Dropt  from  the  sky — 
The  sounds  of  love  and  fear. 
All  voices  sad  and  clear. 
Banished  to  silence  drear — 
The  willing  thrall  of  trances  sweet  I  lie. 

Some  melancholy  gale 
Breathes  its  mysterious  tale, 
Till  the  rose's  hps  grow  pale 
With  her  sighs ; 
And  o'er  my  thoughts  are  cast 
Tints  of  the  vanished  past. 
Glories  that  faded  fast, 
Renewed  to  splendor  in  my  dreaming  eyes. 

As  poised  on  vibrant  wings, 
Where  its  sweet  treasure  swings, 
The  honey-lover  clings 
To  the  red  flowers — 
So,  lost  in  vivid  light, 
So,  rapt  from  day  and  night, 
I  linger  ia  dehght. 
Enraptured  o'er  the  vision-freighted  hom's. 

EOSE  Tebey. 


HYMN  TO  PAK 

0  THOiT,  whose  mighty  palace  roof  doth  hang 
From  jagged  trunks,  and  overshadoweth 
Eternal  whispers,  glooms,  the  birth,  life,  death 
Of  unseen  flowers  in  heavy  peacefulness ; 
Who  lovest  to  see  the  Hamadryads  dress 
Their  ruffled   locks  where    meeting    hazels 

darken ; 
And  through  whole  solemn  hours  dost  sit 

and  hearken 
The  dreary  melody  of  bedded  reeds 
In   desolate    places,   where    dank    moisture 

breeds 
The  pipy  hemlock  to  strange  overgrowth, 
Bethinking  thee,  how  melancholy  loth 
Thou  wast  to  lose  fair  Syrinx — do  thou  now. 
By  thy  love's  milky  brow ! 
By  all  the  trembling  mazes  that  she  ran, 
Hear  ns,  great  Pan ! 

O  thou,  for  whose  soul-soothing  quiet,  turtles 
Passion  their  voices  cooingly  'mong  myrtles, 
What  time  thou  wanderest  at  eventide 
Through  sunny   meadows,  that  outskirt  the 

side 
Of  thine  enraossed  realms !  O  thou,  to  whom 
Broad-leaved  flg-trees  even  now  foredoom 
Their  ripened  fruitage ;  yeUow-girted  bees 
Their  golden  honeycombs ;  our  village  leas 
Their  fairest  blossomed  beans  and   poppied 

corn ; 
The  chuckling  linnet  its  five  young  unborn. 
To  sing  for  thee ;  low-creeping  strawberries 
Their  summer  coolness ;  pent-up  butterflies 
Their  freckled  wings ;  yea,  the  fresh-budding 

year 
All  its  completions — ^be  quickly  near, 
By  every  wind  that  nods  the  mountain  pine, 
O  forester  divine ! 

Thou,  to  whom  every  faun  and  satyr  flies 
For  vrilling  service ;  whether  to  sin-prise 
The  squatted  hare  while  in  half-sleeping  fit ; 
Or  upward  ragged  precipices  flit 
To  save  poor  lambkins  from  the  eagles  maw; 
Or  by  mysterious  enticement  draw 
Bewildered  shepherds  to  then'  path  again ; 
Or  to  tread  breathless  roimd  the  frothy  main, 
And  gather  up  all  fancifuUest  shells 
For  thee  to  tumble  into  ISTaiads'  cells, 


THE   BIRCH-TREE. 


65 


And,  beiug  hidden,  langli  at  their  out-peeping ; 
Or  to  delight  thee  with  fantastic  leaping, 
The  while  thoy  pelt  each  other  on  the  crown 
With  silvery  oak-apples,  and  fir-cones  brown ! 
By  all  the  echoes  that  about  thee  ring. 
Hear  us,  0  satyr  king ! 

O  Hearkener  to  the  loud-clappping  shears. 
While  ever  and  anon  to  his  shorn  peers 
A  ram  goes  bleating !  Winder  of  the  horn. 
When  snouted  wild-boars,  routing  tender  corn, 
Anger  our  huntsmen!    Breather  roimd  our 

farms, 
To  keep  off  mildews,  and  all  weather  harms ! 
Strange  ministrant  of  undescribed  sounds, 
That  come  a-swooning  over  hollow  grounds, 
And  wither  drearily  on  barren  moors ! 
Dread  opener  of  the  mysterious  doors 
Leading  to  universal  knowledge — see, 
Great  son  of  Dryope, 

The  many  that  are  come  to  pay  their  vows 
With  leaves  about  their  brows ! 

Be  stiU  the  unimaginable  lodge 
For  solitary  thinkings — such  as  dodge 
Conception  to  the  very  bourne  of  heaven, 
Then  leave  the  naked  brain ;  be  still  the  leaven 
That,  spreading  in  thft  dull  and  clodded  earth, 
Gives  it  a  touch  ethereal — a  new  birth  ; 
Be  still  a  symbol  of  immensity ; 
A  firmament  reflected  in  a  sea  ; 
An  element  filhng  the  space  between ; 
An    unknown — but  no  more:   we    humbly 

screen 
With  uplift  hands  our  foreheads,  lowly  bend- 
ing, 
And,  gi\'ing  out  a  shout  most  heaven-rending. 
Conjure  thee  to  receive  our  humble  paean, 
Upon  thy  Mount  Lycean ! 

John  Keats. 


TO  PAN. 

All  ye  woods,  and  trees,  and  bowers, 
All  ye  virtues  and  ye  powers 
That  inhabit  in  the  lakes, 
la  the  pleasant  springs  or  brakes, 
Move  your  feet 
To  our  sound. 
Whilst  we  greet 
All  this  ground, 
13 


With  his  honor  and  his  name 
That  defends  our  flocks  from  blame. 

He  is  great,  and  he  is  just. 
He  is  ever  good,  and  must 
Thus  be  honored.     Daftbdillies, 
Eoses,  pinks,  and  loved  lihes. 

Let  us  fling, 
Whilst  we  sing. 

Ever  holy, 
Ever  holy, 
Ever  honored,  ever  young ! 
Thus  great  Pan  is  ever  sung. 

Beaumont  and  Fletoheb. 


THE  BIRCH-TREE. 

RippLESTG  through  thy  branches  goes  the  sun« 

shine. 
Among  thy  leaves  that  palpitate  for  ever ; 
Ovid  in  thee  a  pining  Nymph  had  prisoned. 
The  soul  once  of  some  tremulous  inland  river. 
Quivering  to  teU  her  woe,  but,  ah!   dumb, 

dumb  for  ever  I 

While  all  the  forest,  witched  with  slumber- 
ous moonshine, 
Holds  up  its  leaves  in  happy,  happy  silence. 
Waiting  the  dew,  with  breath  and  pulse  sus- 
pended,— 
I  hear  afar  thy  whispering,  gleaming  islands. 
And  track  thee  wakeful  stiU  amid  the  wide- 
hung  silence. 

Upon  the  brink  of  some  wood-nestled  lakelet, 
Thy  foliage,  like  the  tresses  of  a  Dryad, 
Dripping  about  thy  slim  white  stem,  whose 

shadow 
Slopes    quivering    down   the  water's  dusky 

quiet. 
Thou  shrink'st  as  on  her  bath's  edge  would 

some  startled  Dryad. 

Thou  art  the  go-between  of  rustic  lovers ; 

Thy  white  bark  has  their  secrets  in  its  keep- 
in"*  • 

Reuben  writes  here  the  happy  name  of  Pa- 
tience, 

And  thy  lithe  boughs  hang  murmuring  and 
weepuig 


65 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Above  lior,  as  she  steals  the  mystery  from  thy 
keeping. 

Thou  art  to  me  Hke  my  beloved  maiden, 

So  frankly  coy,  so  full  of  trembly  confidences ; 

Thy  shadow  scarce  seems  shade ;  thy  patter- 
ing leaflets 

Sprinkle  their  gathered  simshine  o'er  my 
senses, 

And  Nature  gives  mo  all  her  smnmer  confi- 
dences. 

Whether  my  heart  with  hope  or  sorrow  trem- 
ble, 
Thou  syrapathizest  still ;  wild  and  unquiet, 
I  fling  nie  down,  thy  ripple,  like  a  river. 
Flows  valleyward  where    calmness  is,    and 

by  it 
My.  heart  is  floated  down  into  the  land  of 

quiet. 

James  Eussell  Lowell. 


SOXG  OF  WOOD-NYMPHS. 

Come  here,  come  here,  and  dwell 

In  forest  deep ! 

Come  here,  come  here,  and  tell 

Wliy  thou  dost  weep ! 

Is  it  for  love  (sweet  pain !) 

That  thus  thou  dar'st  complain 

Unto  our  pleasant  shades,  our  summer  leaves, 

Where  nought  else  grieves  ? 

Come  here,  come  here,  and  lie 

By  whispering  stream ! 

Here  no  one  dares  to  die 

For  love's  sweet  dream ; 

But  health  all  seek,  and  joy, 

Aiid  shun  perverse  annoy. 

And  race  along  green  paths  till  close  of  day. 

And  laugh — alway ! 

Or  else,  through  half  the  yeai', 

On  rushy  floor, 

We  lie  by  waters  clear. 

While  sky-larks  pour 

Their  songs  into  the  sun ! 

And  when  bright  day  is  done, 

We  hide  'neath  bells  of  flowers  or  nodding 

corn 

And  dream — till  morn ! 

Baeet  Coexwall. 


SUMMER  WOODS. 

Co-ME  ye  into  the  summer  woods ; 

There  entereth  no  annoy ; 
All  greenly  wave  the  chestnut  leaves, 

And  the  earth  is  full  of  joy. 

I  cannot  tell  you  half  the  sights 

Of  beauty  you  may  see. 
The  bursts  of  golden  sunshine. 

And  many  a  shady  tree. 

There,  lightly  swung,  .n  bowery  glades, 

The  honey-suckles  twine ; 
There  blooms  the  rose-red  campion, 

And  the  dai'k-blue  columbine. 

There  grows  the  four-leaved  plant,  "true 
love," 

In  some  dusk  woodland  spot ; 
There  grows  the  enchanter's  night-shade, 

And  the  wood  forget-me-not. 

And  many  a  merry  bird  is  there, 

Unscared  by  lawless  men ; 
The  blue-winged  jay,  the  woodpecker, 

And  the  golden-crc^ted  wren. 

Come  down,  and  ye  shall  see  them  all, 

The  timid  and  the  bold ; 
For  their  sweet  life  of  pleasantness. 

It  is  not  to  be  told. 

And  far  within  that  summer  wood, 

Among  the  leaves  so  gi'een, 
Tliere  flows  a  little  gurgling  brook, 

The  brightest  e'er  was  seen. 

There  come  the  little  gentle  birds. 

Without  a  fear  of  ill ; 
Down  to  the  murmuring  water's  edge 

And  freely  drink  their  fill ! 

And  dash  about  and  splash  about. 

The  merry  little  things ; 
And  look  askance  with  bright  black  eyes, 

And  flirt  their  dripping  wings. 

I  've  seen  the  freakish  squirreli?  drop 

Down  fi-om  their  leafy  tree. 
The  little  squirrels  with  the  old,— 

Great  joy  it  was  to  me ! 


THE   BELFRY   PIGEON. 


&1 


And  down  unto  the  running  brook, 
I  Ve  seen  tliem  nimbly  go ;  , 

And  the  bright  water  seemed  to  speak 
A  welcome  kind  and  low, 

The  nodding  plants  they  bowed  their  heads 

As  if  in  heartsome  cheer : 
They  spake  unto  these  little  things, 

"  'T  is  merry  liv^ing  here !  " 

Oh,  how  my  heart  ran  o'er  with  joy ! 

I  saw  that  all  was  good, 
And  how  we  might  glean  up  delight 

All  round  us,  if  we  would ! 

And  many  a  wood-mouse  dwelleth  there. 

Beneath  the  old  wood  shade, 
And  all  day  long  has  work  to  do, 

iSTor  is  of  aught  afraid. 

The  green  shoots  grow  above  their  heads. 

And  roots  so  fresh  and  fine 
Beneath  their  feet ;  nor  is  there  strife 

'Mong  them  for  mine  and  thine. 

There  is  enough  for  every  one, 

And  they  lovingly  agree ; 
"We  might  learn  a  lesson,  all  of  us, 

Beneath  the  green-wood  tree. 

Maey  Howitt. 


WILLOW  SON"G. 

Willow  !  in  thy  breezy  moan 

I  can  hear  a  deeper  tone ; 

Through  thy  leaves  come  whispering  low 

Faint  sweet  sounds  of  long  ago — 

Willow,  sighing  willow ! 

Many  a  mournful  tale  of  old 
Heart-sick  Love  to  thee  hath  told, 
Gathering  from  thy  golden  bough 
Leaves  to  cool  his  burning  brow — 

Willow,  sighing  willow! 

Many  a  swan-like  song  to  thee 
Hath  been  sung,  thou  gentle  tree ; 
Many  a  lute  its  last  lament 
Down  thy  moonlight  stream  hath  sent — 
Willow,  sighing  willow ! 


Therefore,  wave  and  murmur  on, 
Sigh  for  sweet  affections  gone, 
And  for  tuneful  voices  fled, 
And  for  Love,  whose  heart  hath  bled — 
Ever,  willow,  willow! 

IfELiciA  Dorothea.  Hemans. 


THE  BELFRY  PIGEON". 

OiT  the  cross-beam  under  the  Old  South  beU 
The  nest  of  a  pigeon  is  bnildcd  well. 
In  summer  and  winter  that  bird  is  there, 
Out  and  in  with  the  morning  air ; 
I  love  to  see  him  track  the  street. 
With  his  wary  eye  and  active  feet ; 
And  I  often  watch  him  as  he  springs, 
Circhng  the  steeple  with  easy  wings. 
Till  across  the  dial  his  shade  has  passed. 
And  the  belfry  edge  is  gained  at  last ; 
'Tis  a  bird  I  love,  with  its  brooding  note, 
And  the  trembling  throb  in  its  mottled  throat ; 
There 's  a  human  look  in  its  sweUing  brea?t, 
And  the  gentle  curve  of  its  lowly  crest ; 
And  I  often  stop  with  the  fear  I  feel — 
He  runs  so  close  to  the  rapid  wheel. 

Whatever  is  rung  on  that  noisy  l>ell — 
Chime  of  the  hour,  or  funeral  Ivuell — 
The  dove  in  the  belfry  must  hear  it  well . 
When  the  tongue  swings  out  to  the  midnight 

moon, 
When  the  sexton  chcerly  rings  for  noon. 
When  the  clock   strikes   clear   at    morning 

light, 
When  the  child   is  waked  Avith   "  nine   at 

night," 
When  the  chimes  play  soft  in  the  Sabbath  air, 
Filhng  the  spirit  with  tones  of  prayer, — 
"Whatever  tale  in  the  bell  is  heard. 
He  broods  on  his  folded  feet  unstirred, 
Or,  rising  half  in  liis  rounded  nest. 
He  takes  the  time  to  smooth  his  breast, 
Then  drops  again,  with  filmed  eyes, 
And  sleeps  as  the  last  vibration  dies. 

Sweet  bird!  I  would  that  I  could  be 
A  hermit  in  the  crowd  hke  thee  1 
With  wings  to  fly  to  wood  and  glen, 
Thy  lot,  like  mine,  is  cast  with  men ; 
And  daily,  with  unwilling  feet, 
I  tread,  like  thee,  the  crowded  street, 
But,  unlike  me,  when  day  is  o'er, 


OS 


rOEMS    OF   NATURE. 


Thou  caust  dismiss  tlio  -u-orltl,  and  soar ; 
Or,  at  a  laalf-felt  wish  for  rest, 
Caust  smooth  the  feathers  on  thy  breast, 
And  drop,  forgetful,  to  thy  nest. 

I  would  that,  in  sucli  wings  of  gold, 
I  could  my  weary  heart  npfold ; 
I  would  I  could  look  down  unmoved 
(Unloving  as  I  am  unloved), 
And  while  the  world  throngs  on  beneath. 
Smooth  down  my  cares  and  calmly  breathe  ; 
And  never  sad  with  others'  sadness. 
And  never  glad  with  others'  gladness, 
Listen,  unstirred,  to  knell  or  chime. 
And,  lapped  in  quiet,  bide  my  time. 

Xatdamiel  Paukek  Willis. 


THE  GRASSHOPPER. 

TO  MT  NOBLE  FEIESD  ME.    CHAELES   COTTON. 
ODE. 

0  Tnou,  tliat  swing'st  upon  the  waving  ear 

Of  some  vrell-fiUed  oaten  beard, 
Drunk  every  night  with  a  delicious  tear 

Dropped  thee   from  heaven,  Avhere   now 
thou  'rt  reared ; 

The  joys  of  air  and  earth  are  thine  entire. 
That  with  thy  feet  and  wings  dost  bop  and 

fly; 

And  when  thy  poppy  works,  thou  dost  retire 
To  thy  carved  acorn-bed  to  lie. 

Up  witli  the  day,  the  sun  thou  welcom'st  then ; 

Sport'st  in  the  gilt  plats  of  his  beams, 
And  all  these  raerry  days  mak'st  merry  men, 

Thyself,  and  melancholy  streams. 

But  ah !  the  sickle  !  golden  ears  are  cropt ; 

Ceres  and  Bacclms  bid  good-night ; 
Sharp  frosty  fingers  all  your  flowers  have  topt. 

And  vrhat  scythes  spared,  wuids  shave  oft" 
quite. 

Poor  verdant  fool !  and  now  green  ice,  thy 

joys 

Large  and  as  lasting  as  thy  perch  of  gi-ass. 
Bid  us  lay  in  'gainst  vrinter  rain,  and  poise 
Their  floods  with  an  o'erflowing  glass. 

riiou  best  of  men  and  friends !  we  will  create 
A  genuine  summer  in  each  otlier's  breast ; 


And  spite  of  this  cold  time  and  frozen  fate, 
Thaw  us  a  warm  seat  to  our  rest. 

Our  sacred  heartbs  shaU  burn  eternally 
As  vestal  flames ;  the  north  wind,  he 

Shall  strike  his  frost- stretched  wings,  dissolve 
and  fly 
This  ^Etna  in  epitome. 

Dropping  December  shall  come  weeping  in, 
Bewail  th'  usurping  of  his  reign ; 

But  when  in  showers  of  old  Greek  we  begin, 
Shall  cry  he  hath  his  crown  again. 

Night  as  clear  Hesper  shall  our  tapers  whip 
From  the  light  casements  where  we  play. 

And  the  dark  hag  from  her  black  mantle  strip, 
And  stick  there  everlasting  day. 

Thus  richer  than  nntempted  kings  are  we, 
That  asking  nothing,  nothing  need ; 

Though  lord  of  all  what  seas  embrace,  yet  he 
That  wants  himself,  is  poor  indeed. 

RiCnAED  LOVEIACK. 


THE  GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy  insect,  what  can  be 
In  happiness  compared  to  thee  ? 
Fed  with  nourishment  divine. 
The  dewy  morning's  gentle  wine ! 
Nature  waits  upon  thee  still. 
And  thy  verdant  cup  does  fill ; 
'T  is  filled  wherever  thou  dost  tread. 
Nature  self 's  thy  Ganymede. 
Thou  dost  drink,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
Happier  than  the  happiest  king ! 
All  the  fields  which  thou  dost  see. 
All  the  plants  belong  to  thee ; 
All  the  summer  hours  produce,  • 

Fertile  made  with  early  juice. 
•  Man  for  thee  docs  sow  and  plow, 
Farmer  he,  and  landlord  thou ! 
Thou  dost  innocently  enjoy ; 
Nor  does  thy  luxury  destroy. 
The  shepherd  gladly  heareth  thee. 
More  harmonious  than  he. 
Thee  country  hinds  with  gladness  hear, 
Prophet  of  the  ripened  year! 
Tlice  Phoebus  loves,  and  does  inspire ; 
Phoebus  is  himself  thy  sire. 


SUMMER. 


69 


To  tliee,  of  all  things  upon  GcOrth, 

Life  is  no  longer  than  thy  mirth. 

Happy  insect !  happy  thou, 

Dost  neither  age  nor  winter  know ; 

But  when  thou  'st  di-unk,  and  danced,  and 

sung 
Thy  fiU,  the  flowery  leaves  among, 
(Voluptuous  and  wise  withal. 
Epicurean  animal !) 
Sated  with  thy  summer  feast, 
Thou  retir'st  to  endlest  rest. 

Anaceeon.  (Greek.) 
Translation  of  Abeaham  Cowlet. 


A  SOLILOQUY. 

OOCASIOXED  BY  THE   CTIIRPrN'G   OF  A 
GEASSnOPPEE. 

Happy  insect !  ever  blest 
With  a  more  than  mortal  rest. 
Rosy  dews  the  leaves  among, 
Humble  joys,  and  gentle  song ! 
Wretched  poet !  ever  curst 
With  a  life  of  lives  the  worst. 
Sad  despondence,  restless  fears, 
Endless  jealousies  and  tears. 

In  the  bm-ning  summer  thou 
Warblest  on  the  verdant  bough. 
Meditating  cheerfd  play, 
Mindless  of  the  piercing  ray ; 
Scorched  in  Cupid's  fervors,  I 
Ever  weep  and  ever  die. 

Proud  to  gratify  thy  will, 
Keady  Nature  waits  thee  stUl ; 
Balmy  wines  to  thee  she  pours. 
Weeping  through  the  dewy  flowers. 
Rich  as  those  by  Hebe  given 
To  the  thirsty  sons  of  heaven. 

Yet  alas,  we  both  agree. 
Miserable  thou  like  me ! 
Each,  alike,  in  youtli  rehearses 
Gentle  strains  and  tender  verses  ; 
Ever  wandering  far  from  home, 
Mindless  of  the  days  to  come 
(Such  as  aged  Winter  brings 
Trembling  on  his  icy  wings), 
Both  alike  at  last  we  die ; 
Thou  art  starved,  and  so  am  I ! 

Walter  Harte. 


01^  THE  GRASSHOPPER, 

Happy  songster,  perched  above, 
On  the  summit  of  the  grove, 
Whom  a  dewdi-op  cheers  to  sing 
With  the  freedom  of  a  king ; 
From  thy  perch  survey  the  fields. 
Where  prolific  Nature  yields 
Nought  that,  willingly  as  she, 
Man  surrenders  not  to  thee. 
For  hostility  or  hate 
None  thy  pleasures  can  create. 
Thee  it  satisfies  to  sing 
Sweetly  the  return  of  Spring ; 
Herald  of  the  genial  hours, 
Harming  neither  herbs  nor  flowers. 
Therefore  man  thy  voice  attends 
Gladly — thou  and  he  are  friends ; 
Nor  thy  never-ceasing  strains 
Phoebus  or  the  Muse  disdains 
As  too  simple  or  too  long. 
For  themselves  inspire  the  song. 
Earth-born,  bloodless,  nndecajang, 
Ever  singing,  sporting,  playing, 
What  has  nature  else  to  show 
Godlike  in  its  kind  as  thou? 

AsAcsEON.  (Greek.) 
Translation  of  William  Cowtee. 


ON  THE  GRASSHOPPER  AND 
CRICKET. 

The  poetry  of  earth  is  never  dead  : 
When  aU  the  birds  are  faint  with  the  hot  sua 
And  hide  in  cooling  trees,  a  voice  wDl  run 
From  hedge  to  hedge  about  the  new-mown 

mead. 
That  is  the  grasshopper's — he  takes  the  lead 
In  summer  luxury, — ^he  has  never  done 
With  his  delights  ;  for,  when  tired  out  with 

fun. 
He  rests  at  ease  beneath  some  pleasant  weed. 
The  poetry  of  earth  is  ceasing  never. 
On  a  lone  winter  evening,  when  the  frost 
Has  wrought  a  silence,  from  the  stove  thero 

shrills 
The  Cricket's  song,  in  warmth  increasing  ever, 
And  seems,  to  one  in  drowsiness  half  lost, 
The  Grasshopper's  among  some  grassy  hills. 

Jonu  Keats. 


70 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


THE  GRASSHOPPER  AXD  CRICKET. 

Green  little  vaiilter  in  the  sunny  grass, 
Catching  your  heart  up  at  the  feel  of  June — 
Sole  voice  that 's  heard  amidst  the  lazy  noon 
"When  even  the  hees  lag  at  the  summoning 

brass ; 
And  you,  warm  little  housekeeper,  who  class 
"With  those  who  think  the  candles  come  too 


soon 


Loving  the  fire,  and  witli  your  tricksome  tune 
Nick  the  glad  silent  moments  as  they  pass ! 

O  sweet  and  tiny  cousins,  that  belong, 
One  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  the  hearth. 
Both  have  your  sunshine :  both,  though  small, 

are  strong 
At  yom-  clear  hearts;  and  both  seem  given 

to  earth 
To  sing  in  thoughtful  ears  this  natural  song — 
In  doors  and  out,  summer  and  winter,  mirtli. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


TO  THE  HUMBLE-BEE. 

BoKLT,  dozing  humble-bee ! 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me ; 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek. — 
I  will  follow  thee  alone. 
Thou  animated  torrid  zone ! 
Zig-zag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion ! 
'  Sailor  of  the  atmosphere  ; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air, 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon, 
Epicurean  of  June ! 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum, — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days. 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall ; 
And,  with  softness  touching  all. 


Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  the  color  of  romance ; 
And  infusing  subtle  heats 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, — 
Thou  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods. 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow  breezy  bass. 

Hot  Midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers ; 
Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound. 
In  Indian  Avildernesscs  fonnd ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen  ; 
But  violets,  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple  sap,  and  daflPodels, 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  Mgh, 
Succory  to  match  the  sky. 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey. 
Scented  fern,  and  agrimony. 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue, 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among : 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 
Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
YeUow-brecched  philosopher. 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 

Sipping  only  what  is  sweet. 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fiite  and  care. 

Leave  the  chaff  and  take  the  wheat. 
When  the  fierce  north-western  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, — 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep ; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep ; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us. 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 

Ealph  "Waldo  Emee30H. 


THE  BEE. 

Feom  fruitful  beds  and  flowery  borders, 
Parcelled  to  wastefid  ranks  and  orders, 
Wliere  state  grasps  more  than  plain  truth  needs, 
And  wholesome  herbs  are  starved  by  weeds, 


THE   BEE. 


tl 


To  the  w'Ai  woods  I  will  be  gone, 

And  the  coarse  meals  of  great  Saint  John. 

When  truth  and  pietj  are  missed, 

Both  in  the  rulers  and  the  priest ; 

"When  pity  is  not  cold  but  dead. 

And  the  rich  eat  the  poor  hke  bread ; 

"While  factious  heads,  "with  open  coile 

And  force,  first  make,  then  share  the  spoile  ; 

To  Horeb  then  Elias  goes, 

And  in  the  desert  grows  the  rose. 

Haile,  chrjstal  fountaines  and  fresh  shades, 
"Where  no  proud  look  invades, 
No  busie  worldling  hunts  away 
The  sad  retirer  all  the  day! 
Haile,  happy,  harmless  solitude ! 
Our  sanctuary  from  the  rude 
And  scornful  world ;  the  calm  recess 
Of  faith,  and  hope,  and  holiness ! 
Here  something  still  like  Eden  looks ; 
Honey  in  woods,  juleps  in  brooks  ; 
And  flowers,  whose  rich,  unrifled  sweets 
With  a  chaste  kiss  the  cool  dew  greets, 
"When  the  toils  of  the  day  are  done, 
And  the  tired  world  sets  with  the  sun. 
Here  flying  winds  and  flowing  wells 
Are  the  wise,  watchful  hermit's  bells ; 
Their  busie  murmurs  all  the  night 
To  praise  or  prayer  do  invite ; 
And  witli  an  awful  sound  arrest, 
And  piously  employ  his  breast. 

"When  in  the  East  the  dawn  doth  blush. 

Here  cool,  fresh  spirits  the  air  brush. 

Herbs   straight   get   up;   flowers  peep   and 

spread ; 
Trees  whisper  praise,  and  bow  the  head  ; 
Birds,  fi'om  the  shades  of  night  released, 
Look  round  about,  then  quit  the  nest, 
And  with  united  gladness  sing 
The  glory  of  the  morning's  King. 
The  hermit  hears,  and  with  meek  voice 
Offers  his  own  up,  and  their,  joyes; 
Then  prays  that  all  the  world  might  be 
Blest  with  as  sweet  an  unity. 

If  sudden  storms  the  day  invade, 
They  flock  about  him  to  the  shade, 
"Where  wisely  they  expect  the  end, 
Giving  the  tempest  time  to  spend ; 


And  hard  by  shelters  on  some  bough 
Hilarion's  servant,  the  sage  crow. 

Oh,  purer  years  of  light  and  grace ! 
Great  is  the  difference,  as  the  space, 
'Twixt  you  and  us,  who  blindly  run 
After  false  fires,  and  leave  the  sun. 
Is  not  fair  nature  of  herself 
Much  richer  than  dull  paint  and  pelf? 
And  are  not  streams  at  the  spring  head 
More  sweet  than  in  carved  stone  or  lead  ? 
But  fancy  and  some  artist's  tools 
Frame  a  religion  for  fools. 

The  truth,  which  once  was  plainly  taught, 
"With  thorns  and  briars  now  is  fraught. 
Some  part  is  with  bold  fable  spotted. 
Some  by  strange  comments  wildly  blotted ; 
And  discord,  old  corruption's  crest, 
"With  blood  and  shame  have  stained  the  rest. 
So  snow,  which  in  its  first  descents 
A  whiteness  like  pure  heaven  presents, 
"When  touched  by  man  is  quickly  soiled. 
And  after  trodden  down  and  spoiled. 

Oh,  lead  me  where  I  may  be  free, 
In  truth  and  spirit  to  serve  Thee ! 
"Where  undisturbed  I  may  converse 
"With  Thy  great  Self;  and  there  rehearse 
Thy  gifts  with  thanks ;  and  from  Thy  store, 
"Who  art  all  blessings,  beg  much  more. 
Give  me  the  wisdom  of  the  bee. 
And  her  imwearied  Industrie ! 
That,  from  the  wild  gourds  of  these  days, 
I  may  extract  health,  and  Thy  praise, 
"Who  canst  turn  darkness  into  light, 
And  in  my  weakness  shew  Thy  might. 

Suffer  me  not  in  any  want 
To  seek  refreshment  from  a  plant 
Thou  didst  not  set ;  since  all  must  be 
Plucked  up,  Wiose  growth  is  not  from  The& 
'T  is  not  the  gai-den  and  the  bowers, 
Nor  sense  and  forms,  that  give  to  flowers 
Their  wholesomeness ;  but  Thy  good  will, 
"Which  truth  and  pureness  purchase  still. 

Then  since  corrupt  man  hath  driven  hence 
Thy  kind  and  saving  influence, 
And  balm  is  no  more  to  be  had 
In  all  the  coasts  of  Gilead ; 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Go  with  me  to  the  shade  and  cell, 
Where  Thy  best  servants  once  did  dwell. 
Thor*  let  me  know  Thy  will,  and  see 
Exiled  religion  owned  by  Thee ; 
For  Thou  canst  turn  dark  grots  to  halls. 
And  make  hills  blossome  hke  the  vales. 
Decking  their  untiUed  heads  with  flowers, 
And  fresh  delights  for  all  sad  hoiu^; 
Till  from  them,  hke  a  laden  bee, 
I  may  fly  home,  and  hive  with  Thee. 


THE  FLY. 

OCCASIONED   BY   A    FLT   DRETEUsG   OUT    OF    THE 

autuor's  CCP. 

BrsY,  curious,  thirsty  fly ! 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I ! 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
Couldst  thou  sip  and  sip  it  np : 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may ; 
Life  is  short  and  wears  away ! 

Both  alike,  both  mine  and  thine, 
Hasten  quick  to  theu-  decline ! 
Thine  's  a  summer ;  mine  no  more. 
Though  repeated  to  threescore ! 
Threescore  summers,  when  they  're  gone, 
Will  appear  as  short  as  one ! 

ViXCENT  BOITKXE. 


THE  SPICE-TREE. 

The  Spice-Tree  lives  in  the  garden  green; 
Beside  it  the  foimtain  flows ; 
And  a  fair  bird  sits  the  boughs  between, 
And  sings  his  melodious  woes. 

No  greener  garden  e'er  was  known 
"Within  the  bounds  of  an  earthly  king ; 
No  lovelier  skies  have  ever  shone 

Than  those  that  illumine  its  constant  Spring. 

• 

Tliat  coil-bound  stem  has  branches  three  ; 
On  each  a  thousand  blossoms  grow ; 
And,  old  as  aught  of  time  can  be, 
The  root  stands  fast  in  the  rocks  below. 

In  the  spicy  shade  ne'er  seems  to  tire 
The  fount  that  buQds  a  silvery  dome ; 
And  flakes  of  purple  and  ruby  fire 
Gush  out,  and  sparkle  amid  the  foam. 


The  fair  white  bird  of  flaming  crest, 
And  azure  wings  bedropt  with  gold, 
Is  e'er  has  he  known  a  pause  of  rest. 
But  sings  tlie  lament  that  he  framed  of  old  : 

"  0  Princess  bright!  how  long  the  night 
Since  thou  art  sunk  in  the  waters  clear ! 
How  sadly  they  flow  from  the  depth  below— 
How  long  must  I  sing  and  thou  wilt  not 
hear? 


"  The  waters  play,  and  the  flowers  are  gay, 
And  the  skies  are  sunny  above  ; 
I  would  that  all  could  fade  and  fall. 
And  I,  too,  cease  to  monm  my  love. 

"  Oh  I  many  a  year,  so  wakeful  and  drear, 
I  have  sorrowed  and  watched,  beloved,  for 

thee! 
But  there  comes  no  breath  from  the  chambers 

of  death. 
While  the  lifeless  fount  gushes  under  the  tree." 

The  skies  grow  dark,  and  they  glare  with 

red; 
The  tree  shakes  off  its  spicy  bloom ; 
The  waves  of  the  fount  in  a  black  pool  spread ; 
And  in  thunder  sounds  the  garden's  doom. 

Down  springs  the  bird  with  a  long  shrill  cry, 

Into  the  sable  and  angry  flood ; 

And  the  face  of  the  pool,  as  he  falls  from 

high, 
Curdles  in  circling  stains  of  blood. 

But  sudden  again  npsweUs  the  fount ; 
Higher  and  higher  the  waters  flow — 
In  a  glittering  diamond  arch  they  mount, 
And  round  it  the  colors  of  morning  glow. 

Finer  and  finer  the  watery  mound 
Softens  and  melts  to  a  thin-spun  veil, 
And  tones  of  music  circle  around, 
And  bear  to  the  stars  the  fountain's  tale. 

And  swift  the  eddymg  rainbow  screen 
Falls  in  dew  on  the  grassy  floor ; 
Under  the  Spice-Tree  the  garden's  Queen 
Sits  by  her  lover,  who  wails  no  more. 

JOHK  SxEKuxa 


THE   PALM. 


THE  ARAB  TO  THE  PALM. 

Next  to  thee,  0  fair  gazelle, 

0  Beddowee  girl,  beloved  so  well ; 

Next  to  the  fearless  Nedjidee, 

Whose  fleetness  shall  bear  me  agaiu  to  thee ; 

Next  to  ye  both,  I  love  the  Palm, 

"With  his  leaves  of  beauty,  his  fruit  of  balm ; 

Next  to  ye  both,  I  love  the  tree 

Whose  fluttering  shadow  wraps  us  three 

"With  love,  and  silence,  and  mystery ! 

Our  tribe  is  many,  our  poets  vie 

With  any  under  the  Arab  sky ; 

Yet  none  can  sing  of  the  Palm  but  I. 

The  marble  minarets  that  begem 

Cairo's  citadel-diadem 

Are  not  so  light  as  his  slender  stem. 

He  lifts  his  leaves  in  the  sunbeam's  glance, 
As  the  Ahnehs  lift  their  arms  in  dance — 

A  slumberous  motion,  a  passionate  sign. 
That  works  in  the  cells  of  the  blood  like  wine. 

Full  of  passion  and  sorrow  is  he, 
Dreaming  where  the  beloved  may  be. 

And  when  the  warm  south  winds  arise, 
He  breathes  Ms  longing  in  fer\ad  sighs, 

Quickening  odors,  kisses  of  balm, 

That  drop  in  the  lap  of  his  chosen  palm. 

The  sun  may  flame,  and  the  sands  may  stir, 
But  the  breath  of  his  passion  reaches  her. 

0  Tree  of  Love,  by  that  love  of  thine, 
Teach  me  how  I  shall  soften  mine ! 

Give  me  the  secret  of  the  sun. 
Whereby  the  wooed  is  ever  won ! 

If  I  were  a  king,  O  stately  Tree, 
A  likeness,  glorious  as  might  be, 
In  the  court  of  ray  palace  I  'd  build  for  tlice 

With  a  shaft  of  silver,  burnislied  bright. 
And  leaves  of  bervl  and  malachite ; 
14  ■ 


With  spikes  of  golden  bloom  a-blaze, 
And  fruits  of  topaz  and  chrysoprase. 

And  there  the  poets,  in  thy  praise. 
Should  night  and  morning  frame  new  lays- 
New  measures  sung  to  tunes  divine ; 
But  none,  O  Palm,  should  equal  mine ! 

Bayard  Taylob. 


THE  TIGEPv. 

TiGEE !  Tiger !  burning  bright, 
In  the  forest  of  the  night ; 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  fi-ame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burned  the  ardor  of  thine  eyes? 
On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire  ? 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire  ? 

And  what  shoulder,  and  what  art. 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart? 
And  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat, 
"What  dread  hand  forged  thy  di*ead  feet  ? 

What  the  hammer?  what  the  chain  ? 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain  ? 
"What  the  anvil !     "What  dread  grasp 
Dai'e  its  deadly  terrors  clasp  ?  « 

"When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  watered  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  he  smile  his  work  to  see  ? 
Did  He  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee  ? 

Tiger !  Tiger !  burning  bright, 
In  the  forest  of  the  night ; 
"What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  ? 

WiLUAil  BLAKB. 


THE  LION'S  RIDE. 

The  lion  is  the  desert's  king;   through   his 

domain  so  wide 
Plight  swiftly  and  right  royally  this  night  he 

means  to  ride. 
By  the  sedgy  brink,  where  the  wild  herds 

drink,  close  couches  the  grim  chief; 
The  trembling  sycamore  above  whispers  with 

every  leaf. 


T-i 


POEMS   OF   NATUllE. 


At  cveuiug,  ou  tho  Tablo  !Mount,  when  yo 

can  sec  no  more 
The  changeful  play  of  signals  gay ;  when  the 

gloom  is  speckled  o'er 
With  kraal  fires ;    Avhen  the   Caftre  wends 

home  through  tho  lone  karroo; 
"When  the  hoshbok  in  the  thicket  sleeps,  and 

by  the  stream  the  gnu ; 

Then  bend  your  gaze  across  the  waste — wliat 
see  ye  ?    The  giraffe, 

Majestic,  stalks  towards  the  lagoon,  the  tur- 
bid lymph  to  quaff; 

With  outstretched  neck  and  tongue  adust,  he 
kneels  him  down  to  cool 

His  hot  thirst  with  a  welcome  draught  from 
the  foul  and  brackish  pool. 

A  rustling  sound — a  roar— a  bound — the  lion 

sits  astride 
Upon  his  giant  courser's  back.     Did  ever  king 

so  ride  ? 
Had  ever  king  a  steed  so  rare,  caparisons  of 

state 
To  match  the  dappled  skin  whereon  that 

rider  sits  elate  ? 

In  the  muscles  of  the  neck  his  teeth  are 
plunged  with  ravenous  greed ; 

Ilis  tawny  mane  is  tossing  round  the  withers 
of  the  steed. 

Up  leaping  with  a  hollow  yell  of  anguish  and 
surprise, 

Away,  away,  in  wild  dismay,  the  camel-leop- 
ard flies. 

His  feet  have  wings;    see  how  he  springs 

across  the  moonlit  plain ! 
As  from  their  sockets  they  Avould  burst,  his 

glaring  eyeballs  strain ; 
In  thick  black  streams  of  purling  blood,  full 

fast  his  life  is  fleeting ; 
Tlic  stillness  of  the  desert  hears  his  heart's 

tumultuous  beating. 

Like  the  cloud  that,  through  the  wilderness, 

the  path  of  Israel  traced — 
Like  an  au-y  phantom,  dull  and  wan,  a  spirit 

of  the  waste — 


From  the  sandy  sea  uprising,  as  the  water- 
spout from  ocean, 

A  whWiug  cloud  of  dust  keeps  pace  with  tho 
courser's  fiery  motion. 

Croaking  companion  of  their  flight,  the  vul- 
ture whirs  on  high ; 

Below,  the  terror  of  the  fold,  the  fjanther 
fierce  and  sly, 

And  hyenas  foul,  round  graves  that  prowl, 
join  in  the  liorrid  race  ; 

By  the  foot-prints  wet  with  gore  and  sweat, 
their  monarch's  course  they  trace. 

They  see  him  on  his  living  throne,  and  quake 

with  fear,  the  while 
With  claws  of  steel  he  tears  piecemeal  his 

cushion's  painted  pile. 
On!  on!  no  pause,  no  rest,  giraffe,  while  life 

and  strength  remain ! 
The  steed  by  such  a  rider  backed,  may  madly 

plunge  in  vain. 

Eeeling  upon  the  desert's  verge,  he  falls,  and 

breathes  his  last ; 
The  courser,  stained  with  dust  and  foam,  is 

the  rider's  fell  repast. 
O'er  Madagascar,  eastward  far,  a  faint  fiush 

is  descried : — 
Thus  nightly,  o'er  his  broad  domain,  the  king 

of  beasts  doth  ride. 

Ferdinand  Feeiligkath.   (German.) 
Anonymous  translation. 


THE  LIOIT  AND  GIRAFFE. 

WoTJLDST  thou  view  the  lion's  den  ? 
Search  afar  from  haunts  of  men — 
Where  the  reed-encircled  rill 
Oozes  from  the  rocky  hill. 
By  its  verdure  far  descried 
'Mid  the  desert  brown  and  wide. 

Close  beside  the  sedgy  brim, 
Couchant,  lurks  the  Hon  grim ; 
Watching  till  the  close  of  day 
Brings  the  death-devoted  prey. 
Heedless  at  the  ambushed  brink 
The  tall  giraffe  stoops  down  to  drink ; 


THE    DESERT. 


Upon  him  straiglit,  tLe  savage  springs 

With  cruel  joy.     The  desert  rings 

With  clanging  sound  of  desperate  strife — 

The  prey  is  strong,  and  he  strives  for  life. 

Plunging  off"  with  frantic  bound 

To  shake  the  tjTant  to  the  ground, 

He  shrieks — ^lie  rushes  through  the  waste, 

With  glaring  eye  and  headlong  haste 

In  vain! — the  spoiler  on  his  prize 

Rides  proudly — ^tearing  as  he  flies. 

For  life — ^the  victim's  utmost  speed 

Is  mustered  in  this  hour  of  need. 

For  life — for  life — his  giant  might 

He  strains,  and  pours  his  soul  in  flight ; 

And  mad  with  terror,  thu-st,  and  pain, 

Spurns  with  wild  hoof  the  thundering  plain. 

'T  is  vain ;  the  thirsty  sands  ai-e  drinking 

His  streaming  blood — ^his  strength  is  sinking ; 

The  victor's  fangs  are  in  his  veins — 

His  flanks  are  streaked  with  sanguine  stains ; 

His  panting  breast  in  foam  and  gore 

Is  bathed — ^he  reels — his  race  is  o'er. 

He  falls — and,  with  convulsive  thi-oe, 

Resigns  his  throat  to  the  ravening  foe ! 

— And  lo !  ere  quivering  hfe  is  fled. 

The  vultm-es,  wheeling  overhead. 

Swoop  down,  to  watch  in  gaunt  array. 

Till  the  gorged  tyrant  quits  his  prey. 

Thomas  Peingle. 


AFAR  IX  THE  DESERT. 

Afae  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride. 
With  the  silent  Bush-boy  alone  by  ray  side. 
When  the  sorrows  of  life  the  soul  o'ercast. 
And,  sick  of  the  present,  I  cling  to  the  past ; 
When  the  eye  is  suffused  with  regretful  tears, 
From  the  fond  recollections  of  former  years ; 
And  shadows  of  things  that  have  long  since 

fled 
Flit  over  the  brain,  like  the  ghosts  of  the 

dead: 
Bright  visions   of  glory  that  vanished  too 

soon; 
Day-dreams,   that    departed  ere  manhood's 

noon; 
Attachments  by  fate  or  falsehood  reft ; 
Companions  of  early  days  lost  or  left — 
And  my  native  land — whose  magical  name 
Thrills  to  the  heart  like  electric  flame ; 


The  home  of  my  childhood ;   the  haunts  of 

my  prime ; 
AU  the  passions  and  scenes  of  that  rapturous 

time 
When  the  feelings  were  young,  and  the  world 

was  new, 
Like  the  fresh  bowers  of  Eden  unfolding  to 

"saew; 
All — all  now  forsaken — forgotten — foregone ! 
And  I — a  lone  exile  remembered  of  none — 
My  high   aims   abandoned, — my    good  acts 

undone — 
Aweary  of  all  that  is  under  the  sun — 
With  that  sadness  of  heart  which  no  stranger 

may  scan, 
I  fly  to  the  desert  afar  from  man. 

Afar  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride. 
With  the  silent  Bush-boy  alone  by  my  side. 
Wlien  the  wild  turmoil  of  this  wearisome  life. 
With  its  scenes  of  oppression,  corruption,  and 

strife — 
The  proud  man's  frown,  and  the  base  man's 

fear — 
The  scorner's  laugh,  and  the  sufferer's  tear — 
And  malice,  and   meanness,  and  falsehood, 

and  folly. 
Dispose  me  to  musing  and  dark  melancholy ; 
When  my  bosom  is  full,  and  my  thoughts  are 

high. 
And  my  soul  is  sick  with  the  bondman's 

sigh — 
Oh !   then  there  is  freedom,   and  joy,   and 

pride, 
Afar  in  the  desert  alone  to  ride ! 
There  is  rapture  to  vault  on  the  champing 

steed. 
And  to  bound  away  with  the  eagle's  speed. 
With  the  death-fraught  firelock  in  my  hand — 
The  only  law  of  the  Desert  Land ! 

Afar  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride, 
With  the  silent  Bush-boy  alone  by  my  side. 
Away — away  from  the  dwellings  of  men. 
By  the  Avild  deer's  haunt,  by  the  buffolo'sglcn ; 
By  valleys  remote  where  the  oribi  plays, 
Where  the  gnu,  the  gazelle,  and  tlio  harte- 

beest  graze. 
And  the  kudu  and  eland  unhunted  recline 
By  the  skirts  of  gray  forest  o'erhung  with 

wild  vine ; 


7  c. 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


"VTlicro  the  elephant  browses  at  peace  in  his 

Avood, 
And  the  river-horse  gambols  unscared  in  the 

flood, 
And  the  mighty  rhinoceros  wallows  at  will 
In  the  fen  where  the  wild  ass  is  drinking  his 

fill. 

Afor  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride, 

With  the  silent  Biish-boy  alone  by  my  side. 

O'er  the  brown  kai'roo,  where  the  bleating 

cry 
Of  the  springbok's  fawn  sounds  plaintively ; 
And  the  timorous  quagga's  shrill  whistling 

neigh 
Is  heard  by  the  fountain  at  twilight  gray ; 
Where  the  zebra  wantonly  tosses  his  mane, 
With  wild  hoof  scouring  the  desolate  plain ; 
And  the  fleet-footed  ostrich  over  the  waste 
Speeds  like  a  horseman  who  travels  in  haste, 
Hieing  away  to  the  home  of  her  rest, 
Where  she  and  her  mate  have  scooped  their 

nest, 
Par  hid  from  the  pitiless  plunderer's  \iew 
In  the  pathless  depths  of  the  parched  karroo. 

Afixr  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride, 
With  the  sUent  Bush-boy  alone  by  my  side. 
Away — away —  in  the  wilderness  vast 
Where    the  white  man's    foot    hath  never 

passed, 
And  the  quivered  Coranna  or  Bechuan 
Ilath  rarely  crossed  with  his  roving  clan  : 
A  region  of  emptiness,  howling  and  drear. 
Which  man  hath  abandoned  from  famine  and 

fear; 
Wliich  the  snake  and  the  lizard  inhabit  alone. 
With  the    twilight  bat  from  the    yawning 

stone ; 
Where  grass,  nor  herb,  nor  shrub  takes  root, 
Save  poisonous  thorns  that  pierce  the  foot ; 
And  the  bitter-melon,  for  food  and  drink. 
Is  the  pilgrhn's  fare  by  the  salt-lake's  brink ; 
A  region  of  drought,  where  no  river  glides, 
Nor  rippling  brook  with  osiered  sides ; 
Where  sedgy  pool,  nor  bubbling  fount, 
Il^or  tree,  nor  cloud,  nor  misty  mount. 
Appears,  to  refresh  tlie  aching  eye ; 
But  the  barren  earth  and  the  burning  sky. 
And  the  blank  horizon,  round  and  round, 
Spread — void  of  living  sight  or  sound. 


And  here,  while  the  night-winds  round  me 

sigh, 
And  the  stars  burn  bright  in  the  midnight 

sky, 

As  I  sit  apart  by  the  desert  stone. 

Like  Elijah  at  Horeb's  cave,  alone, 

"  A  still  small  voice  "  comes  through  the  wild 

(Like  a  father  consoling  his  fretful  child). 

Which  banishes  bitterness,  wrath,  and  fear, 

Saying — ^Man  is  distant,  but  God  is  near ! 

Thomas  Peinglb, 


THE  BLOOD  HORSE. 

Gamaeea  is  a  dainty  steed, 

Strong,  black,  and  of  a  noble  breed. 

Full  of  fire,  and  fidl  of  bone, 

With  all  his  line  of  fathers  known ; 

Fine  his  nose,  his  nostrils  thin. 

But  blown  abroad  by  the  pride  within ! 

His  mane  is  like  a  river  flowing, 

And  his  eyes  hke  embers  glowing 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

And  his  pace  as  swift  as  light. 

Look — how  'roimd  his  straining  throat 
Grace  and  shifting  beauty  float ; 
Sinewy  strength  is  in  his  reins. 
And  the  red  blood  gallops  through  his  veins- 
Richer,  redder,  never  ran 
Through  the  boasting  heart  of  man. 
He  can  trace  his  lineage  higher 
Than  the  Bourbon  dare  aspire, — 
Douglas,  Guzman,  or  the  Guelph, 
Or  O'Brien's  blood  itself! 

He,  who  hath  no  peer,  was  born, 

Here,  upon  a  red  March  morn ; 

But  his  famous  fathers  dead 

Were  Arabs  all,  and  Arab  bred, 

And  the  last  of  that  great  hne 

Trod  like  one  of  a  race  divine ! 

And  yet, — he  was  but  friend  to  one. 

Who  fed  him  at  the  set  of  sun. 

By  some  lone  fountain  fringed  with  green ; 

With  him,  a  roving  Bedouin, 

He  lived  (none  else  would  he  obey 

Through  all  the  hot  Arabian  day),— 


SUMMER   RAIN. 


11 


Ant]  died  untamed  npon  the  sands 
WTiiire  Balkh  amidst  the  desert  stands ! 

Baert  Coknwall. 


IXVOCATIOX  TO  ExUX  EN"  SUMMER. 

O  GEXTLE,  gentle  summer  rain, 

Let  not  the  silver  lily  pine, 
The  drooping  lily  pine  in  vain 

To  feel  that  dewy  touch  of  thine — 
To  drink  thy  freshness  once  again, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain ! 

In  heat  the  landscape  quivering  lies ; 

The  cattle  pant  beneath  the  tree ; 
Through  parching  air  and  purple  skies  ■ 

The  earth  looks  up,  in  vain,  for  thee  ; 
For  thee — for  thee,  it  looks  in  vain, 
0  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain ! 

Oome,  thou,  and  brim  the  meadow  streams. 
And  soften  all  the  hills  with  mist, 

0  falling  dew !  from  burning  dreams 
By  thee  shall  herb  and  flower  be  kissed ; 

And  Earth  shall  bless  thee  yet  again, 

0  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  I 

W.  C.  Bejtsett. 


EATS"  OX  THE  ROOF. 

"When  the  humid  shadows  hover 

Over  all  the  stan-y  spheres, 
And  the  melancholy  darkness 

Gently  weeps  in  rainy  tears, 
'T  is  a  joy  to  press  the  pillow 

Of  a  cottage  chamber  bed. 
And  to  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  soft  rain  overhead. 

Every  tinkle  on  the  shingles 

Has  an  echo  in  the  heart ; 
And  a  thousand  dreamy  fancies 

Into  busy  being  start, 
And  a  thousand  recollections 

"Weave  their  bright  rays  into  woof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  rain  upon  the  roof. 


Now  in  fancy  comes  my  mother 

As  she  used  to,  yeai's  agone. 
To  survey  her  darling  dreamers, 

Ere  she  left  them  till  the  dawn. 
Oh !  I  see  her  bending  o'er  me, 

As  I  list  to  this  refrain 
"Wliich  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

Then  my  little  seraph  sister, 

"With  her  wings  and  waving  hair. 
And  her  bright-eyed  cherub  brother — 

A  serene,  angelic  pair — 
Glide  around  my  wakeful  pillow 

"With  their  praise  or  mild  reproof. 
As  I  listen  to  the  murmur 

Of  the  soft  rain  on  the  roof. 

And  another  comes  to  thrill  me 

"With  her  eyes,  delicious  blue, 
And  forget  I,  gazing  on  her, 

That  her  heart  was  aU  untrue ! 
I  remember  but  to  love  her 

"With  a  rapture  kin  to  pain, 
And  my  heart's  quick  pulses  vibrate 

To  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

There  is  nought  in  Art's  bravuras 

That  can  work  with  such  a  speU 
In  the  spirit's  pure,  deep  fountains, 

"Whence  the  holy  passions  well. 
As  that  melody  of  Nature, 

That  subdued,  subduing  strain 
"Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

Anontmoun. 


THE  CLOUD. 

I  BRING  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers, 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams ; 
I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noon-day  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the   dews  that 
waken 

The  sweet  birds  every  one, 
"When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under ; 


78                                                       POEMS   OF 

NATURE. 

And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain ; 

Like  a  swarm  of  golden  bees. 

.\.nd  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

When  I  widen  the  rent  in  my  wind-built  tent, 

Till  the  calm  river,  lakes,  and  seas. 

1  sift  the  snow  on  the  monntaius  helow, 

Like  strips  of  the  sky  fallen  through  me  on 

And  their  great  pines  groan  aghast ; 

high, 

And  all  the  night,  't  is  my  pillow  white. 

Are  each  paved  with  the  moon  and  these. 

While  I  sleep  in  the  arms  of  the  blast. 

Sublime  on  the  towers  of  my  skiey  bowers 

I  bind  the  sun's  throne  with  a  burning  zone, 

Lightning,  my  pilot,  sits ; 

And  the  moon's  with  a  girdle  of  pearl ; 

In  a  cavern  under,  is  fettered  the  thunder ; 

The  volcanoes  are  dim,  and  the  stars  reel  and 

It  struggles  and  howls  at  fits. 

swim. 

Over  earth  and  ocean,  with  gentle  motion. 

When  the  whirlwinds  my  banner  unfurl. 

This  pilot  is  guiding  me, 

From  cape  to  cape,  with  a  bridge-like  shape. 

Lured  by  the  love  of  the  genii  that  move 

Over  a  torrent  sea, 

In  the  depths  of  the  purple  sea ; 

Sunbeam  proof,  I  hang  like  a  roof, 

Over  the  rills,  and  the  crags,  and  the  hills, 

The  mountains  its  columns  be. 

Over  the  lakes  and  the  plains. 

The  triumphal  arch,  through  which  I  march, 

■Wherever    he    dream,   under    mountain    or 

With  hurricane,  fire,  and  snow. 

stream, 

When  the  powers  of  the  air  are  chained  to 

The  spirit  he  loves,  remains ; 

my  chair. 

And  I  aU  the  while  bask  in  heaven's  blue 

Is  the  million-colored  bow ; 

smile. 

The  sphere-fire  above,  its  soft  colors  Avove, 

Whilst  he  is  dissolving  in  rains. 

While  the  moist  earth  was  laughing  be- 
low. 

The  sanguine  sunrise,  with  his  nieteor  eyes, 

And  his  burning  plumes  outspread, 

I  am  t\\e  daughter  of  the  earth  and  water, 

Leaps  on  the  back  of  my  saihng  rack. 

And  the  nurseling  of  the  sky ; 

When  the  morning  star  shines  dead. 

I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and 

As,  on  the  jag  of  a  mountain  crag 

shores ; 

Which  an  earthquake  rocks  and  swings, 

I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 

An  eagle,  alit,  one  moment  may  sit 

For  after  the  rain,  when,  with  never  a  stain, 

In  the  light  of  its  golden  wings  ; 

The  pavilion  of  heaven  is  bare. 

And  when  sunset  may  breathe,  from  the  lit 

And  the  winds  and  sunbeams,  with  their  con- 

sea beneath, 

vex  gleams. 

Its  ardors  of  rest  and  of  love, 

Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air — 

And  the  crimson  pall  of  eve  may  fall 

I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph, 

From  the  depth  of  heaven  above. 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain. 

With  wings  folded  I  rest  on  mine  airy  nest, 

Like  a  child  from  the  womb,  like  a  ghost  from 

As  still  as  a  brooding  dove. 

the  tomb. 

I  rise  and  upbuild  it  again. 

That  orbed  maiden  with  white  fire  laden, 

Peeot  Btsshb  Shellet. 

Whom  mortals  call  the  moon, 

Glides  glimmering  o'er  my  fleece-hke  floor 
By  the  midnight  breezes  strewn; 

And,  wherever  the  beat  of  her  unseen  feet, 

DRmivING. 

Which  only  the  angels  hear, 

^L'^y  have  broken  the  woof  of  my  tent's  thin 

The  thirsty  earth  soaks  up  the  rain. 

roof, 

And  drinks,  and  gapes  for  drink  again ; 

The  stars  peep  behind  her  and  peer ; 

The  plants  suck  in  the  earth,  an^  are. 

And  I  laugh  to  see  them  whirl  and  flee, 

With  constant  drinking,  fresh  and  fair ; 

SUMMER   WINDS. 


79 


The  sea  itself  (wMch  one  "would  tliiuk 
Should  have  but  little  need  to  di-ink), 
Drinks  twice  ten  thousand  rivers  up, 
So  filled  that  they  o'erflow  the  cup. 
The  busy  sun  (and  one  would  guess 
By 's  drunken  fiery  face  no  less), 
Drinks  up  the  sea,  and,  when  he  'as  done, 
The  moon  and  stars  driak  up  the  sun : 
They  drink  and  dance  by  their  own  light ; 
They  di-iak  and  revel  all  the  night. 
Nothing  in  nature  's  sober  found, 
But  an  eternal  "health"  goes  round. 
rUl  up  the  bowl  then,  fill  it  high — 
Fill  all  the  glasses  there ;  for  why 
Should  every  creature  drink  but  I ; 
Why,  man  of  morals,  tell  me  why  ? 


Anacreojt.  (Greek.) 
Translation  of  Abraham  Oowiey.  ' 


THE  MIDGES  DANCE  ABOON  THE 
BURK 

The  midges  dance  aboon  the  burn ; 

The  dews  begin  to  fa' ; 
The  pairtricks  down  the  rushy  holm    • 

Set  up  then*  e'ening  ca'. 
Now  loud  and  clear  the  blackbird's  sang 

Pdngs  through  the  briery  shaw. 
While  flitting  gay,  the  swallows  play 

Around  the  castle  wa'. 

Beneath  the  golden  gloamin'  sky 

The  mavis  mends  her  lay ; 
The  red-breast  pours  his  sweetest  strains. 

To  charm  the  ling'ring  day ; 
While  weary  yeldrins  seem  to  waU 

Tlieu'  little  nestlings  torn. 
The  merry  wren,  frae  den  to  den, 

Gaes  jinking  through  the  thorn. 

The  roses  fauld  their  silken  leaves. 

The  foxglove  shuts  its  bell ; 
The  honey-suckle  and  the  birk 

Spread  fragrance  through  the  dell. 
Let  others  crowd  the  giddy  court 

Of  mirth  and  revelry, 
Tlie  simple  joys  that  Nature  yields 

Are  dearer  far  to  me. 

Egbert  TANNAmLL. 


SONG  OF  THE  SUMlfflR  WINDS. 

Up  the  dale  and  down  the  bourne. 

O'er  the  meadow  swift  we  fly ; 
Now  we  sing,  and  now  we  mourn. 

Now  we  whistle,  now  we  sigh. 

By  the  grassy-fringed  river. 

Through  the  murmuring  reeds  we  sweep , 
Mid  the  lily-leaves  we  quiver. 

To  their  very  hearts  we  creep. 

Now  the  maiden  rose  is  blushing 

At  the  frolic  things  we  say. 
While  aside  her  cheek  we  're  rushing, 

Like  some  truant  bees  at  play. 

Through  the  blooming  groves  we  rustle, 

Kissing  every  bud  we  pass, — 
As  we  did  it  in  the  bustle, 

Scarcely  knowing  how  it  was. 

Down  the  glen,  across  the  mountain. 
O'er  the  yellow  heath  we  roam. 

Whirling  round  about  the  fountain. 
Till  its  little  breakers  foam. 

Bending  down  the  weeping  willows. 
While  om*  vesper  hymn  we  sigh ; 

Then  unto  our  rosy  pillows 
On  our  weary  wings  we  hie. 

There  of  idlenesses  dreaming, 
Scarce  from  waking  we  refrain. 

Moments  long  as  ages  deeming 
Till  we're  at  our  play  again. 

George  Darlz? 


THE  WANDERING  WIND. 

The  Wind,  the  wandering  Wind 

Of  the  golden  summer  eves — 
Whence  is  the  thrUling  magic 

Of  its  tones  amongst  the  leaves  ? 
Oh !  is  it  from  the  waters. 

Or,  from  the  long  tall  grass  ? 
Or  is  it  from  the  hoUow  rocks 

Through  which  its  breathings  pass  ? 


80 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Or  is  it  from  the  voices 

Of  vH  in  one  combined, 
Tliat  it  wins  the  tone  of  mastery  ? 

The  "Wind,  the  wandering  T\^ind ! 
No,  no  !  the  strange,  sweet  accents 

That  with  it  come  and  go, 
They  are  not  from  the  osiers, 

Nor  the  fir-trees  whispering  low. 

They  are  not  of  the  waters, 

Nor  of  the  caverned  hill ; 
'T  is  the  human  love  witliin  us 

That  gives  them  power  to  thrill : 
They  touch  the  links  of  memory 

Around  om*  spirits  twined. 
And  we  start,  and  weep,  and  tremble, 

To  the  "Wind,  the  wandering  Wind  ? 
Felicia  Doeothea  Hemans. 


ODE  TO  THE  WEST  WIND. 


O  WILD  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's 

being, 
Thou,  from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves 

dead 
Are  di'iven,  liie  ghosts  from  an  enchanter 

fleeing — 
YeUow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red. 
Pestilence-stricken  multitudes !  0  thou. 
Who  chariotest  to  their  dark,  wintry  bed 
The  winged  seeds,  where  they  lie  cold  and 

low, 
Each  like  a  corpse  within  its  grave,  until 
Thine  azure  sister  of  the  Spring  shall  blow 

Her  clarion  o'er  the  dreaming  earth,  and  fiU 
(Driving  sweet  buds,  like  flocks,  to  feed  in 

air) 
With  hving  hues  and  odors,  plain  and  hill : 

Wild  spirit,  which  art  moving  everywhere ; 
Destroyer  and  preserver  ;  hear,  0  hear ! 

n. 

Thou,  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's 

commotion, 
Loose  clouds  like  earth's  decaying  leaves  are 

shed. 


Shook  from  the  tangled  boughs  of  heaven  and 
ocean. 


Angels  of  rain  and  lightning:  there  are  spread 

On  blue  surface  of  thine  airy  surge, 

Like  the  bright  hair  uplifted  from  the  head 


Of  some  fierce  Maenad,  even  from  the  dim 


Of  the  horizon  to  the  zenith's  height, 
The  locks  of  the  approaching  storm.    Thou 
dirge 

Of  the  dying  year,  to  which  this  closing  night 
Will  be  the  dome  of  a  vast  sephulchre 
Vaulted  with  all  thy  congregated  might 

Of  vapors ;  from  whose  sohd  atmosphere 
Black  rain,  and  fire,  and  haU,  will  burst:  O 
hear ! 

in. 

Thou  who  didst  waken    from  his  summer 

dreams 
The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay. 
Lulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams. 
Beside  a  pumice  isle  in  Baite's  bay. 
And  saw  in  sleep  old  palaces  and  towers. 
Quivering  within  the  waves'  intenser  day, 

AU  overgrown  with  azure  moss  and  flowers 
So  sweet  the  sense  faints  picturing  them ! 

Thou 
For  whose  path  the  Atlantic's  level  powers 

Cleave  themselves  into  chasms,  while,  far  be- 
low, 

The  sea-blooms,  and  the  oozy  woods  which 
wear 

The  sapless  foliage  of  the  ocean,  know 

Thy  voice,  and  suddenly  grow  gray  with  fear, 
And  tremble    and    despoil    themselves:     O 
hear ! 

IV. 

If  I  were  a  dead  leaf  thou  mightest  bear ; — 
If  I  were  a  swift  cloud  to  fly  with  thee ; — 
A  wave  to  pant  beneath  thy  power  and  share 
Ti\e  impulse  of  thy  strength — only  less  free 
Than  thou,  0  uncontrollable !     If  even 
I  were  as  in  my  boyhood,  and  could  be 


THE    SEA. 


81 


The  comrade  of  thy  wanderings  over  heaven 
As  then,  when  to  outstrip  thy  sMey  speed 
Scarce  seemed  a  vision,  I  would  ne'er  have 
striven 

As  thus  with  thee  in  prayer  in  my  sore  need. 
Oh !  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud ! 
I  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life !     I  bleed ! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chained  and 

bowed 
One  too  like  thee — tameless,  and  swift,  and 

proud. 

V. 

Make  me  thy  lyre,  even  as  the  forest  is. 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own ! 
The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies 

Will  take  from  both  adeep  autumnal  tone — 
Svrcet  though  in  sadness.     Be  thou,  spirit 

fierce, 
My  spirit !     Be  thou  me,  impetuous  one ! 

Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe, 
Like  Avithered  leaves,  to  quicken  a  new  birth ; 
And,  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse, 

Scatter,  as  from  an  unextinguished  heartli 
Ashes  and  sparks,  my  words  among  mankind ! 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawakened  earth 

The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy !     O  wind, 
If  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind  ? 

Peect  Btsshe  Suellet. 


THE  SEA. 

TiiE  sea !  the  sea !  the  open  sea ! 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free ! 

Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound. 

It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round ; 

It  plays  with  the  clouds ;  it  mocks  the  skies ; 

Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I  'm  on  the  sea!  I  'm  on  the  sea! 
I  am  where  I  would  ever  be ; 
With  the  blue  above,  and  the  blue  below, 
And  silence  wheresoe'er  I  go  ; 
If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the  deep, 
What  matter  ?  I  shall  ride  and  sleep. 
15 


I  love,  oh  how  I  love  to  ride 
On  the  fierce,  foaming,  bursting  tide, 
When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moon, 
Or  whistles  aloft  his  tempest  tune. 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below, 
And  why  the  sou'west  blasts  do  blow. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull,  tame  shore, 
But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more, 
And  backward  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's  nest ; 
And  a  mother  she  Avas,  and  is,  to  me; 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  sea ! 

The  waves  were  white,  and  red  the  morn. 
In  the  noisy  hoiu*  when  I  was  born ; 
x\nd  tlie  whale  it  whistled,  the  porpoise  rolled, 
And  the  dolphins  bared  their  backs  of  gold ; 
And  never  was  heard  such  an  outcry  wild 
As  welcomed  to  life  the  ocean-child ! 

I  've  lived  since  then,  in  calm  and  strife. 
Full  fifty  summers,  a  sailor's  life. 
With  Avealth  to  spend,  and  power  to  range. 
But  never  have  sought  nor  sighed  for  change ; 
And  Death,  whenever  he  comes  to  me, 
Shall  come  on  the  AAuld,  unbounded  sea ! 

BaKRT  CoEJfWALL. 


THE  STOEMY  PETEEL. 

A  THOUSAND  miles  from  land  are  we, 
Tossing  about  on  the  stormy  sea — 
From  bUlow  to  bounding  biUow  cast. 
Like  fleecy  snow  on  the  stormy  blast. 
The  sails  are  scattered  abroad  like  Aveeds ; 
The  strong  masts  shake  like  quivering  reeds ; 
The  mighty  cables  and  iron  chains ; 
The  hull,  which  all  earthly  strength  disdains, — 
They  strain  and  they  crack;  and  hearts  like 

stone 
Their  natural,  hard,  proud  strength  disoAvn. 

Up  and  down ! — up  and  down ! 

From  the  base  of  the  wave  to  the  billow's 

crown. 
And  amidst  the  flashing  and  feathery  foam, 
The  stormy  petrel  finds  a  home 


82                                                         rOEMS    OF 

NATURE. 

A  lioine,  if  such  a  place  may  be 

The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

For  her  who  lives  on  the  wide,  wide  sea, 

The  lightning  flashing  free ; 

On  the  cragiry  ice,  in  tlie  frozen  air, 

While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is. 

And  only  seeketh  her  rocky  lair 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

To  -warm  her  young,  and  to  teach  them  to 

Allan  Cunninoham. 

spring 
At   once  o'er  the  waves  on  their    stormy 

wing ! 

TWILIGHT. 

O'er  the  deep ! — o'er  the  deep ! 

Where  the  whale,  and  the  shark,  and  the 

The  twilight  is  sad  and  cloudy  ; 

sword-fish  sleep — 

The  wind  blows  wild  and  free ; 

Outflying  the  blast  and  the  driving  rain, 

And  like  the  wings  of  sea-birds 

The  petrel  telleth  her  tale— in  vain ; 

Flash  the  white  caps  of  the  sea. 

For  the  mariner  curseth  the  warning  bird 

Which  briiigeth  him  news  of  the  storm  un- 

But in  the  fisherman's  cottage 

heard  ! 

There  shines  a  ruddier  light. 

Ah !  thus  does  the  prophet  of  good  or  ill 

And  a  little  face  at  the  window 

Meet  hate  from  the  creatures  he  serveth  still; 

Peers  out  into  the  night ; 

Yet  he  ne'er  falters— so,  petrel,  spring 

Once  more  o'er  the  waves  on  thy  stormy 

Close,  close  it  is  pressed  to  the  window, 

wing! 

Bakry  Coenwall. 

As  if  those  childish  eyes 
Were  looking  into  the  darkness. 

♦ 

To  see  some  form  arise. 

A  WET  SHEET  AND  A  FLOWING  SEA. 

And  a  woman's  waving  shadow 
Is  passing  to  and  fro. 

Now  rising  to  the  ceiling, 

A  WET  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea — 

Now  bowing  and  bending  low. 

A  wind  that  follows  fast, 

And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail. 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast — 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys, 
AVhile,  like  the  eagle  free. 

Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 

What  tale  do  the  roaring  ocean 

And  the  night-wind,  bleak  and  wild, 

As  they  beat  at  the  crazy  casement, 
Tell  to  that  little  child  ? 

Old  England  on  the  lee. 

And  why  do  the  roaring  ocean. 

Oh  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind  ! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze. 

And  white  waves  heaving  high — 

And  tlie  night-wind,  wild  and  bleak, 
As  they  beat  at  the  heart  of  the  mother, 
Di'ive  the  color  from  her  cheek  ? 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longpellcw. 

And  w^hite  waves  heaving  high,  my  boys, 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free ; 

The  world  of  waters  is  our  home. 

And  merry  men  are  we. 

STOPwM  SONG. 

There  's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon, 

The  clouds  are  scudding  across  the  moon ; 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud  ; 

A  misty  light  is  on  the  sea ; 

And  hark  the  music,  mariners ! 

The  wind  in  the  shrouds  has  a  wintry  tune, 

The  wind  is  piping  loud — 

And  the  foam  is  flying  free. 

THE    OCEAX.                                                                 83 

Brothers,  a  night  of  terror  and  gloom 

For  man  soon  breathes  his  last, 

Speaks  in  the  cloud  and  gathering  roar ; 

And  all  his  hope  is  past. 

Thank  God,  He  has  given  us  hroad  sea-room, 

And  all  his  music  mute. 

A  thousand  miles  from  shore. 

• 

Then,  when  the  gale  is  sighing, 

Down  with  the  hatches  on  those  who  sleep ! 

And  when  the  leaves  are  dying. 

The  wild  and  whistling  deck  have  we  ; 

And  when  the  song  is  o'er. 

Good  watch,  my  brothers,  to-night  we'll  keep, 

Oh,  let  us  think  of  those 

While  the  tempest  is  on  the  sea ! 

Whose  lives  are  lost  in  woes. 

Whose  cup  of  grief  runs  o'er. 

Though  the  rigging  shriek  in  his  terrible  grip. 

Henkt  NEBrA 

And  the  naked  spars  be  snapped  away, 
Lashed  to  the  helm,  we'll  di-ive  our  ship 

la  the  teeth  of  the  whelming  spray ! 

SEAWEED. 

Hark !  how  the  surges  o'erleap  the  deck ! 

Hark !  how  the  pitiless  tempest  raves ! 

When-  descends  on  the  Atlantic 

Ah,  daylight  will  look  upon  many  a  wreck 

The  gigantic 

Drifting  over  the  desert  waves. 

Storm-wind  of  the  equinox. 

Landward  in  his  wrath  he  scourges 

The  toiling  surges, 

Yet,  courage,  brothers !  we  trust  the  wave. 

Laden  with  seaweed  from  the  rocks ; 

With  God  above  us,  our  guiding  chart. 

So,  whether  to  harbor  or  ocean-grave. 

Be  it  still  with  a  cheery  heart ! 

From  Bermuda's  reefs  ;  from  edges 

Batakd  Tatloe. 

Of  sunken  ledges 

In  some  far-oif,  bright  Azore ; 

A 

"RrnTii  T^ohnmn    finfl  the  rlnsbino' 

Silver-flashing 

Surges  of  San  Salvador ; 

MOAF,  MOAN,  YE  DYING  GALES. 

From  the  tumbling  surf  that  buries 

Moan-,  moan,  ye  dying  gales ! 

The  Orkneyan  skerries. 

The  saddest  of  your  tales 

Answering  the  hoarse  Hebrides ; 

Is  not  so  sad  as  life ; 

And  from  wrecks  of  ships,  and  drifting 

Nor  have  you  e'er  began 

Spars,  uplifting 

A  theme  so  wild  as  man, 

On  the  desolate,  rainy  seas  ; — 

Or  with  such  sorrow  rife. 

Fall,  fall,  thou  withered  leaf  I 

Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting 

7                      1 

Autumn  sears  not  like  grief. 
Nor  kills  such  lovely  flowers : 

On  the  shifting 

Currents  of  the  restless  main  ; 

More  terrible  the  storm, 

Till  in  sheltered  coves,  and  reaches 

7 

More  mournful  the  deform, 

Of  sandy  beaches. 

7 

When  dark  misfortune  lowers. 

All  have  found  repose  again. 

Hush  !  hush  !  thou  trembling  lyre. 

So  when  storms  of  wild  emotion 

Silence,  ye  vocal  choir. 

Strike  the  ocean 

And  thou,  mellifluous  lute, 

Of  the  poet's  soul,  ere  long. 

84 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


From  each  cave  and  rocky  fixstness 

In  its  vastness, 
Floats  some  tVai^ment  of  a  song : 


From  the  far-oflf  isles  enchanted 

lloavon  lias  phmtod 
"With  the  gohkMi  fruit  of  truth  ; 
From  the  Hashing  surf,  whose  vision 

Gleams  elysian 
In  tlie  tropic  clime  of  Youth  ; 

From  the  strong  will,  and  the  endeavor 

That  for  ever 
"Wrestles  with  the  tides  of  fate ; 
From  the  wreck  of  hopes  far-scattered. 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating  waste  and  desolate  ; — 

Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drilling 

On  the  shifting 
Currents  of  the  restless  heart ; 
Till  at  length  in  books  recorded, 

Thev,  like  hoarded 
Household  words,  no  more  depart. 

Henry  W^adswokth  Longfellow. 


GULF-WEED. 

A  WEAET  weed,  tossed  to  and  fro. 

Drearily  drenched  in  the  ocean  brine, 
Soaring  high  and  sinking  low. 

Lashed  along  without  will  of  mine  ; 
Sport  of  the  spoom  of  the  surging  sea ; 

Flung  on  the  foam,  afar  and  anear, 
Mark  my  manifold  mystery, — 

Growth  and  grace  in  their  place  appear. 

I  bear  round  berries,  gray  and  red. 

Rootless  and  rover  tliough  I  be ; 
My  spangled  leaves,  when  nicely  spread, 

Arboresce  as  a  trunkless  tree  ; 
Corals  curious  coat  me  o'er, 

"White  and  hard  in  apt  array ; 
'Mid  the  wild  waves'  rude  uproar, 

Gracefully  grow  I,  night  and  day. 


Hearts  there  are  on  the  sounding  shore. 

Something  whispers  soft  to  me. 
Restless  and  roaming  for  evermore, 

Like  this  Aveary  weed  of  the  sea ; 
Bear  they  yet  on  each  beating  breast 

The  eternal  type  of  the  wondrous  whole 
Growth  unfolding  amidst  unrest, 

Grace  informing  with  silent  soul. 

Cornelius  George  Fknneb. 


THE  SEA— IN  CALM. 

Look  what  immortal  floods  the  sunset  pours 
Upon  us — Mark  !    how   still  (as  though   11 

dreams 
Bound)   the  once   wild  and  terrible   ocean 

seems ! 
How  silent  are  the  winds !  no  billow  roars ; 
But  all  is  tranquil  as  Elysian  shores. 
The  silver  margin  which  aye  runneth  round 
The  moon-enchanted  sea,  hath  here  no  sound; 
Even  Echo  speaks  not  on  these  radiant  moors  I 
"What !  is  the  giant  of  the  ocean  dead, 
Whose  strength  was  all  unmatched  beneath 

the  sun  ? 
No  :  he  reposes !     Now  his  toils  are  done ; 
More  quiet  than  the  babbling  brooks  is  he. 
So  mightiest  powers  by  deepest  calms  are  fed, 
And  sleep,  how  oft,  in  things  that  gentlest  be! 

Bakky  Cornwall. 


THE  LITTLE   BEACH-BIRD. 


Tiiou  little  bird,  thou  dweller  by  the  sea, 
"Why  takest  thou  its  melancholy  voice, 
And  with  that  boding  cry 
0  'er  the  waves  dost  thou  fly? 
Oh  I  rather,  bird,  witli  me 
Through  the  fair  land  rejoice ! 

II. 
Thy  flitting  form  comes  ghostly  dim  and  pale 
As  driven  by  a  beating  storm  at  sea ; 
Thy  cry  is  weak  and  scared, 
As  if  thy  mates  had  shared 
The  doom  of  us.     Thy  wail — 
What  does  it  bring  to  me  ? 


HAMPTOX   BEACH. 


85 


III. 

riiou  call'st  along  the  sand,  and  haunt 'st  the 
surge, 
Restless  and  sad  ;  as  if,  in  strange  accord 
With  the  motion  and  the  roar 
Of  waves  that  drive  to  shore, 
One  spirit  did  ye  urge — 
The  Mystery — the  Word. 

IV. 

Of  thousands  thou  both  sepulchre  and  pall. 
Old  Ocean,  art !     A  requiem  o  'er  the  dead 
From  out  thy  gloomy  cells 
A  tale  of  mourning  tells — 
Tells  of  man's  woe  and  fall, 
His  sinless  glory  fled. 


Then  turn  thee,  little  bird,  and  take  thy  flight 
Where  the  complaining  sea  shall  sadness 
bring 
Thy  spirit  never  more. 
Come,  quit  with  me  the  shore 
For  gladness,  and  the  light 
Where  birds  of  summer  sing. 

KicuAED  Henry  Dana. 


THE  CORAL  GROVE. 

Deep  in  the  wave  is  a  coral  grove. 

Where  the  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove ; 

Where  the  sea-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of 

blue 
That  never  are  wet  with  falling  dew. 
But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine 
Far  down  in  the  green  and  glassy  brine. 
The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain  drift, 
And  the  pearl-shells  spangle  the  flinty  snow ; 
From  coral  rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 
Their  boughs,  where  the  tides  and  billows 

flow; 
The  water  is  calm  and  still  below, 
For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there, 
And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that 

glow 
In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air. 


There,  with  its  waving  blade  of  green, 

The  sea-flag  streams  through  the  silent  water, 

And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 

To  blush,  llRe  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter. 

There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion. 

The  fan-coral  sweeps  through  the  clear,  deep 

sea; 
And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 
Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea. 
And  life,  in  rare  and  beautiful  forms. 
Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone. 
And  is  safe,  when  the  wrathful  spirit  of  stormg 
Has  made  the  top  of  the  wave  his  own.. 
And  when  the  ship  from  his  fury  flies, 
Where  the  myriad  voices  of  ocean  roar, 
When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the*  murky 

skies. 
And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore ; 
Then,  far  below,  in  the  peaceful  sea, 
The  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove 
Where  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly. 
Through  the  bending  twigs  of  the  coral  grove. 

James  Gates  Peecival. 


HAMPTOi^"  BEACH. 

The  sunlight  glitters  keen  and  bright, 

Where,  miles  away, 
Lies  stretching  to  my  dazzled  sight 
A  luminous  belt,  a  misty  light, 
Beyond  the  dark  pine  blufl:s  and  wastes  of 
sandy  gray. 

The  tremulous  shadow  of  the  sea ! 

Against  its  groimd 
Of  silvery  light,  rock,  hill,  and  tree, 
Still  as  a  picture,  clear  and  free. 
With  varying  outline  mark  the    coast  for 
miles  around. 

On — on — we  tread  with  loose-flung  rein 

Our  seaward  way. 
Through  dark-green  fields  and  blossoming 

grain, 
AVhere  the  wild  brier-rose  skirts  the  lane. 
And  bends  above  our  heads  the  flowering- 
locust  spray. 


8(5 


POEMS    OF   NATURE. 


Ila !  like  a  kind  liand  on  my  brow- 
Comes  tliis  fresli  breeze, 
Cooling  its  dull  and  feverish  glow, 
"While  througli  ray  being  seems  to  How 
Tlie  breath  of  a  new  life — the  healing  of  the 
seas! 

Now  rest  we,  where  this  grassy  mound 

His  feet  hath  set 
In  the  great  waters,  which  have  bound 
His  granite  ankles  greenly  round 
With  long  and  tangled  moss,  and  weeds  with 
cool  spray  wet. 

Good-bye  to  pain  and  care !   I  take 

Mine  ease  to-day ; 
Here,  Avhere  these  sunny  waters  break. 
And  ripples  this  keen  breeze,  I  shake 
All    burdens    from    the    heart,    all     weary 
thoughts  away. 

I  draw  a  freer  breath  ;  T  seem 

Like  all  I  see — 
Waves  in  the  sun — the  white-winged  gleam 
Of  sea-birds  in  the  slanting  beam — 
And  far-off  sails  which  flit  before  the  south 
wind  free. 

So  when  Time's  veil  shall  fall  asunder. 

The  soul  may  know 
No  fearful  change,  nor  sudden  wonder, 
Nor  sink  the  weight  of  mystery  under. 
But  with  the  upward  rise,  and  with  the  vast- 
ness  grow. 

And  all  we  shrink  from  now  may  seem 

No  new  revealing — 
Familiar  as  our  childhood's  stream, 
Or  pleasant  memory  of  a  dream, 
The  loved  and  cherished  Past  upon  the  new 
life  stealing. 

Serene  and  mild,  the  untried  light 

May  have  its  dawning ; 
And,  as  in  Summer's  northern  light 
The  evening  and  the  dawn  unite, 
The  sunset  hues  of  Time  blend  with  the  soul's 


I  sit  alone  ;  in  foam  and  spray 

Wave  after  wave 
Breaks  on  the  rocks  which,  stern  and  gray. 
Beneath  like  fallen  Titans  lay. 
Or  murmurs  hoarse  and  strong  throuijh  mossy 
cleft  and  cave. 

What  heed  I  of  the  dusty  land 

And  noisy  town  ? 
I  see  the  mighty  deep  expand 
Trom  its  white  line  of  glimmering  sand 
To  where  the  blue  of  heaven  on  bluer  waves 
shuts  down ! 

In  listless  quietude  of  mind, 

I  yield  to  all 
The  change  of  cloud  and  wave  and  wind  ; 
And  passive  on  the  flood  reclined, 
I  wander  with  the  waves,  and  with  them  rise 
and  fall. 


But  look,  thou  dreamer ! — wave  and  shore 

In  shadow  lie ; 
The  night-wind  warns  me  back  once  more 
To  where  my  native  hill-tops  o'er 
Bends  like  an  arch  of  fire  the  glowing  sunset 
sky! 

So  then,  beach,  blufij  and  wave,  farewell ! 

I  bear  with  me 
No  token  stone  nor  glittering  shell. 
But  long  and  oft  shall  Memory  tell 
Of  this  brief,  thoughtful,  hour  of  musing  by 
the  sea. 

John  Gkeenlkap  Whittieb. 


TO  SENECA  LAKE. 

On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake. 
The  wild  swan  spreads  his  snowy  sail, 

And  round  his  breast  the  ripples  break, 
As  down  he  bears  before  the  gale. 

On  thy  fair  bosom,  waveless  stream. 
The  dipping  paddle  echoes  far, 

And  flashes  in  the  moonlight  gleam. 
And  bright  reflects  the  polar  star. 


YARROW. 


87 


The  waves  along  thy  pebbly  shore, 

As  blows  the  north-wind,  heave  their  foam 

And  curl  around  the  dashing  oar, 
As  late  the  boatman  hies  him  home. 

How  sweet,  at  set  of  sun,  to  view 
Thy  golden  mirror  spreading  wide. 

And  see  the  mist  of  mantling  blue 

Float  round  the  distant  mountain's  side. 

At  midnight  hour,  as  shines  the  moon, 
A  sheet  of  silver  spreads  below. 

And  swift  she  cuts,  at  highest  noon, 
Light  clouds,  like  wreaths  of  purest  snow. 

On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake. 
Oh!  I  could  ever  sweep  the  oar, — 

When  early  birds  at  morning  wake. 
And  evening  tells  us  toil  is  o'er. 

James  Gates  Pebcival. 


YARROW  TJNVISITED.* 

From  Stirling  castle  we  had  seen 
The  mazy  Forth  unravelled ; 
Had  trod  the  banks  of  Clyde  and  Tay, 
And  with  the  Tweed  had  travelled ; 
And  when  we  came  to  Clovenford, 
Then  said  my  "winsome  marrow:" 
"  Whate'er  betide,  we'll  turn  aside. 
And  see  the  bi-aes  of  Yarrow." 

"Let  Yarrow  folk,  frae  Selkirk  town, 

Who  have  been  buying,  selling. 

Go  back  to  Yarrow ;  'tis  their  own — 

Each  maiden  to  her  dwelling ! 

On  Yarrow's  banks  let  herons  feed, 

Hares  couch,  and  rabbits  burrow ! 

But  we  will  downward  with  the  Tweed, 

Nor  turn  aside  to  Yarrow. 

"There's  Galla  Water,  Leader  Haughs, 
Both  lying  right  before  us ; 
And  Dryborough,  where  with  chiming  Tweed 
The  lintwhites  sing  in  chorus ; 

*  See  the  various  poems,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  upon 
tlie  banks  of  tlie  Yarrow;  in  particular,  the  exquisite 
Dallad  of  Hamilton,  on  page  450  of  this  volume,  begin- 
ning: 

"  Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  bonny,  bonny  Bride, 
Ctisk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  winsome  Marrow  I " 


There 's  pleasant  Teviot-dale,  a  land 
Made  blithe  with  plough  and  harrow : 
Why  throw  away  a  needful  day 
To  go  in  search  of  Yarrow  ? 

"What's  Yarrow  but  a  river  bare, 

That  glides  the  dark  hills  under? 

There  are  a  thousand  such  elsewhere, 

As  worthy  of  your  wonder." 

Strange  words  thej"-  seemed,  of  slight   and 

scorn ; 
My  true-love  sighed  for  sorrow. 
And  looked  me  in  the  face,  to  think 
I  thus  could  speak  of  Yarrow ! 

"  Oh,  green,"  said  I,  "  are  Yarrow's  holms, 
And  sweet  is  Yarrow  flowing ! 
Fair  hangs  the  apple  frae  the  rock. 
But  we  will  leave  it  growing. 
O'er  hilly  path,  and  open  strath. 
We  '11  wander  Scotland  thorough ; 
But,  though  so  near,  we  will  not  turn 
Into  the  dale  of  Yarrow. 

"Let  beeves  and  homebred  kine  partake 
The  sweets  of  Burn-mill  meadow ; 
The  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  Lake 
Float  double,  swan  and  shadow ! 
We  will  not  see  them ;  will  not  go 
To-day,  nor  yet  to-morrow ; 
Enough,  if  in  our  hearts  we  know 
There 's  such  a  place  as  Yarrow. 

"  Be  Yarrow  stream  unseen,  unknown ! 
It  must,  or  we  shall  rue  it : 
We  have  a  vision  of  our  own ; 
Ah!  why  should  we  undo  it? 
The  treasured  dreams  of  times  long  past, 
We'll  keep  them,  winsome  Marrow  ! 
For  when  we're  there,  although  'tis  fair, 
'T  will  he  another  Yarrow  I 

"If  care  with  freezing  years  should  come, 
And  wandering  seem  but  folly, — 
Should  we  be  loth  to  stir  from  home. 
And  yet  be  melancholy, — 
Should  life  be  dull,  and  sjjirits  low, 
'Twill  soothe  us  in  our  sorrow, 
That  earth  has  sometliing  yet  to  show — 
The  bonny  holms  of  Yarrow !  " 

William  Wordswoktb. 


88 


POEMS   OF   NATUKE. 


I 


YAiniOW  VISITED. 

And  is  this— Yarrow  ?— This  the  stream 

Of  which  my  taucj'  cherished, 

So  faithfully,  a  -waking  dream? 

An  image  that  hath  iiorished! 

O  that  some  minstrel's  harp  were  near, 

To  utter  notes  of  gladness, 

And  chase  this  silence  from  the  air, 

That  tills  my  heart  with  sadness! 

Yet  why  ? — a  silvery  current  flows 
"With  uncontrolled  meanderings ; 
Xor  have  these  eyes  by  greener  hills 
Been  soothed,  in  all  my  wanderings. 
And,  through  her  depths.  Saint  Mary's  lake 
Is  visibly  delighted ; 
For  not  a  feature  of  those  hills 
Is  in  the  mirror  slighted, 

A  blue  sky  bends  o'er  Yarrow  vale, 

Save  Avhere  that  pearly  whiteness 

Is  round  the  rising  sun  diffused — 

A  tender,  hazy  brightness; 

Mild  dawn  of  promise !  that  excludes 

All  profitless  dejection; 

Though  not  unAvilling  here  to  admit 

A  pensive  recollection. 

"Where  was  it  that  the  famous  Flower 

Of  Yarrow  Vale  lay  bleeding? 

His  bed  perchance  was  yon  smooth  mound 

On  which  the  herd  is  feeding ; 

And  haply  from  this  crystal  pool, 

Now  peaceful  as  the  morning. 

The  water-wraith  ascended  thrice, 

And  gave  Ins  doleful  warning. 

Delicious  is  the  lay  that  sings 

The  haunts  of  happy  lovers — 

The  path  tliat  leads  them  to  the  grove. 

The  leafy  grove  that  covers; 

And  pity  sanctifies  the  verse 

That  paints,  by  strength  of  sorrow, 

The  unconquerable  strength  of  love : 

Bear  witness,  rueful  Yarrow ! 

But  thou,  that  didst  appear  so  ftiir 
To  fond  imagination. 
Dost  rival  in  the  light  of  day 
Her  delicate  creation. 


;Meek  loveliness  is  round  thee  spread — 
A  softness  still  and  holy, 
The  grace  of  forest  charms  decayed. 
And  pastoral  melancholy. 

■ 

That  region  left,  the  vale  unfolds 

liicli  groves  of  lofty  stature, 

AVith  Yarrow  Avinding  through  the  pomp 

Of  cultivated  nature ; 

And,  rising  from  those  lofty  groves, 

Behold  a  ruin  hoary ! 

The  shattered  front  of  New^ai'k's  towers, 

Renowned  in  border  story. 

Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  opening  bloom 

For  sportive  youth  to  stray  in  ; 

For  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength, 

And  age  to  wear  away  in ! 

Yon  cottage  seems  a  bower  of  bliss, 

A  covert  for  protection 

Of  tender  thoughts,  that  nestle  there, — 

The  brood  of  chaste  affection. 

How  sweet,  on  this  autumnal  day, 
The  wild-wood  fruits  to  gather. 
And  on  my  true-love's  forehead  plant 
A  crest  of  blooming  heather ! 
And  what  if  I  inwreathed  my  own ! 
'T  were  no  offence  to  reason ; 
The  sober  hills  thus  deck  their  brows 
To  meet  the  wintry  season. 

I  see, — but  not  by  sight  alone, 

Loved  Yarrow,  have  I  Tvon  thee ; 

A  ray  of  fancy  still  survives, — 

Her  sunshine  plays  upon  thee ! 

Thy  ever-youthful  waters  keep 

A  course  of  lively  pleasure ; 

And  gladsome  notes  my  lips  can  breathe, 

Accordant  to  the  measure. 

The  vapors  linger  round  the  heights  ; 
They  melt,  and  soon  must  vanish ; 
One  hour  is  theirs,  nor  more  is  mine  : 
Sad  thought,  Avhich  I  would  banish 
But  that  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
Thy  genuine  image.  Yarrow, 
Will  dwell  with  me,  to  heighten  joy, 
And  cheer  my  mind  in  sorrow. 

William  "Wordswoetu, 


YARROW. 


S9 


YARROW  REVISITED. 


The  following  stanzas  are  a  memorial  of  a  day  passed 
with  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  other  friends,  visiting  the  banks 
of  the  Yarrow  under  his  guidance— immediately  before 
his  departure  from  Abbotsford,  for  Kaples. 


The  gallant  youth,  who  may  have  gained, 

Or  seeks,  a  "  winsome  marrow," 
Was  but  an  infant  in  the  lap 

When  first  I  looked  on  Yarrow ; 
Once  more,  by  Newark's  castle-gate — 

Long  left  without  a  warder, 
I  stood,  looked,  listened,  and  with  thee. 

Great  Minstrel  of  the  Border ! 


Grave  thoughts  ruled  wide  on  that  sweet  day. 

Their  dignity  installing 
In  gentle  bosoms,  while  sere  leaves 

Were  on  the  bough,  or  falliag ; 
But  breezes  played,  and  sunshine  gleamed. 

The  forest  to  embolden ; 
Reddened  the  fiery  hues,  and  shot 

Transparence  through  the  golden. 


For  busy  thoughts,  the  stream  flowed  on 

In  foamy  agitation ; 
And  slept  in  many  a  crystal  pool 

For  quiet  contemplation. 
No  public  and  no  private  care 

The  freeborn  mind  enthralling, 
We  made  a  day  of  happy  hours, 

Our  happy  days  recalling. 


Brisk  Youth  appeared,  the  morn  of  youth. 

With  freaks  of  graceful  folly, — 
Life's  temperate  noon,  her  sober  eve, 

Iler  night  not  melancholy ; 
Past,  present,  future,  all  appeared 

In  harmony  united, 
Like  guests  that  meet,  and  some  from  far, 

By  cordial  love  invited. 

And  if,  as  Yarrow,  through  the  woods 
And  down  the  meadow  ranging. 

Did  meet  us  with  unaltered  face, 
Though  Ave  were  changed  and  changing- 
IQ 


If,  then,  some  natural  shadows  spread 

Our  inward  prospect  over. 
The  soul's  deep  valley  was  not  slow 


Its  brightness  to  recover. 


Eternal  blessings  on  the  Muse, 

And  her  divine  employment ! 
The  blameless  Muse,  who  trains  her  sons 

For  hope  and  calm  enjoyment ; 
Albeit  sickness,  lingering  yet. 

Has  o'er  their  pillow  brooded ; 
And  care  waylays  their  steps, — a  sprite 

Not  easily  eluded. 

For  thee,  O  Scott !  compelled  to  change 

Green  Eildon  Hill  and  Cheviot 
For  warm  Vesuvio's  vine-clad  slopes ; 

And  leave  thy  Tweed  and  Teviot 
For  mild  Sorrento's  breezy  waves ; 

May  classic  fancy,  linking 
With  native  fancy  her  fresh  aid, 

Preserve  thy  heart  from  sinking ! 

0,  while  they  minister  to  thee, 

Each  vying  with  the  other, 
May  health  return  to  mellow  age. 

With  strength,  her  venturous  brother ; 
And  Tiber,  and  each  brook  and  rill 

Renowned  in  song  and  story. 
With  uniraagined  beauty  shine, 

Nor  lose  one  ray  of  glory ! 

For  thou,  upon  a  hundred  streams;, 

By  tales  of  love  and  sorrow, 
Of  faithful  love,  undaunted  truth. 

Hast  shed  the  power  of  Yarrow ; 
And  streams  unknown,  hills  yet  unseen, 

Wherever  they  invite  thee. 
At  parent  Nature's  grateful  call 

With  gladness  must  requite  thee. 

A  gracious  welcome  shall  be  thine — 

Such  looks  of  love  and  honor 
As  thy  own  Yarrow  gave  to  me 

When  first  I  gazed  upon  her — 
Beheld  what  I  had  feared  to  see, 

Unwilling  to  surrender 
Dreams  treasured  up  from  early  days 

The  holy  and  the  tender. 


90 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


And  wliat,  for  this  frail  world,  were  all 

That  mortals  do  or  suffer, 
Did  no  responsive  harp,  no  pen. 

Memorial  tribute  ofler  ? 
Yea,  what  were  mighty  Nature's  self— 

ller  features,  could  they  win  us, 
Unhelped  by  the  poetic  voice 

That  hourly  speaks  within  us? 

Nor  deem  that  localized  romance 

Plays  false  Avith  our  affections  : 
Unsanetifies  our  tears, — made  sport 

For  fanciful  dejections. 
Ah,  no !  the  ^^sions  of  the  past 

Sustain  the  heart  in  feeling 
Life  as  she  is, — our  changeful  life, 

With  friends  and  kindred  dealing. 


Bear  witness,  ye,  whose  thoughts  that  day 

In  Yarrow's  groves  were  centred ; 
Who  through  the  silent  portal  arch 

Of  mouldering  Newark  entered ; 
And  clomb  the  winding  stair  that  once 

Too  timidly  was  mounted 
By  the  "last  Miustrel"  (not  the  last!). 

Ere  he  his  tale  recounted ! 

Flow  on  for  ever.  Yarrow  stream ! 

Fulfil  thy  pensive  duty. 
Well  pleased  that  future  bards  should  chant 

For  simple  hearts  thy  beauty ; 
To  dream-light  dear  while  yet  unseen, 

Dear  to  the  common  sunshine. 
And  dearer  still,  as  now  I  feel, 

To  memory's  shadowy  moonshine ! 

"Wn.LIAil  WORDSWOKTII. 


And  lovers  now,  with  many  a  kiss, 
Their  long  farewells  ai'e  sighing. 

Why  is  Earth  so  gayly  drest  ? 
This  pomp,  that  Autumn  beareth, 

A  funeral  seems,  where  every  guest 
A  bridal  garment  weareth. 

Each  one  of  us,  perchance,  may  here, 

On  some  blue  morn  hereafter, 
Eeturn  to  view  the  gaudy  year. 

But  not  with  boyish  laughter. 
We  shall  then  be  wrinkled  men, 

Our  brows  with  silver  laden. 
And  thou  this  glen  mayst  seek  again, 

But  nevermore  a  maiden ! 

Nature  perhaps  foresees  that  Spring 

Will  touch  her  teeming  bosom. 
And  that  a  few  brief  months  will  bring 

The  bird,  the  bee,  the  blossom ; 
Ah !  these  forests  do  not  know — 

Or  would  less  brightly  wither — 
The  virgin  that  adorns  them  so 

Will  never  more  come  hither ! 

Thomas  William  Pabsonsu 


A  SONG  FOR  SEPTEMBER. 

Skptembee  strews  the  woodland  o'er 

With  many  a  brilliant  color  ; 
The  world  is  brighter  than  before — 

Why  should  our  hearts  be  duller? 
Sorrow  and  the  scarlet  leaf. 

Sad  thouglits  and  sunny  weather ! 
Ah  me !  this  glory  and  this  grief 

Agree  not  well  together. 

This  is  the  parting  season — ^this 
The  time  when  friends  arc  flying ; 


• 


ROBIN  REDBREAST. 

GooD-BTE,  good-bye  to  Summer ! 

For  Summer 's  nearly  done ; 
The  garden  smiling  faintly. 

Cool  breezes  in  the  sun ; 
Our  thrushes  now  are  silent. 

Our  swallows  flown  away, — 
But  Robin 's  here  in  coat  of  brown, 

And  scarlet  breast-knot  gay. 
Robin,  robin  redbreast, 

O  Robin  deai'! 
Robin  sings  so  sweetly 

In  the  falling  of  the  year. 

Bright  yellow,  red,  and  orange. 

The  leaves  come  down  in  hosts  ; 
The  trees  are  Indian  princes, 

But  soon  they  'U  turn  to  ghosts ; 
The  leathery  pears  and  apples 

Hang  russet  on  the  bough ; 
It 's  autumn,  autumn,  autumn  late, 

'T  will  soon  be  winter  now. 


AUTUMN. 


91 


Eobin,  robin  redbreast, 

O  Eobin  dear ! 
And  what  wiJl  this  poor  robin  do  ? 

For  pinching  days  are  near. 

The  fire-side  for  the  cricket, 

The  wlieat-stack  for  the  mouse, 
"WTien  trembling  night-winds  whistle 

And  moan  aU  round  the  house. 
The  frosty  ways  like  iron, 

Tlie  branches  plumed  with  snow, — 
Alas !  in  winter  dead  and  dark, 

Where  can  poor  Eobin  go  ? 
Eobin,  robin  redbreast, 

O  Eobin  dear ! 
And  a  crumb  of  bread  for  Eobin, 

His  little  breast  to  cheer. 

William  Allingham. 


FIDELITY. 

A  BAEKiNG  sound  the  shepherd  hears, 
A  cry  as  of  a  dog  or  fox ; 
He  halts, — and  searches  with  his  eyes 
Among  the  scattered  rocks ; 
And  now  at  distance  can  discern 
A  stirring  in  a  brake  of  fern ; 
And  instantly  a  dog  is  seen, 
Glancing  through  that  covert  green. 

The  dog  is  not  of  mountain  breed ; 

Its  motions,  too,  are  wild  and  shy — 

"With  something,  as  the  shepherd  thinks, 

Unusual  in  its  cry ; 

ISTor  is  there  any  one  in  sight 

AU  round,  in  hollow  or  on  height ; 

Nor  shout  nor  whistle  strikes  his  ear. 

"What  is  the  creature  doing  here  ? 

It  was  a  cove,  a  huge  recess, 

That  keeps,  till  June,  December's  snow ; 

A  lofty  precipice  in  front, 

A  silent  tarn  below ! 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  Ilelvellyn, 

Eemote  from  jjublic  road  or  dwelling. 

Pathway,  or  cultivated  land, — 

From  trace  of  human  foot  or  hand, 

Thei'e  sometimes  doth  a  leaping  fish 
Send  through  the  tarn  a  lonely  cheer ; 
The  crags  repeat  the  raven's  croak 
In  symphony  austere ; 


Thither  the  rainbow  comes,  the  cloud, 
And  mists  that  spread  the  fljing  shroud ; 
And  sunbeams ;  and  the  sounding  blast, 
That,  if  it  could,  would  hm-ry  past; 
But  that  enormous  barrier  holds  it  fast. 

Not  free  from  boding  thoughts,  awhile 
The  shepherd  stood ;  then  makes  his  way 
O'er  rocks  and  stones,  following  the  dog 
As  quickly  as  he  may ; 
Nor  far  had  gone  before  he  found 
A  human  skeleton  on  the  ground. 
The  appalled  discoverer  with  a  sigh 
Looks  round,  to  learn  the  history. 

From  those  abrupt  and  perilous  rocks 

The  man  had  fallen,  that  place  of  fear ! 

At  length  upon  the  shepherd's  mind 

It  breaks,  and  all  is  clear. 

He  instantly  recalled  the  name, 

And  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came; 

Eemembered,  too,  the  very  day 

On  which  the  traveller  passed  this  way. 

But  hear  a  wonder,  for  whose  sake 

This  lamentable  tale  I  teU ! 

A  lasting  monument  of  words 

This  wonder  merits  well. 

The  dog,  which  stiU  was  hovering  nigh, 

Eepeating  the  same  timid  cry, 

Tliis  dog  had  been  through  three  months' 

space 
A  dweller  in  that  savage  place. 

Yes,  proof  was  plain  that,  since  the  day 
When  this  ill-fated  traveller  died. 
The  dog  had  watched  about  the  spot, 
Or  by  his  master's  side. 
How  nourished  here  through  such  long  tima 
He  knows  who  gave  that  love  sublime. 
And  gave  that  strength  of  feeling,  gi-eat 
Above  aU  human  estimate ! 

William  Woedswoeiu. 


TO  MEADOWS. 

Ye  have  been  fresh  and  green ; 

Ye  have  been  filled  with  flowers ; 
And  ye  the  walks  have  been 

Where  maids  have  spent  their  hours ; 


92 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Ye  liavo  bobold  where  they 

"With  wicker  arks  dicl  come, 
To  kiss  and  bear  away 

The  richer  cowslips  liome; 

You  've  heai'd  them  sweetly  sing, 

And  soon  theni  in  a  round ; 
Each  virgin,  like  the  Spring, 

"With  honeysuckles  crowned. 

But  now  we  see  none  here 
Whose  silvery  feet  did  tread. 

And  with  dishevelled  hair 
Adorned  this  smoother  mead. 

Like  unthrifts,  having  spent 
Your  stock,  and  needy  grown. 

You  're  left  here  to  lament 
Your  poor  estates  alone. 

EOBEET  HeREICK. 


THE  nUSBANDMAK 

Earth,  of  man  the  bounteous  mother. 
Feeds  him  still  with  corn  and  wine ; 

He  who  best  would  aid  a  brother, 
Shares  Avith  h\m  these  gifts  divine. 

Many  a  power  within  her  bosom, 
Noiseless,  hidden,  works  beneath ; 

Hence  are  seed,  and  leaf,  and  blossom. 
Golden  ear  and  clustered  wreath. 

These  to  swell  with  strength  and  beauty 

Ls  the  royal  task  of  man ; 
Man's  a  king;  his  throne  is  duty. 

Since  his  work  on  earth  began. 

Bud  and  harvest,  bloom  and  vintage — 
These,  like  man,  are  fruits  of  earth  ; 

Stamped  in  clay,  a  heavenly  mintage. 
All  from  dust  receive  then-  birth. 

Bam  and  mill,  and  wine-vat's  treasures, 
Earthly  goods  for  earthly  lives— 

These  are  Nature's  ancient  pleasures; 
These  her  child  from  her  derives. 

"What  the  dream,  but  vain  rebelhnc. 

If  fi-om  earth  we  sought  to  flee? 
'T  is  om-  stored  and  ample  dwelling ; 

'T  is  from  it  the  skies  we  see. 


"Wind  and  frost,  and  hour  and  season, 
Land  and  water,  sun  and  shade — 

"Work  wnth  these,  as  bids  thy  reason, 
For  they  work  thy  toil  to  aid. 

Sow  thy  seed,  and  reap  in  gladness ! 

^Man  himself  is  all  a  seed  ; 
Hope  and  hardship,  joy  and  sadness — 

Slow  the  plant  to  ripeness  lead. 

John  Stekling, 


TO  THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN. 

Tnou  blossom,  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue. 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night ; 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 
O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 
Or  columbines,  in  purple  dressed, 
Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late,  and  com'st  alone. 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  Year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue — blue — as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 

William  Cullen  Betant. 


COENFIELDS. 

When  on  the  breath  of  autumn  breeze, 
From  pastures  dry  and  brown, 

Goes  floating  like  an  idle  thought 
The  fair  white  thistle-down. 

Oh  then  Avhat  joy  to  walk  at  will 

Upon  the  golden  harvest  hill ! 

What  joy  in  dreamy  ease  to  lie 

Amid  a  field  new  shorn, 
And  see  all  round  on  sun-lit  slopes 

The  piled-up  stacks  of  corn ; 


AUTUMN.                                                                  93 

And  send  the  fancy  wandering  o'er 

Pale  flowers!  pale  perishing  flowers! 

All  pleasant  harvest-fields  of  yore. 

Ye  're  types  of  precious  things ; 

Types  of  those  bitter  moments, 

I  feel  the  day — I  see  the  field, 

That  flit,  like  life's  enjoyments. 

The  quivering  of  the  leaves, 

On  rapid,  rapid  wings : 

And  good  old  Jacob  and  his  house 

X           7             X                            C3 

Binding  the  yellow  sheaves ; 

Last  hours  with  parting  dear  ones 

And  at  this  very  hour  I  seem 

(That  Time  the  fastest  spends). 

To  be  with  Joseph  in  his  di-eam. 

Last  tears  in  silence  shed. 

Last  words  half  uttered. 

I  see  the  fields  of  Bethlehem, 

7 

Last  looks  of  dying  friends. 

And  reapers  many  a  one, 

Bending  unto  their  sickles'  stroke — 

Who  but  would  fain  compreas 

And  Boaz  looking  on ; 

A  life  into  a  day, — 

And  Ruth,  the  Moablte  so  fair. 

The  last  day  spent  with  orie 

Among  the  gleaners  stooping  there. 

Who,  ere  the  morrow's  sun, 

Must  leave  us,  and  for  aye  ? 

Again  I  see  a  little  child. 

His  mother's  sole  delight, — 

0  precious,  precious  moments! 

God's  living  gift  of  love  unto 

Pale  flowers!  ye 're  types  of  those ; 

The  kind  good  Shunammite ; 

The  saddest,  sweetest,  dearest. 

To  mortal  pangs  I  see  him  yield, 

Because,  like  those,  the  nearest 

And  the  lad  bear  him  from  the  field. 

To  an  eternal  close. 

The  sun-bathed  quiet  of  the  hills, 

Pale  flowers !  pale  perishing  flowers ! 

The  fields  of  Galilee, 

I  woo  your  gentle  breath — 

That  eighteen  hundred  years  ago 

I  leave  the  Summer  rose 

Were  fall  of  corn,  I  see ; 

For  younger,  blither  brows  ; 

And  the  dear  Saviour  takes  His  way 

Tell  me  of  change  and  death ! 

'Mid  ripe  ears  on  the  Sabbath  day. 
Oh,  golden  fields  of  bending  corn, 

Caboline  Bowles  Southey. 

How  beautiful  they  seem ! 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

The  reaper-folk,  the  piled-up  sheaves, 

To  me  are  like  a  dream. 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest 

Tlie  sunshine  and  tlie  very  air 

of  the  year, 

Seem  of  old  time,  and  take  me  there. 

Of  wailing  winds,   and  naked  woods,   and 

Maky  Howitt. 

meadows  brown  and  sere. 

Heaped  in  the  hoUows  of  the  grove,  the  au- 
tumn leaves  lie  dead  ; 

AUTUMN"  FLOWERS. 

They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the 

rabbit's  tread. 

Those  few  pale  Autumn  flowers. 

The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from 

How  beautiful  they  are ! 

the  slirubs  the  jay. 

Than  all  that  went  before, 

And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crowthrougli 

Tlian  all  the  Summer  store, 

aU  the  gloomy  day. 

IIow  lovelier  fur ! 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flow- 

And why? — They^are  the  last! 

ers  that  lately  sprang  and  stood 

The  last!  the  last!  the  last! 

In  brighter  light,  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous 

Oh !  by  that  little  word 

sistei'hood  ? 

How  many  thoughts  are  stirred 

Alas !  they  all  ai-e  in  their  graves ;  the  gentle 

That  whisper  of  the  past ! 

race  of  flowers 

04 


POEMS   OF   NATURE 


Are  IviiiiT  in  their  lowly  bods,  with  the  lair 

aiul  good  of  ours. 
The  rain  is  tailing  where  they  lie;  but  the 

oold  Xovember  rain 
CiUls  not  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely 

ones  again. 

The  wind-tlowor  and  the  A-iolet,  they  per- 
ished long  ago, 

And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid 
the  summer  glow ; 

But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster 
in  the  wood, 

And  the  yellow  sun-flower  by  the  brook  in 
autumn  beauty  stood, 

Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  lieavcn, 
as  falls  the  plague  on  men. 

And  tlie  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone, 
from  upland,  glade,  and  glen. 

And  now,  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as 

still  such  days  will  come. 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their 

winter  home ; 
When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard, 

though  all  the  trees  are  still, 
And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters 

of  the  rill, 
The  south   wind    searches  for  the  flowers 

whose  fragrance  late  he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by 

the  stream  no  more. 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful 

beauty  died, 
Tlie  fair  meek  blossom   that   grew  np    and 

faded  by  my  side. 
In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the 

forests  cast  the  leaf. 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have 

a  life  so  brief ; 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one  like  that 

young  friend  of  ours. 
So  gentle  and  so  beautifid,  should  perish  with 

the  flowers.        William  Citlles  Betant. 


'T  IS  TIIE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER. 

'T 13  the  last  rose  of  Summer 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone ; 


No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rosebud  is  nigh. 
To  reflect  back  her  blusbes, 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh ! 

I  '11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one, 

To  pine  on  the  stem ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping. 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  bed 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  I  follow. 

When  friendships  decay, 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away! 
When  true  hearts  lie  withered. 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
Oh !  who  would  inhabit 

This  bleak  world  alone  ? 

Thomas  Moore. 


THE  HUNTER  OF  THE  PRAHIIES. 

At,  this  is  freedom ! — these  pure  skies 

Were  never  stained  with  village  smoke ; 
The  fragrant  wind,  that  through  them  flies, 

Is  breathed  from  wastes  by  plough  unbroke. 
Here,  with  my  rifle  and  my  steed. 

And  her  who  left  the  world  for  me, 
I  plant  me  where  the  red  deer  feed 

In  the  green  desert— and  am  free. 

For  here  the  fair  savannas  know 

No  barriers  in  the  bloomy  gi'ass; 
Wherever  breeze  of  heaven  may  blow, 

Or  beam  of  heaven  may  glance,  I  pass. 
In  pastures,  measureless  as  air, 

The  bison  is  my  noble  game ; 
The  bounding  elk,  whose  antlers  tear 

The  branches,  falls  before  my  aim. 

Mine  are  the  river-fowl  that  scream 

From  the  long  stripe  of  waving  sedge ; 
The  bear  that  marks  my  weapon's  gleam 

Hides  vainly  in  the  forest's  edge ; 
In  vain  the  she-wolf  stands  at  bay ; 

The  brinded  catamount,  that  lies 
Higb  in  the  boughs  to  watch  his  prey. 

Even  in  the  act  of  springing  dies. 


THE   HUNTER'S   SONG. 


9£ 


With  what  free  growth  the  elm  and  plane 

Fling  their  huge  arms  across  my  way — 
Gray,  old,  and  cumbered  with  a  train 

Of  vines,  as  huge,  and  old,  and  gray ! 
Free  stray  the  lucid  streams,  and  find 

No  taint  in  these  fresh  lawns  and  shades ; 
Free  spring  the  flowers  that  scent  the  wind 

"Where  never  scythe  has  swept  the  glades. 

Alone  the  fire,  when  frost-winds  sere 

The  heavy  herbage  of  the  ground, 
Gathers  his  annual  harvest  here — 

With  roaring  like  the  battle's  sound. 
And  hurrying  flames  that  sweep  the  plain, 

And  smoke-streams  gushing  up  the  sky. 
I  meet  the  flames  with  flames  again. 

And  at  my  door  they  cower  and  die. 

Here,  from  dim  woods,  the  aged  Past 

Speaks  solemnly ;  and  I  behold 
The  boundless  Future  in  the  vast 

And  lonely  river,  seaward  rolled. 
Who  feeds  its  founts  with  rain  and  dew  ? 

Who  moves,  I  ask,  its  gliding  mass, 
And  trains  the  bordering  vines  whose  blue 

Bright  clusters  tempt  me  as  I  pass  ? 

Broad  are  these  streams — my  steed  obeys. 

Plunges,  and  bears  me  through  the  tide  : 
Wide  are  these  woods — I  thread  the  maze 

Of  giant  stems,  nor  ask  a  guide. 
1  hunt  till  day's  last  glimmer  dies 

O'er  woody  vale  and  grassy  height ; 
And  kind  the  voice  and  glad  the  eyes 

That  welcome  my  return  at  night. 

William  Cullen  Bkyant. 


MY  HEART'S  m  THE  HIGHLANDS. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not 

here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the 

deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the 

North, 
The  birth-place  of  valor,  the  country  of  worth ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I  love. 


Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  covered  with 

snow; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys 

below ; 
Farewell  to  the    forests  and  wild-hanging 

woods ; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents    and  loud-pouring 

floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not 

here. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the 

deer ; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 

Egbert  BrRNS. 


THE  HUNTER'S  SONG. 

Rise  !     Sleep  no  more  !     'T  is  a  noble  morn. 
The  dews  hang  thick  on  the  fringed  thorn, 
And  the  frost  shrinks  back,  like  a  beaten 

.  hound. 
Under  the  steaming,  steaming  ground. 
Behold,  where  the  billowy  clouds  flow  by. 
And  leave  us  alone  in  the  clear  gray  sky! 
Our  horses  are  ready  and  steady. — So,  ho ! 
I  'm  gone,  like  a  dart  from  the  Tartar's  bow. 

HarTc,  liarTc  ! —  Who  calleth  the  maiden  Morn 
From  her  sleep  in  the  woods  and  the  stulhle 
corn  ? 

The  horn^ — the  horn  ! 
The  merry,  sweet  ring  of  the  hunte7'''s  horn. 

Now,  through  the    copse  where  the  fox  is 

found, 
And  over  the  stream  at  a  mighty  bound, 
And  over  the  high  lands,  and  over  the  low, 
O'er  furrows,  o'er  meadows,  the  hunters  go ! 
Away  ! — as  a  hawk  flies  full  at  his  prey, 
So  flieth  the  hunter,  away, — away ! 
From  the  burst  at  the  cover  till  set  of  sun. 
When  the  red  fox  dies,  and — the  day  is  done ! 
irarl\  harh  ! — What  sound  on   the  icind  is 

home  ? 
'Tis  the  conquering  voice  of  the  hunterh  horn: 

The  horn, — the  horn  ! 
The  merry,  hold  voice  of  the  hunter''s  horn. 


1)6 


rOEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Sound !  Sound  the  born  I  To  the  hunter  good 
AVhat's  the  gnlly  deep  or  tho  roaring  flood? 
Kight  over  ho  bounds,  as  the  wild  stag  bounds, 
At  tho  heels  of  his  swift,  sure,  silent  hounds. 
Ob,  what  delight  can  a  mortal  lack, 
Wlieu  he  once  is  firm  on  his  horse's  back. 
With  his  stirrups  short,  and  his  snaflle  strong. 
And  tho  blast  of  the  horn  for  bis  morning 

song  ? 
Hai'l\  Iiari! — Xow,  home!   and  dream   till 

morn 
Of  the  hold,  sweet  sound  of  tTie  Jiunter'^s  horn! 

The  horn, — the  horn  ! 
Oh,  ihrixviudofall  sounds  is  the  Jiunter^s  horn! 

Baeky  Cornwall. 


TO  AUTUMN. 

Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulnoss ! 

Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun! 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 
With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch- 
eaves  run — 
To  bend  with  apples  the  mossed  cottage  trees. 
And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core — 
To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel 
shells 
"With  a  sweet  kei'nel — to  set  budding,  more 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees. 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 
For    Summer  has    o'er-brimmed    their 
clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  thee  oft  amid  thy  store  ? 

Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 
Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor. 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind ; 
Or  on  a  half-reaped  furrow  sound  asleep. 
Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,  while 
thy  hook 
Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined 
flowers; 
And  sometime  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 
Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook ; 
Or  by  a  cider-press,  with  patient  look, 
Thou  watchest  the  last  oozings,  hours  by 
hours. 


Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring  ?    Ay,  where 

are  they  ? 

Think  not  of  them — thovi  hast  thy  music 

too : 

While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day, 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue; 

Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 

Among  the  river  sallow^s,  borne  aloft 

Or  sinking,  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies ; 

And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly 

bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets  sing ;    and  now  with  treble 

soft 

The  red-breast  whistles  from  a  garden-croft, 

And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the 

skies. 

John  Keats. 


AUTUMN— A  DIRGE. 

The  warm  sun  is  failing ;  the  bleak  wind  is 

wailing ; 
The  bare  boughs  are  sighing;  the  pale  flowers 
are  dying ; 

And  the  Year 
On  the  earth,  her  death-bed,  in  shroud  of 
leaves  dead, 

Is  lying. 
Come,  months,  come  away, 
From  IsTovember  to  May ; 
In  your  saddest  array 
Follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead,  cold  Year, 
And  like  dim  shadows  watch  by  her  sepulchre. 

The  chill  rain  is  falling ;  the  nipt  worm  is 

crawling ; 
The  rivers  ai"e  swelling ;  the  thunder  is  knell- 
ing 

For  the  Year ; 
The  blithe  swallows  are  flown,  and  the  lizards 
each  gone 

To  his  dwelling ; 
Come,  months,  come  away  ; 
Put  on  white,  black,  and  gi-ay ; 
Let  your  light  sisters  jjlay — 
Ye,  follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead,  cold  Year, 
And  make  her  grave  green  with  tear  on  tear. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


AUTUMN. 

97 

AUxmrN-. 

AUTUMN'S  SIGHING. 

The  Autnnrm  is  old ; 

Autumn's  sighing. 

The  sere  leaves  are  flying ; 

Moaning,  dying; 

He  hath  gathered  up  gold, 

Clouds  are  flying 

And  now  he  is  dying : 

On  like  steeds ; 

Old  age,  begin  sighing ! 

"VThile  their  shadows 
O'er  the  meadows 

The  vintage  is  ripe : 

Walk  like  widows 

O                         IT         J 

The  harvest  is  heaping ; 

Decked  in  weeds. 

But  some  that  have  sowed 

Red  leaves  trailing. 

Have  no  riches  for  reaping : — 

Fall  unfailing. 

Poor  wretch,  fall  a-weeping ! 

C?7 

Dropping,  sailing. 
From  the  wood, 

The  year 's  in  the  wane ; 

That,  unpliant. 

There  is  nothing  adorning ; 

Stands  defiant. 

The  night  has  no  eve, 

Like  a  giant 

And  the  day  has  no  morning; 

Dropping  blood. 

Cold  winter  gives  warning. 

Winds  are  swelling 

The  rivers  run  chill ; 

Round  our  dwelling, 

The  red  sun  is  sinking; 

All  day  telling 

And  I  am  grown  old, 

Us  their  woe ; 

And  life  is  fast  shrinking ; 

And  at  vesper 

Here's  enow  for  sad  thinking ! 

Frosts  grow  crisper, 

Thomas  Hood. 

As  they  whisper 
Of  the  snow. 

From  th'  unseen  land 

♦ 

THE  LATTER  RAIN". 

Frozen  inland, 

Down  from  Greenland 

The  latter  rain, — it  falls  in  anxious  haste 

Winter  glides, 

Upon  the  sun-dried  fields  and  branches  bare, 

Shedding  lightness 

Loosening  with    searching  drops  the   rigid 

Like  the  brightness 

waste 

When  moon-whiteness 

As  if  it  would  each  root's  lost  strength  repair ; 

Fills  the  tides. 

But  not  a  blade  grows  green  as  in  the  Spring ; 

No  swelling  twig  puts  forth  its  thickening 

Now  bright  Pleasure's 

leaves ; 

Sparkling  measures 

The  robins  only  mid  the  harvests  sing. 

With  rare  treasures 

Pecking  the  grain   that   scatters  from  the 

Overflow ! 

sheaves ; 

With  this  gladness 

The  rain  falls  still, — the   fruit   all   ripened 

Comes  what  sadness ! 

drops. 

Oh,  what  madness ! 

It  pierces  chestnut-burr  and  walnut-shell  ; 

Oh,  what  woe  I 

The  furrowed  fields  disclose  the  yellow  crops ; 

7 

Each  bursting  pod  of  talents  used  can  tell ; 

Even  merit 

And  all  that  once  received  the  early  rain 

May  inherit 

Declare  to  man  it  was  not  sent  in  vain. 

Some  bare  garret, 

._                    Jones  Vep.t. 

Or  the  ground ; 

DS 


rOEMS    OF   NATURE. 


Or,  a  worse  ill, 
Bog  a  morsel 

At  some  door  sill, 
Like  a  lionud ! 

Storms  are  trailing ; 
"Wintls  arc  wailing, 
llowliug,  railing 

At  each  door. 
'Midst  this  trailing, 
Howling,  railing, 
List  the  wailing 

Of  the  poor ! 

Thomas  Bttohanan  Head. 


The  brave  old  plant  in  its  lonely  days 

Shall  fatten  upon  the  past ; 
For  the  stateliest  building  man  can  raise 
Is  the  Ivy's  food  at  last. 

Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  plant  is  the  Ivy  green. 

Chakles  Dickens. 


THE  IVY  GREEiT. 

On !  a  dainty  plant  is  the  Ivy  green, 

That  creepeth  o  'er  ruins  old ! 
Of  right  choice  food  are  his  meals  I  ween. 

In  his  cell  so  lone  and  cold. 
The  walls  must  be  crumbled,  the  stones  de- 
cayed. 
To  pleasure  his  dainty  whim  ; 
And  the  mouldering  dust  that  years  have 
made 
Is  a  merry  meal  for  him. 

Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  plant  is  the  Ivy  green. 

Fast  he  stealeth  on,  though  he  wears  no 
wings. 
And  a  staunch  old  heart  has  he ! 
How  closely  he  twineth,  how  tight  he  clings 

To  his  friend,  the  huge  oak  tree  ! 
And  slyly  he  traileth  along  the  ground. 

And  his  leaves  he  gently  waves, 
And  he  joyously  twines  and  hugs  around 
The  rich  mould  of  dead  men's  graves. 
Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  jjlant  is  the  Ivy  green. 

Whole  ages  have  fled,  and  their  works  de- 
cayed, 

And  nations  scattered  been ; 
But  the  stout  old  Ivy  shall  never  fade 

From  its  hale  and  hearty  green. 


NOVEMBER. 

The  mellow  year  is  hasting  to  its  close ; 
The  little  birds  have  almost  sung  their  last, 
Their  small  notes  twitter  in  the  dreary  blast — 
That  shrill-piped  harbinger  of  early  snows ; 
The  patient  beauty  of  the  scentless  rose, 
Oft  with  the  morn's  hoar  crystal  quaintly 

glassed. 
Hangs,  a  pale  mourner  for  the  summer  past, 
And  makes  a  little  summer  where  it  grows. 
In  the  chill  sunbeam  of  the  faint  brief  day 
The  dusky  Avaters  shudder  as  they  shine ; 
The  russet  leaves  obstruct  the  straggling  way 
Of  oozy  brooks,  which  no  deep  banks  define ; 
And  the  gaunt  woods,  in  ragged,  scant  array, 
Wrap  their  old  limbs  with  sombre  ivy  twine. 

IIartley  Colekidok. 


GRONGAR  HILL. 

Silent  nymph,  with  curious  eye ! 
Who,  the  purple  evening,  lie 
On  the  mountain's  lonely  van. 
Beyond  the  noise  of  busy  man — 
Painting  fair  the  form  of  things, 
AVhile  the  yellow  linnet  sings. 
Or  the  tuneful  nightingale 
Charms  the  forest  with  her  tale — 
Come,  with  all  thy  various  hues, 
Come,  and  aid  thy  sister  Muse. 
Now,  while  Phoebus,  riding  high. 
Gives  lustre  to  the  land  and  sky, 
Grongar  Hill  invites  my  song — 
Draw  the  landscape  bright  and  strong ; 
Gi'ongar,  in  whose  mossy  cells 
Sweetly  musing  Quiet  dwells; 
Grongar,  in  whose  silent  shade, 
For  the  modest  Muses  made, 


GRONGAR    HILL.                                                            99 

So  oft  I  have,  the  evening  still, 

His  sides  are  clothed  with  waving  wood  ; 

At  the  fountain  of  a  rill, 

And  ancient  towers  crown  bis  brow. 

Sat  upon  a  flowery  bed. 

That  cast  an  awful  look  below  ; 

With  my  hand  beneath  my  head, 

Whose  ragged  walls  the  ivy  creeps. 

While  strayed  my  eyes  o  'er  Towy's  flood, 

And  with  her  arms  from  falling  keeps ; 

Over  mead  and  over  wood. 

So  both,  a  safety  from  the  wind 

From  house  to  house,  from  hill  to  hill, 

In  mutual  dependence  find. 

Till  Contemplation  had  her  fill. 

'T  is  now  the  raven's  bleak  abode  ; 

About  his  checkered  sides  I  wind, 

'T  is  now  th'  apartment  of  the  toad ; 

And  leave  his  brooks  and  meads  behind, 

And  there  the  fox  securely  feeds ; 

And  groves  and  grottoes  where  I  lay. 

And  there  the  poisonous  adder  breeds, 

And  vistas  shooting  beams  of  day. 

Concealed  in  ruins,  moss,  and  weeds ; 

Wide  and  wider  spreads  the  vale. 

While,  ever  and  anon,  there  fall 

As  circles  on  a  smooth  canal. 

Huge  heaps  of  hoary,  mouldered  wall. 

The  mountains  round,  unhappy  fate ! 

Yet  Time  has  seen — that  lifts  the  low 

Sooner  or  later,  of  all  height, 

And  level  lays  the  lofty  brow — 

Withdraw  their  summits  from  the  skies. 

Has  seen  this  broken  pile  complete, 

And  lessen  as  the  others  rise. 

Big  with  the  vanity  of  state. 

Still  the  prospect  wider  spreads. 

But  transient  is  the  smile  of  Fate  I 

Adds  a  thousand  woods  and  meads  ; 

A  little  rule,  a  little  sway. 

Still  it  widens,  widens  still, 

A  sunbeam  in  a  winter's  day, 

And  sinks  tlie  newly-risen  hill. 

Is  all  the  proud  and  mighty  have 

Now  I  gain  the  mountain's  brow  ; 

Between  the  cradle  and  the  grave. 

What  a  landscape  lies  below  ! 

And  see  the  rivers,  how  they  run 

No  clouds,  no  vapors  intervene ; 

Through  woods  and  meads,  in  shade  and  sun 

But  the  gay,  the  open  scene 

Sometimes  swift,  sometimes  slow-  - 

Does  the  face  of  Nature  show 

Wave  succeeding  wave,  they  go 

In  all  the  hues  of  heaven's  bow ! 

A  various  journey  to  the  deep. 

And,  swelling  to  embrace  the  light. 

Like  human  life  to  endless  sleep ! 

Spreads  around  beneath  the  sight. 

Thus  is  Nature's  vesture  wrought 

Old  castles  on  the  cliffs  arise, 

To  instruct  our  wandering  thought ; 

Proudly  towering  in  the  skies ; 

Thus  she  dresses  green  and  gay 

Rushing  from  the  woods,  the  spires 

To  disperse  our  cares  away. 

Seem  from  hence  ascending  fires : 

Ever  charming,  ever  new. 

Half  his  beams  Apollo  sheds 

When  will  the  landscape  tire  the  view  1 

On  the  yellow  mountain-heads 

The  fountain's  fall,  the  river's  flow ; 

Gilds  the  fleeces  of  the  flocks. 

The  woody  valleys,  warm  and  low ; 

And  glitters  on  the  broken  rocks. 

The  windy  summit,  wild  and  high. 

Below  me  trees  unnumbered  rise. 

Roughly  rushing  on  the  sky  ; 

Beautiful  in  various  dyes : 

The  pleasant  seat,  tlie  ruined  tower, 

The  gloomy  pine,  the  poplar  blue. 

The  naked  rock,  the  shady  bower; 

The  yellow  beech,  the  sable  yew, 

The  town  and  village,  dome  and  farm- 

The  slender  fir  that  taper  grows. 

Each  gives  each  a  double  charm. 

Tlie  sturdy  oak  with  broad-spread  boughs  ; 

As  pearls  upon  an  Ethiop's  arm. 

And  beyond,  the  purple  grove. 

See  on  the  mountain's  southern  side, 

Haunt  of  Phyllis,  queen  of  love ! 

Where  the  prospect  opens  wide. 

Gaudy  as  the  opening  dawn. 

Where  the  evening  gilds  the  tide, 

Lies  a  long  and  level  lawn, 

How  close  and  small  tlie  hedges  lie; 

On  which  a  dai-k  bill,  steep  and  high. 

AVhat  streaks  of  meadow  cross  the  eye  I 

Holds  and  charms  the  wandering  eye  ; 

A  step,  methinks,  may  pass  the  stream, 

Deep  are  his  feet  in  Towy's  flood : 

So  little  distant  dangers  seem ; 

100 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


So  wo  mistake  the  Future's  face, 
Eyed  througli  Hope's  deluding  glass  ; 
As  you  summits,  soft  and  fair, 
Clad  in  colors  of  tlio  air, 
"Which  to  those  Avho  journey  near. 
Barren,  brown,  and  rough  appear ; 
Still  we  tread  the  same  coarse  way — 
The  present's  still  a  cloudy  day. 

Oil  may  I  witli  myself  agree, 
And  never  covet  what  I  see ; 
Content  me  with  an  humble  shade, 
My  passions  tamed,  my  wishes  laid ; 
For  while  our  wishes  wildly  roll, 
We  banish  quiet  from  the  soul. 
'T  is  thus  the  busy  beat  the  air, 
And  misers  gather  wealth  and  care. 

Xow,  even  now,  my  joys  run  high. 
As  on  the  mountain  turf  I  lie  ; 
"While  the  wanton  Zephyr  sings. 
And  in  the  vale  perfumes  his  wings ; 
"While  the  waters  murmur  deep; 
"While  the  shepherd  charms  his  sheep ; 
"Wliile  the  birds  unbounded  fly, 
And  with  music  fill  the  sky, 
N^ow,  even  now,  my  joys  run  high. 

Be  full,  ye  courts ;  be  great  who  will ; 
Search  for  Peace  with  all  your  skill ; 
Open  wide  the  lofty  door, 
Seek  her  on  the  marble  floor. 
In  vain  you  search  ;  she  is  not  here ! 
In  vain  you  search  the  domes  of  Care ! 
Grass  and  flowers  Quiet  treads, 
On  the  meads  and  mountain-heads. 
Along  Avith  Pleasure — close  allied. 
Ever  by  each  other's  side ; 
And  often,  by  the  murmuring  rill, 
Hears  the  thrush,  while  all  is  still 
Within  the  groves  of  Grongar  Hill. 

John  Dtee. 


FOLDIXG  THE  FLOCKS. 

Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair, 
Fold  your  flocks  up  ;  for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thicken,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 
See  the  dew-drops,  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is ; 


Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads. 

Like  a  string  of  crystal  beads. 

See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling 

And  bright  Hesperus  down  calling 

The  dead  night  from  under  ground  ; 

At  whose  rising,  mists  unsound. 

Damps  and  vapors,  fly  apace. 

And  hover  o  'er  the  smiling  face 

Of  these  pastures ;  where  they  come, 

Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom. 

Therefore  from  such  danger  lock 

Every  one  his  loved  flock ; 

And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without, 

Lest  the  wolf  come  as  a  scout 

From  the  mountain,  and  ere  day, 

B«ar  a  lamb  or  kid  away ; 

Or  the  crafty,  thievish  fox, 

Break  upon  your  simple  flocks. 

To  secure  yourself  from  these. 

Be  not  too  secure  in  ease  ; 

So  shall  you  good  shepherds  prove. 

And  deserve  your  master's  love. 

Now,  good  night !  may  sweetest  slumbers 

And  soft  silence  fall  in  numbers 

On  your  eyelids.     So  farewell : 

Thus  I  end  my  evening  knell. 

BeATJMONT  and    FLETCnEE 


BUGLE  SO^-G. 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story ; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakesi, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow !  set  the  wild  echoes  fly- 
ing; 
Blow,  bugle ;    answer,  echoes — dying,  dying, 
dying ! 

Oh  hark,  oh  hear!  how  thin  and  clear, 

And  thinner,  clearer,  further  going ! 
O  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar. 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow !  lot  us  hear  the  purple  glens  reply- 
ing ; 

Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes— dying,  dying, 
dying ! 


EVENING. 


101 


O  love,  they  die  in  yon  ricli  sky ; 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  for  ever  and  for  ever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow !  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer — dying,  dying, 
dying! 

AlPEED   TENNTSOIy'. 


THE  EVENING  WIND. 

Spirit  that  breathest  through  my  lattice !  thou 
That  cool'st  the  twilight  of  the  sultry  day! 
Gratefully  flows  thy  freshness    round    my 
brow ; 
Thou  hast  been  out  upon  the  deep  at  play, 
Eiding  all  day  the  wild  blue  waves  till  now. 
Roughening    their  crests,   and  scattering 
high  their  spray. 
And  swelling  the  white  sail.    I  welcome  thee 
To  the  scorched  land,  thou  wanderer  of  the 
sea! 


Nor  I  alone — a  thousand  bosoms  round 
Inhale  thee  in  the  fulness  of  delight ; 

And  languid  forms  rise  up,  and  pulses  bound 
Livelier,  at  coming  of  the  wind  of  night ; 

And  languishing  to  hear  thy  welcome  sound, 
Lies  the  vast  inland,  stretched  beyond  the 
sight. 

Go  forth  into  the  gathering  shade ;  go  forth — 

God's  blessing  breathed  upon  the  fainting 
earth ! 

Go,  rock  the  little  wood-bird  in  his  nest ; 
Curl  the  still  waters,  bright  with  stars;  and 
rouse 
The  wide,  old  wood  from  his  majestic  rest, 

Summoning,  from  the  innumerable  boughs, 
The  strange  deep  harmonics  that  haunt  his 
breast. 
Pleasant  shall  be  thy  way  where  meekly 
bows 
The  shutting  flower,  and  darkling  waters  pass, 
A.nd  where  the  o'ershadowing  branches  sweej) 
the  grass. 


Stoop  o'er  the  place  of  graves,  and  softly  sway 
The  sighing  herbage  by  the  gleaming  stone; 

That  they  who  near  the  churchyard  willows 
stray. 
And  listen  in  the  deepening  gloom,  alone, 

May  think  of  gentle  souls  that  passed  away, 
Like  thy  pure  breath,  into  the  vast  unknown, 

Sent  forth  from  heaven  among  the  sons  of 
men. 

And  gone  into  the  boundless  heaven  again. 

The  faint  old  man  shall  lean  his  silver  head 
To  feel  thee ;    thou  shalt  kiss  the  child 
asleep. 

And  dry  the  moistened  curls  that  overspread 
His  temples,   while  his  breathing  grows 
more  deep ; 

And  they  who  stand  about  the  sick  man's  bed 
Shall  joy  to  listen  to  thy  distant  sweep, 

And  softly  part  his  curtains  to  allow 

Thy  visit,  grateful  to  his  burning  brow. 


Go — but  the  circle  of  eternal  change, 

Which  is  the  life  of  Nature,  shall  restore, 
With  sounds  and  scents  from  all  thy  mighty 
range, 
Thee  to  thy  birth-place  of  the  deep  onco 
more. 
Sweet  odors  in  the  sea  air,  sweet  and  strange. 
Shall  tell  the  home-sick  mariner  of   the 
shore ; 
And,  listening  to  thy  murmur,  he  shall  deem 
He  hears  the  rustling  leaf  and  running  stream. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


EVENING. 

Sweet  after  showers,  ambrosial  air, 
That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 

And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below. 
Through  all  the  dewy-tasscllcd  wood. 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 

111  ripples — fan  my  brows  and  blow 


102 


rOEMS   OF   NATURE. 


The  fever  from  my  cbeek,  and  sigli 
The  full  i\Q\v  life  that  feeds  thy  breatli 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 

111  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  tc  belt  of  crimson  seas, 
On  leagues  of  odor  streaming  far, 
To  where,  in  yonder  orient  star, 

A  hundred  spirits  whisper  "Peace!  " 

Alfred  Tenntsok. 


ODE  TO  EVEITING. 

If  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  pastoral  song. 
May  hope,  chaste  Eve,  to  soothe  thy  modest 
ear. 
Like  thy  own  brawling  springs, 
Thy  springs,  and  dying  gales — 

O  ISTymph  reserved,  while  now  the  bright- 
haired  Sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whose  cloudy  skii'ts. 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 

O'erhang  his  wavy  bed. 

Now  air  is  hushed,  save  where  the  weak- 
eyed  bat 
With  short  shrill  shriek  flits  by  on  leathern 
wing ; 
Or  where  the  beetle  winds 
His  small  but  sullen  horn, 

As  oft  he  rises  'midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum ; 
Now  teach  me,  maid  composed, 
To  breathe  some  softened  strain, 

Whose  numbers,  stealing  through  thy  dark- 
ening vale. 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit ; 

As,  musing  slow,  I  hail 

Thy  genial, loved  return! 

For  when  thy  folding  star  arising  shows 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  fragrant  Hours,  and  elves 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day. 


And  many  a  nymph  who  wreathes  her  browi 

with  sedge. 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew;  and,  lovcliei 
still. 
The  pensive  pleasures  sweet. 
Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

Then  let  me  rove   some  wild   and  heathj 

scene ; 
Or  find  some  ruin,  'midst  its  dreary  dells, 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 

By  thy  religious  gleams. 

Or,  if  chill  blustering  winds,  or  driving  rain, 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut 
That,  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Yiews  wilds,  and  swelling  floods. 

And  hamlets  bi'own,    and  dim    discovered 

sjnres ; 
And  hears  their  simple  bell,  and  marks  o'er 
all 
Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 
The  gradual  dusky  veil. 

While  Spring  shall  pour  his  showers,  as  oft 

he  wont. 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve ! 

While  Summer  loves  to  sport 

Beneath  thy  lingering  light ; 

While  sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air, 

Affrights  thy  shrinking  train. 

And  rudely  rends  thy  robes  ; 

So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule. 
Shall    Fancy,   Friendship,    Science,    smiling 
Peace, 
Thy  gentlest  influence  own. 
And  love  thy  fiivorite  name ! 

■William  Collins. 


TO  THE  EVENING  STAPv. 

Stab  that  bringest  home  the  bee. 
And  sett'st  the  weary  laborer  free  1 
If  any  star  shed  i^eace,  't  is  thou, 

That  send'st  it  from  above. 
Appearing  when  Heaven's  breath  and  brow 

Are  sweet  as  hers  we  love. 


EVENING. 


103 


Come  to  the  luxuriant  skies, 
Whilst  the  landscape's  odors  rise, 
Whilst,  far  oft',  lowing  herds  are  heard, 

And  songs  when  toil  is  done, 
From  cottages  whose  smoko  unstirred 

Curls  yellow  in  the  sun. 

Star  of  love's  soft  interviews, 
Parted  lovers  on  thee  muse ; 
Their  remembrancer  in  Heaven 

Of  thrilling  vows  thou  art, 
Too  delicious  to  he  riven, 

By  absence,  from  the  heart. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


EVENING  IN"  THE  ALP&. 

Come,  golden  Evening !  in  the  west 

Enthrone  the  storm-dispelling  sun, 
And  let  the  triple  rainbow  rest 

O'er  all  the  mountain-tops.     'Tis  done  ;- 
The  tempest  ceases ;  bold  and  bright, 

The  rainbow  shoots  from  hill  to  hill ; 
Down  sinks  the  sun  ;  on  presses  night ; — 

Mont  Blanc  is  lovely  still ! 

There  take  thy  stand,  my  spirit ; — spread 

The  world  of  shadows  at  thy  feet ; 
And  mai'k  how  calmly,  overhead. 

The  stars,  like  saints  in  glory,  meet. 
While  hid  in  solitude  sublime, 

Methinks  I  muse  on  Nature's  tomb, 
And  hear  the  passing  foot  of  Time 

Step  through  the  silent  gloom. 

All  in  a  moment,  crash  on  crash, 

From  precipice  to  precipice 
An  avalanche's  ruins  dash 

Down  to  the  nethermost  abyss. 
Invisible  ;  the  car  alone 

Pursues  the  uproar  tUl  it  dies ; 
Echo  to  echo,  groan  for  groan, 

From  deep  to  deep  replies. 

Silence  again  the  darkness  seals, 

Darkness  that  may  be  felt ; — but  soon 

The  silver-clouded  east  reveals 
The  midnight  spectre  of  the  moon. 


In  half-eclipse  she  lifts  her  horn, 
Yet  o'er  the  host  of  heaven  supreme 

Brings  the  faint  semblance  of  a  morn. 
With  her  awakening  beam. 

Ah  !  at  her  touch,  these  Alpine  heights 

Unreal  mockeries  appear ; 
With  blacker  shadows,  ghastlier  lights. 

Emerging  as  she  climbs  the  sphere ; 
A  crowd  of  apparitions  pale  ! 

I  hold  my  breath  in  chill  suspense — 
They  seem  so  exquisitely  frail — 

Lest  they  should  vanish  hence. 

I  breathe  again,  I  freely  breathe  ; 

Thee,  Leman's  Lake,  once  more  I  trace, 
Like  Dian's  crescent  far  beneath. 

As  beautiful  as  Dian's  face : 
Pride  of  the  land  that  gave  me  birth  ! 

All  that  thy  waves  reflect  I  love. 
Where  heaven  itself,  brought  down  to  earth, 

Looks  fairer  than  above. 

Safe  on  thy  banks  again  I  stray ; 

The  trance  of  poesy  is  o'er, 
And  I  am  here  at  dawn  of  day. 

Gazing  on  mountains  as  before. 
Where  all  the  strange  mutations  wrought 

Were  magic  feats  of  my  own  mind : 
For,  in  that  fairy  land  of  thought, 

Whate'er  I  seek,  I  find. 

Yet,  0  ye  everlasting  hills ! 

Buildings  of  God,  not  made  with  hands. 
Whose  word  performs  whate'er  He  -wills. 

Whose  word,  though  ye  shall  perish,  stands; 
Can  there  be  eyes  that  look  on  you, 

Till  tears  of  rapture  make  them  dim, 
Nor  in  his  works  the  Maker  view, 

Then  lose  his  works  in  Him  ? 

By  me,  w^ien  I  behold  Ilim  not. 

Or  love  Him  not  when  I  behold. 
Be  all  I  ever  knew  forgot — 

My  pulse  stand  still,  my  heart  grow  cold ; 
Transformed  to  ice,  'twixt  earth  and  sky. 

On  yonder  clift"  my  form  be  seen. 
That  all  may  ask,  but  none  reply, 

What  my  otfence  hath  been. 

James  Montgomery. 


104 


rOEMS   OF   NATURE. 


TO  NIGHT. 

Swiftly  walk  over  tlio  western  wave, 

Spirit  of  night ! 
Out  of  the  misty  eastern  cave, 
"Where,  all  the  long  and  lone  daylight, 
Tliou  wovest  dreams  of  joy  and  fear 
Wbieh  make  thee  terrible  and  dear — 

Swifl  be  thy  flight ! 

Wrap  thy  form  in  a  mantle  gray, 

Star-inwrouglit ; 
Blind  witli  thine  hair  the  eyes  of  Day, 
Kiss  her  nntil  she  be  wearied  out ; 
Then  wander  o'er  city  and  sea  and  land. 
Touching  all  with  thine  opiate  wand — 

Come,  long-sought! 

When  I  arose  and  saw  the  dawn, 

I  sighed  for  tliee ; 
When  light  rode  high,  and  the  dew  was  gone. 
And  noon  lay  heavy  on  flower  and  tree. 
And  the  weary  Day  turned  to  her  rest, 
Lingering  like  an  unloved  guest, 

I  sighed  for  thee  ? 

Thy  brother  Death  came,  and  cried, 

"Wouldstthoume?" 
Thy  sweet  child  Sleep,  tlie  filmy-eyed, 

Murmm-ed  like  a  noontide  bee, 
"  Shall  I  nestle  near  thy  side  ? 
Wouldst  thou  me?  " — And  I  replied, 

"Jfo,  not  thee!" 

Death  will  come  when  thou  art  dead, 

Soon,  too  soon — 
Sleep  will  come  when  thou  art  fled ; 
Of  neither  would  I  ask  the  boon 
I  ask  of  thee,  beloved  Night — 
Swift  be  thine  approaching  flight. 

Come  soon,  soon ! 

Percy  Btsshe  SnELLKT. 


TO  CYXTIIIA. 

QcEEX  and  Imntress,  chaste  and  fair. 
Now  tlie  sun  is  laid  to  sleep, 

Seated  in  thy  silver  chair. 
State  in  wonted  manner  keep : 

Ilcsperus  entreats  thy  light. 
Goddess  excellently  bright ! 


Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose ; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  cleai*  when  day  did  close; 
Bless  us,  then,  with  wished  sight, 
Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart, 

And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver ; 

Give  unto  thy  flying  hart 

Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever ; 

Thou  that  makest  a  day  of  night, 

Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

Ben  Jonson. 


MOONEISE. 

What  stands  upon  the  highland  ? 

What  walks  across  the  rise. 
As  though  a  starry  island 

Were  sinking  down  the  skies  ? 

What  makes  the  trees  so  golden  ? 

What  decks  the  mountain  side. 
Like  a  veil  of  silver  folden 

Eound  the  white  brow  of  a  bride  ? 

The  magic  moon  is  breaking, 


Like  a  conqueror,  from  the  east, 
le  waiting  world  awaking 
To  a  golden  fauy  feast. 


She  works,  with  touch  ethereal, 
By  changes  strange  to  see, 

The  cypress,  so  funereal, 
To  a  lightsome  fairy  tree ; 

Black  rocks  to  marble  turning, 

Like  palaces  of  kings ; 
On  ruin  windows  burning, 

A  festal  glory  flings ; 

The  desert  halls  uplightiug. 
While  falling  shadows  glance, 

Like  courtly  crowds  uniting 
For  the  banquet  or  the  dance; 

With  ivory  wand  she  numbers 
The  stars  along  the  sky ; 

And  breaks  the  billows'  slumbers 
With  a  love-glance  of  her  eye ; 


THE   HARVEST   MOON. 


105 


Along  the  cornfields  dances, 

Brings  bloom  upon  the  sheaf; 
From  tree  to  tree  she  glances, 

And  touches  leaf  by  leaf; 

Wakes  birds  that  sleep  in  shadows ; 

Through  their  half-closed  eyelids  gleams ; 
With  her  white  torch  through  the  meadows 

Lights  the  shy  deer  to  the  streams. 

The  magic  moon  is  breaking. 
Like  a  conqueror,  from  the  east, 

And  the  joyous  world  partaking 
Of  her  golden  fairy  feast. 

Ernest  Jones. 


SONNET. 

TuE  crimson  Moon,  uprising  from  the  sea, 
With  large  dehght  foretells  the  harvest  near. 
Ye  shepherds,  now  prepare  your  melody. 
To  greet  the  soft  appearance  of  her  sphere ! 

And  like  a  page,  enamored  of  her  train, 
The  star  of  evening  glimmers  in  the  west : 
Then  raise,  ye  shepherds,  your  observant 

strain. 
That  so  of  the  Great  Shepherd  here  are  blest ! 

Our  fields  are  full  with  the  time-ripened  grain, 

Oiu*  vineyards  with  the  purple  clusters  swell; 

Her  golden  splendor  glimmers  on  the  main. 

And  vales  and  mountains  her  bright  glory 

tell. 

Then  sing,  ye  shepherds !  for  the  time  is  come 

When  we  must  bring  the  enriched  harvest 

home. 

Lord  Thuelow. 


TO  TBE  HAEVEST  MOON. 

Cum  ruit  imbi-lfernm  vcr: 
Splcea  jam  campis  cum  mcssis  inhorruit,  et  cum 
Frumenta  in  viridi  stipula  luctentia  turgent. 

Cuncta  tibi  Cererem  pubes  agrestis  adorct. 

ViKGIL. 

Moox  of  Harvest,  herald  mild 
Of  Plenty,  rustic  labor's  child. 
Hail !  oh  hail !  I  greet  thy  beam. 
As  soft  it  trembles  o'er  the  stream. 
And  gilds  the  straw-thatched  hamlet  wide. 
Where  Innocence  and  Peace  reside ! 
18 


'Tis  thou  that  gladd'st  with  joy  the  rustic 

throng, 
Promptest  the  tripping  dance,  the  exhilfirat- 

ing  song. 

Moon  of  Harvest,  I  do  love 

O'er  the  uplands  now  to  rove. 

While  thy  modest  ray  serene 

Gilds  the  wide  surrounding  scene ; 

And  to  watch  thee  riding  high 

In  the  blue  vault  of  the  sky. 
Where  no  thin  vapor  intercepts  thy  ray. 
But  in  unclouded  majesty  thou  waJkest   on 
thy  way. 

Pleasing  't  is,  O  modest  Moon  ! 
Now  the  night  is  at  her  noon, 
'Neath  thy  sway  to  musing  lie. 
While  around  the  zephyrs  sigh, 
Fanning  soft  the  sun-tanned  wheat, 
Eipened  by  the  summer's  heat ; 
Picturing  all  the  rustic's  joy 
When  boundless  plenty  greets  his  eye, 

And  thinking  soon, 

O  modest  Moon ! 
How  many  a  female  eye  will  roam 

Along  the  road, 

To  see  the  load. 
The  last  dear  load  of  harvest-home. 

Storms  and  tempests,  floods  and  rains, 

Stern  despoilers  of  the  plains. 

Hence,  away,  the  season  flee. 

Foes  to  light-heart  jollity ! 

May  no  winds  careering  high 

Drive  the  clouds  along  the  sky. 
But  may  all  Nature  smile  v.ith  aspect  boon. 
When  in  the  heavens  thou  show'st  thy  face, 
O  harvest  Moon ! 

'Neath  yon  lowly  roof  ho  lies, 
The  husbandman,  with  sleep-sealed  eyes  : 
He  dreams  of  crowded  barns,  and  round 
Tlie  yard  he  hears  the  flail  resound  ; 
Oh  !  may  no  hurricane  destroy 
His  visionary  views  of  joy ! 
God  of  the  winds !  oh,  hear  his  humble  prayer, 
And  while  the  Moon  of  Harvest  shines,  thy 
blustering  whirlwind  spare. 

Sons  of  luxury,  to  you 

Leave  I  Sleep's  dull  power  to  avoo  ; 


100 


rOEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Press  yo  still  tho  downy  bed, 
While  feverish  dreams  surround  your  head ; 
I  will  seek  tho  woodland  glade, 
Teuotrate  the  thickest  shade, 
"Wrapped  in  Contemplation's  dreams, 
Musing  high  on  holy  themes. 
While  on  the  gale 
Shall  softly  sail 
The  nightingale's  enchanting  tune. 
And  oft  my  eyes 
Sliall  grateful  rise 
To  tlieo,  the  modest  Harvest  Moon ! 

Hexkt  Kikkb  White. 


Why  do  Ave,  then,  shun  Death  with  anxious 

strife? — 
If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life? 

BL.INCO  White. 


XIGHT  SOl!fG. 

The  moon  is  up  in  splendor, 
And  golden  stars  attend  her ; 

The  heavens  are  calm  and  bright; 
Trees  cast  a  deepening  shadow, 
And  slowly  off  the  meadow 

A  mist  is  rising  silver-white. 

Night's  curtains  now  are  closing 
Eound  half  a  world  reposing 

In  calm  and  holy  trust. 
All  seems  one  vast,  still  chamber. 
Where  weary  hearts  remember 

N'o  more  the  sorrows  of  the  dust. 

Matthias  Claudius.  (German.) 
Translation  of  C.  T.  Beooks. 


TO  XIGnT. 

Mtsteriocs  Night!    when   our  first  parent 

knew 
Thee  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame. 
This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 
Yet  'neath  the  curtain  of  translucent  dew. 
Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came. 
And  lo !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 
WIio  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay 

concealed 
Within  thy  beams,  O  San!  or  who  could  find. 
While  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  lay  revealed, 
That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  raad'st  us 

blind! 


SONG.— THE  OWL. 

WnEisr  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 

And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground. 
And  the  far-off  stream  is  dumb. 
And  the  w^hii-ring  sail  goes  round, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

Wlien  merry  milkmaids  click  the  latch. 

And  rarely  smells  the  new-mown  hay, 
And  the  cock  hath  sung  beneath  the  thatch 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay. 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 


SECOND  soxc 


-TO  THE  SAME. 


Thy  tuwhits  are  lulled,  I  wot. 
Thy  tuwhoos  of  yesternight, 
Wiiich,  upon  the  dark  afloat. 
So  took  echo  with  delight, 
So  took  echo  with  delight. 

That  her  voice,  untuneful  grown. 
Wears  all  day  a  fainter  tone. 

I  would  mock  thy  chaunt  anew ; 

But  I  cannot  mimic  it ; 
Not  a  whit  of  thy  tuwhoo, 
Thee  to  woo  to  thy  tuwhit. 
Thee  to  woo  to  thy  tuwhit, 
With  a  lengthened  loud  halloo, 
Tuwhoo,  tuwhit,  tuwhit,  tuwhoo-o-o. 

AlFKED  TENNY80N. 


THE  OWL. 

While  the  moon,  with  sudden  gleam. 
Through  the  clouds  that  cover  her. 

Darts  her  light  upon  the  stream, 
And  the  poplars  gently  stir ; 


A   DOUBTING   HEART. 


101 


Pleased  I  heai-  thy  boding  ciy, 
Owl,  that  lov'st  the  cloudy  sky! 
Sui'e  thy  notes  are  harmony. 

While  the  maiden,  pale  Tritli.  care, 

"Wanders  to  the  lonely  shade, 
Sighs  her  sorrows  to  the  air. 

While  the  flowerets  round  her  fade, — 
Shrhiks  to  hear  thy  boding  cry ; 
Owl,  that  lov'st  the  cloudy  sky, 
To  her  it  is  not  harmony. 

While  the  wretch  with  mournful  dole, 

Wrings  his  hands  in  agony, 
Praying  for  his  brother's  soul, 
Whom  he  pierced  suddenly, — 
Shrinks  to  hear  thy  boding  cry; 
Owl,  that  lov'st  the  cloudy  sky, 

To  him  it  is  not  harmony. 

ANONTMorrs. 


THE  CRICKET. 

IjtTTLE  inmate,  full  of  mirth. 
Chirping  on  my  kitchen  hearth, 
Wheresoe'er  be  thine  abode 
Always  harbinger  of  good. 
Pay  me  for  thy  warm  reti-eat 
With  a  song  more  soft  and  sweet ; 
In  return  thou  shalt  receive 
Such  a  strain  as  I  can  give. 

Thus  thy  praise  shall  be  expressed, 
InoflFensive,  welcome  guest ! 
While  the  rat  is  on  the  scout, 
And  the  mouse  with  curious  snout. 
With  what  vermin  else  infest 
Every  dish,  and  spoil  the  best; 
Frisking  thus  before  the  fire, 
Thou  hast  all  thy  heart's  desire. 

Tliough  in  voice  and  shape  they  be 
Formed  as  if  akin  to  thee, 
Thou  surpassest,  happier  far. 
Happiest  grasshoppers  that  are  ; 
Theirs  is  but  a  summer's  song — 
Thine  endures  the  winter  long, 
Unimpaired,  and  shrill,  and  clear, 
Melody  throughout  the  year. 

"WiLLlAJI   COWPEB. 


TO  A  CRICKET. 

Voice  of  Summer,  keen  and  shrill, 
Chii'ping  round  my  winter  fire. 
Of  thy  song  I  never  tire. 
Weary  others  as  they  will ; 
For  thy  song  with  Summer's  filled — 
FUled  Avith  sunshine,  filled  with  June ; 
Firelight  echo  of  that  noon 
Heard  in  fields  when  all  is  stilled 
In  the  golden  light  of  May, 
Bringhig  scents  of  new-mown  hay. 
Bees,  and  birds,  and  flowers  away : 
Prithee,  haunt  my  fireside  still. 
Voice  of  Summer,  keen  and  shrOl ! 

"William  C.  Benxett. 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  SWALLOW 

Aot)  is  the  swallow  gone  ? 

Who  beheld  it? 

Which  way  saUed  it  ? 
Farewell  bade  it  none  ? 

No  mortal  saw  it  go : — 

But  who  doth  hear 

Its  summer  cheer 
As  it  flitteth  to  and  fro  ? 

So  the  freed  spirit  flies  ! 

From  its  surrounding  clay 

It  steals  away 
Like  the  swallow  from  the  skies. 

Whither?  wherefore  doth  it  go? 

'T  is  all  unknown ; 

We  feel  alone 

That  a  void  is  left  below. 

"William  Howitt. 


A  D0LT3TIXG  HEART. 

WiiEKE  are  the  swallows  fled  ? 

Frozen  and  dead 
Perchance  upon  some  bleak  and  stormy  shore 
O  doubting  heart ! 
Far  over  purple  seas. 
They  wait,  in  sunny  ease, 
The  balmy  southern  breeze 
To  bring  them  to  their  northern  homes  once 
more. 


lOS 


POEMS    OF   NATURE. 


Why  must  the  flowers  die  ? 

Prisoned  they  lie 
In  the  cold  tomb,  heedless  of  tears  or  rain. 
0  doubting  heart ! 
They  only  sleep  below 
The  soft  white  ermine  snow 
While  winter  winds  shall  blow, 
To  breathe  and  smile  upon  you  soon  again. 

The  sun  has  hid  its  rays 

These  many  days ; 
Will  dreary  hours  never  leave  the  earth  ? 
0  doubting  heart ! 
.  The  stormy  clouds  on  high 
Veil  the  same  sunny  sky 
That  soon,  for  Spring  is  nigh, 
Shall  wake  the  Summer  into  golden  mirth. 

Fair  hope  is  dead,  and  light 

Is  quenched  in  night ; 
What  soimd  can  break  the  silence  of  despair  ? 
O  doubting  heart ! 
The  sky  is  overcast, 
Yet  stars  shall  rise  at  last. 
Brighter  for  darkness  past. 
And  angels'  silver  voices  stu'  the  air, 

Adelaide  Anxe  Peoctee. 


FAXOY. 


Ever  let  the  Fancy  roam  ; 

Pleasure  never  is  at  home : 

At  a  touch  sweet  Pleasure  melteth 

Like  to  bubbles  when  rain  pelteth ; 

Then  let  winged  Fancy  wander 

Through  the  thought  still  spread  beyond  her ; 

Open  wide  the  mind's  cage-door— 

She  'H  dart  forth,  and  cloud  ward  soar. 

0  sweet  Fancy !  let  her  loose ! 

Summer's  joys  arc  spoilt  by  use. 

And  the  enjoying  of  the  Spring 

Fades  as  does  its  blossoming. 

Autumn's  red-lipped  fruitage  too. 

Blushing  through  the  mist  and  dew, 

Cloys  with  tasting.     What  do  then? 

Sit  thee  by  the  ingle,  when 

The  sear  faggot  blazes  briglit, 

Spirit  of  a  winter's  night ; 

When  the  soundless  earth  is  mufiied, 

And  the  caked  snow  is  shuffled 


From  the  ploughboy's  heavy  shoon ; 

When  the  Night  doth  meet  the  Noon 

In  a  dark  conspiracy 

To  banish  Even  from  her  sky. 

Sit  thee  there,  and  send  abroad. 

With  a  mind  self-overawed, 

Fancy,  high-commissioned ; — send  her ! 

She  has  vassals  to  attend  her ; 

She  will  bring,  in  spite  of  frost. 

Beauties  that  the  earth  hath  lost; — 

She  will  bring  thee,  all  together. 

All  delights  of  summer  weather ; 

All  the  buds  and  bells  of  May, 

From  dewy  sward  or  thorny  spray ; 

All  the  heaped  Autumn's  wealth  ; — 

With  a  still,  mysterious  stealth  ; 

She  will  mix  these  pleasures  up 

Like  three  fit  wines  in  a  cup. 

And  thou  shalt  quaff  it, — thou  shalt  hear 

Distant  harvest-carols  clear — 

Rustle  of  the  reaped  corn ; 

Sweet  birds  antheming  the  morn ; 

And,  in  the  same  moment — ^liark ! 

'T  is  the  early  April  lark, — 

Or  the  rooks,  with  busy  caw. 

Foraging  for  sticks  and  straw. 

Thou  shalt,  at  one  glance,  behold 

The  daisy  and  the  marigold ; 

White-plumed  lilies,  and  the  first 

Hedge-grown  primrose  that  hath  burst ; 

Shaded  hyacinth,  alway 

Sapphire  queen  of  the  mid-May  ; 

And  every  leaf,  and  every  flower 

Pearled  with  the  self-same  shower. 

Thou  shalt  see  the  field-mouse  peep 

Meagre  from  its  celled  sleep : 

And  the  snake,  all  winter-thin. 

Oast  on  sunny  bank  its  skin ; 

Freckled  nest-eggs  thou  shalt  see 

Hatching  in  the  hawthorn-tree, 

When  the  hen-bird's  wing  doth  rest 

Quiet  on  her  mossy  nest ; 

Then  the  hurry  and  alarm 

When  the  bee-hive  casts  its  swai'm ; 

Acorns  ripe  down-pattering 

Wliile  the  autumn  breezes  sing. 

Oh  sweet  Fancy !  let  her  loose ! 
Every  thing  is  spoilt  by  use ; 
Where 's  the  cheek  that  doth  not  fade, 


WINTER   FANCIES. 


109 


Too  much  gazed  at  ?    Where  's  the  maid 

Whose  lip  mature  is  ever  new  ? 

Where 's  the  eye,  however  blue, 

Doth  not  weary?     Where 's  the  face 

One  would  meet  in  every  place  • 

Where 's  the  voice,  however  soft, 

One  would  hear  so  very  oft ! 

At  a  touch  sweet  Pleasure  meltetli 

Like  to  bubbles  when  rain  pelteth. 

Let,  then,  winged  Fancy  find 

Thee  a  mistress  to  thy  mind : 

Dulcet-eyed  as  Ceres'  daughter 

Ere  the  god  of  Torment  taught  her 

How  to  frown  and  how  to  chide  ; 

With  a  waist  and  with  a  side 

White  as  Hebe's  when  her  zone 

Slipt  its  golden  clasp,  and  down 

Fell  her  kirtle  to  her  feet, 

WhUe  she  held  the  goblet  sweet. 

And  Jove  grew  languid. — Break  the  mesh 

Of  the  Fancy's  silken  leash ; 

Quickly  break  her  prison-string, 

And  such  joys  as  these  she  '11  bring. — 

Let  the  winged  Fancy  roam ; 

Pleasure  never  is  at  home. 

John  Keats. 


THE  WINDY  NIGHT. 

Alow  and  aloof. 

Over  the  roof. 
How  the  midnight  tempests  howl ! 
With  a  dreary  voice,  like  the  dismal  tune 
Of  wolves  that  bay  at  the  desert  moon ; 

Or  whistle  and  shriek 

Through  limbs  that  creak. 

"  Tu-who !  Tu-whit !  " 

They  cry,  and  flit, 
"Tu-whit!  Tu-who!"  like  the  solemn  owl! 

Alow  and  aloof. 

Over  the  roof, 
Sweep  the  moaning  winds  amain. 

And  wildly  dash 

The  elm  and  ash. 
Clattering  on  the  window  sash 

With  a  clatter  and  patter 

Like  hail  and  rain. 

That  well  nigh  shatter 

The  dusky  pane ! 


Alow  and  aloof, 

Over  the  roof. 
How  the  tempests  sweU  and  roar ! 

Though  no  foot  is  astir, 

Though  the  cat  and  the  ciu* 
Lie  dozing  along  the  kitchen  floor, 

There  are  feet  of  air 

On  every  staii* — 

Through  every  hall ! 

Through  each  gusty  door 

There 's  a  jostle  and  bustle. 

With  a  silken  rustle, 
Like  the  meeting  of  guests  at  a  festival ! 

Alow  and  aloof,. 

Over  the  roof. 
How  the  stormy  tempests  swell ! 

And  make  the  vane 

On  the  spire  complain ; 
They  heave  at  the  steeple  with  might  and  main, 

And  burst  and  sweep 

Into  the  belfry,  on  the  bell ! 
They  smite  it  so  hard,  and  they  smite  it  so  well, 

That  the  sexton  tosses  his  arms  in  sleep. 
And  dreams  he  is  ringing  a  funeral  knell ! 

Thomas  Bfchanaji  Bead. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  WIND. 

Mouenfullt!  oh,  mournfully 

This  midnight  wind  doth  sigh. 
Like  some  sweet,  plaintive  melody 

Of  ages  long  gone  by ! 
It  speaks  a  tale  of  other  years, — 

Of  hopes  that  bloomed  to  die, — 
Of  sunny  smiles  that  set  in  tears. 

And  loves  that  mouldering  lie ! 

Mournfully !  oh,  mournfully 

This  midnight  wind  doth  moan ! 
It  stirs  some  chord  of  memory 

In  each  dull,  heavy  tone ; 
The  voices  of  the  much-loved  dead 

Seem  floating  thereupon, — 
All,  all  my  fond  heart  cherished 

Ere  death  had  made  it  lone. 

Mournfully!  oh,  mournfully 
This  midnight  wind  doth  svv'ell 

With  its  quaint,  pensive  minstrelsy,- 
Ilope's  passionate  farewell 


110 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


To  tlio  droaoiy  joj's  of  early  years, 

Ere  yet  grief's  canker  fell 
On  the  heart's  bloom, — ay !  well  may  tears 

Start  at  that  parting  knell ! 

"William  Motherwell. 


BLOW,  BLOW,  THOU  WIJTTER  WIM). 

Blow,  blow,  tlioii  winter  wind — 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh  ho!    sing  heigh  ho!    unto  the  green 

holly: 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  lo^dng  mere 
folly; 
Then,  heigh  ho !  the  holly ! 
This  life  is  most  joUy ! 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky — 
Thou  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot ; 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remembered  not. 
Heigh  ho !    sing  heigh  ho !    unto  the  green 

holly: 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere 

folly; 
Then,  heigh  ho!  the  holly! 
This  life  is  most  jolly ! 

SnAKESPEAKE. 


THE  HOLLY-TREE. 

O  EEADEE !  hast  thou  ever  stood  to  see 

The  holly-tree ! 
The  eye  that  contemplates  it  well,  perceives 

Its  glossy  leaves 
Ordered  by  an  intelligence  so  wise 
As  might  confound  the  atheist's  sophistries. 

Below,  a  circHng  fence,  its  leaves  are  seen 

Wrinkled  and  keen ; 
No  grazing  cattle,  through  their  prickly  round. 

Can  reach  to  wound ; 
But  as  they  grow  where  nothing  is  to  fear, 
Smooth   and  unarmed   the  pointless    leaves 
appear. 


I  love  to  view  these  things  with  curious  eyes, 

And  moralize; 
And  in  this  wisdom  of  the  holly-tree 

Can  emblems  see 
Wherewith,  perchance,  to  make  a  pleasant 

rhyme. 
One  which  may  profit  in  the  after-time. 

Thus,   though    abroad,    perchance,   I  might 
appear 

Harsh  and  austere — 
To  those  who  on  my  leisure  would  intrude, 

Reserved  and  rude ; 
Gentle  at  home  amid  my  friends  I  'd  be. 
Like  the  high  leaves  upon  the  holly-tree. 

And  should  my  youth,  as  youth  is  apt,  I  know, 

Some  harshness  show. 
All  vain  asperities  I,  day  by  day. 

Would  wear  away, 
Till  the  smooth  temper  of  my  age  should  be 
Like  the  high  leaves  upon  the  holly-tree. 

And  as,  when  all  the  summer  trees  are"  seen 

So  bright  and  green, 
The  holly-leaves  their  fadeless  hues  display 

Less  bright  than  they ; 
But  when  the  bare  and  wintry  woods  we  see. 
What  then  so  cheerful  as  the  holly-tree  ? 

So,  serious  should  my  youth  appear  among 

The  thoughtless  throng ; 
So  would  I  seem,  amid  the  young  and  gay, 

More  grave  than  they ; 
That  in  my  age  as  cheerful  I  might  be 
As  the  green  wmter  of  the  hoUy-tree. 

EOBEET  SOUTHEY. 


WOODS  IN  WINTER. 

Whes"  winter  winds  are  piercing  chill. 
And  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  gale, 

With  solemn  feet  I  tread  the  hill 
That  overbrows  the  lonely  vale. 

O'er  the  bare  upland,  and  away 

Through  the  long  reach  of  desert  woods, 

The  embracing  sunbeams  chastely  play. 
And  gladden  these  deep  solitudes. 


WINTER. 


Ill 


Where,  twisted  round  the  barren  oak, 
The  summer  vine  in  beauty  clung, 

And  summer  winds  the  stilhiess  broke, — 
Tlie  crystal  icicle  is  hung. 

Where,  from  their  frozen  urns,  mute  springs 
Pour  out  the  river's  gradual  tide, 

Shrilly  the  skater's  iron  rings 
And  voices  fill  the  woodland  side. 

Alas !  how  changed  from  the  fair  scene 
When  birds  sang  out  their  mellow  lay. 

And  winds  were  soft,  and  woods  were  green, 
And  the  song  ceased  not  vrith  the  day. 

But  stm,  wild  music  is  abroad. 

Pale,  desert  woods !  within  your  crowd ; 
And  gathering  winds,  in  hoarse  accord, 

Amid  the  vocal  reeds  pipe  loud. 

Chill  airs  and  wintry  winds !  my  ear 
Has  grown  familiar  with  your  song ; 

I  hear  it  in  the  opening  year, — 
I  listen,  and  it  cheers  me  long. 

Henry  ■Wadswoeth  Longfello'w. 


NOPvTH  WIND. 

LoTJD  wind !   strong  wind !  sweeping  o'er  the 

mountains ; 
Fresh  wind !    free  wind !    blowing  from  the 

sea, 
Pour  forth  thy  vials  like  torrents  from  air 

fountains. 
Draughts  of  life  to  me. 

Clear  wind !  cold  wind !  like  a  northern  giant. 

Stars  brightly  threading  thy  cloud-driven 
hair, 

Thrilling  the  blank  night  with  thy  voice  de- 
fiant— 

Lo !  I  meet  thee  there ! 

Wild  wind !  bold  wind !  like  a  strong-armed 

angel 
Clasp    me    and    kiss    me    with    thy    kisses 

divine ! 
Breathe  in  this  dulled  ear  thy  secret,  sweet 

evangel, — 
Mine,  and  only  mine ! 


Fierce  wind!    mad  wind!    howling  o'er  the 

nations ! 
Knew'st  thou  how  leapeth  my  heart  as  thou 

goest  by. 
Ah !   thou  wouldst  pause  awhile  in  sudden 

patience. 
Like  a  human  sigh ! 

Sharp  wind !    keen  wind !    cutting  as  word 

arrows. 
Empty  thy  quiver-full !   Pass  by !    what  is  '1 

to  thee. 
That    in    some    mortal    eyes    life's    whole 

bright  circle  narrows 
To  one  misery  ? 

Loud  wind!  strong  wind  !  stay  thou  in  the 

mountains ; 
Fresli  wind !  free  wind !  trouble  not  the  sea ! 
Or  lay  thy  deathly  hand  upon  my  heart's 

warm  fountains 
That  I  hear  not  thee ! 

Dinah  Maeia  Mtjxock. 


THE  SFOW-STOEM. 

AxxoTJXCED  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 
Arrives  the  snow  ;  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight ;  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the 

heaven. 
And  veils  the  farm-house  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveller  stopped,  the  courier';* 

feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  ov;t,  the  housemate? 

sit. 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  enclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come  see  the  north  wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry,  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastions  with  projected  rod 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door; 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work 
So  fancifid,  so  savage;  nought  cares  he 
For  number  or  proportion.     Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreathes 
A  swan -like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn ; 
Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 
Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs ;  and  at  the  gate 
A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 


112                                                    POEMS   OF 

NATURE. 

And  wlicn  Lis  hours  are  numbered,  and  the 

Though  these  be  good,  true  wisdom  to  impart : 

world 

He  who  has  not  enough  for  tliese  to  spare, 

Is  all  his  own,  retiring  as  he  were  not, 

Of  time  or  gold,  may  yet  amend  his  lieart, 

Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 

And  teach  his  soid  by  brooks  and  rivers 

To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 

fair — 

Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night-work, 

Nature  is  always  wise  in  every  part. 

The  frohc  architecture  of  the  snow. 

LOKD  TnUKLOW. 

Ealph  "Waldo  Emeeson. 

TO  THE  REDBREAST. 

WINTER  SOXG. 

Sweet   bird!     that  sing'st  away  the  early 

Summer  joys  are  o'er ; 

hours 

Flowerets  bloom  no  more. 

Of  winters  past  or  coming,  void  of  care ; 

"Wintry  winds  are  sweeping ; 

Well  pleased  with  delights  which  present  are. 

Through  the  snow-drifts,  peeping. 

Fair  seasons,  budding  sprays,  sweet-smeUing 

Cheerful  evergreen 

flowers — 

Earely  now  is  seen. 

To  rocks,    to  springs,    to  rUls,   from    leafy 

bowers 

Now  no  plumed  throng 

Thou  thy  Creator's  goodness  dost  declare. 

Charms  the  wood  with  song ; 

And  what  dear  gifts  on  thee  He  did  not  spare. 

Ice-bound  trees  are  glittering ; 

A  stain  to  human  sense  in  sin  that  lowers. 

Merry  snow-birds,  twittering, 

What  soul  can  be  so  sick  which  by  thy  songs 

Fondly  strive  to  cheer 

(Attired  in  sweetness)  sweetly  is  not  di-iven 

Scenes  so  cold  and  drear. 

Quite  to  forget  earth's  turmoils,  spites,  and 

"Winter,  still  I  see 

wrongs, 

Many  charms  in  thee — 

And  lift    a    reverend  eye    and  thought  to 

Love  thy  chilly  greeting. 

Heaven ! 

Snow-storms  fiercely  beating, 

Sweet,  artless  songster!  thou  my  mind  dost 

And  the  dear  delights 

raise 

Of  tlie  long,  long  nights. 

To  airs  of  spheres— yes,  and  to  angels'  lays. 

William  Deummond. 

Lttdwio  Hultt.   (German.) 

Translation  of  C.  T.  Brooks. 

AFTERNOON  IN  FEBRUARY. 

SONNET 

The  day  is  ending. 

TO    A    BIRD    THAT    nATXNTTED    THE    WATERS    OF 

mi             •     1  j_   "       1                  T 

LAAKEN   EST   THE   WIXTER. 

The  night  is  descending ; 

The  marsh  is  frozen, 

0  MELAxcnoLT  bird,  a  winter's  day 

The  river  dead. 

Thou  standest  by  the  margin  of  the  pool, 

And,  taught  by  God,  dost  thy  whole  being 

Through  clouds  like  ashes 

school 

The  red  sun  flashes 

To  patience,  which  all  evil  can  allay. 

On  -s-illage  windows 

God  has  appointed  thee  the  fish  thy  prey. 

That  glimmer  red. 

And  given  thyself  a  lesson  to  the  fool 

Unthrifty,  to  submit  to  moral  rule. 

The  snow  recommences ; 

And  his  unthinking  course  by  thee  to  weigh. 

The  buried  fences 

There  need  not  schools  nor  the  professor's 

Mark  no  longer 

chair, 

The  road  o'er  the  plain ; 

WINTER. 


113 


While  tbrongli  tlie  meadows, 
Like  fearful  shadows, 
Slowly  passes 
A  funeral  train. 

The  bell  is  pealing, 
And  every  feeling 
Within  me  responds 
To  the  dismal  knell ; 


Shadows  are  trailing, 
My  heart  is  bewailing 
And  tolling  within 
Like  a  funeral  bell. 

Henry  Wadswokth  Longfellow. 


A  S02s^G  FOR  THE  SEASONS. 

WiiES  the  merry  lark  doth  gild 

With  his  song  the  summer  honrs, 
And  their  nests  the  swallows  build 

In  the  roofs  and  tops  of  towers. 
And  the  golden  broom-flower  burns 

All  about  the  waste, 
And  tlie  maiden  May  returns 

With  a  pretty  haste,— 

Then,  lioio  merry  are  the  times  ! 

The  Summer  times  !  the  Spring  times  ! 

Now,  from  off  the  ashy  stone 

The  chilly  midnight  cricket  crieth. 
And  all  merry  birds  are  flown. 

And  our  dream  of  pleasure  dieth ; 
Now  the  once  blue,  laughing  sky 

Saddens  into  gray. 
And  the  frozen  rivers  sigh. 

Pining  all  away ! 

Now,  how  solemn  are  the  times  ! 
The  Winter  times!  tJie  Night  times! 

Yet,  be  merry :  all  ai-oiind 

Is  through  one  vast  change  revolving ; 
Even  Night,  who  lately  frowned, 

Is  in  paler  dawn  dissolving; 
Earth  will  burst  her  fetters  strange, 

And  in  Spring  grow  free ; 
All  things  in  tlie  world  will  change. 
Save — my  love  for  thee ! 

Sing  tJien,  hopeful  are  alt  times  ! 
Winter,  Summer,  Spring  times  ! 

Barry  Cornwall. 

19 


DIEGE  FOR  THE  YEAR. 

Oephax  Hours,  the  I'ear  is  dead, 
Come  and  sigh,  come  and  weep ! 

Merry  Hoiu's,  smile  instead, 
For  the  Y'ear  is  but  asleep : 

See,  it  smiles  as  it  is  sleeping. 

Mocking  your  imtimely  weeping. 

As  an  earthquake  rocks  a  corse 

In  its  coffin  in  the  clay. 
So  white  Winter,  that  rough  nurse. 

Rocks  the  dead-cold  Year  to-day ; 
Solemn  Hom-s !  wail  aloud 
For  your  mother  in  her  shroud. 

As  the  wild  air  stirs  and  sways 
The  tree-swung  cradle  of  a  child. 

So  the  breath  of  these  rude  days 
Rocks  the  Year.     Be  calm  and  mild, 

Trembling  Hours ;  she  wiU  arise 

With  new  love  within  her  eyes. 

January  gray  is  here. 

Like  a  sexton  by  her  grave; 

February  bears  the  bier ; 

March  with  grief  doth  howl  and  rave, 

And  April  weeps — but,  O  ye  Hours ! 

Follow  with  May's  fairest  flowers. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


INFLUENCE  OF  NATURAL  OBJECTS 

IN'    CALLING    FORTH    AXD    STKENGTHEXIXG    TIIK 
IMAGINATION   IN   BOTnOOD    AND   YOUTH. 

Wisdom  and  Spirit  of  the  uni^•crse  I 
Thou  Soul,  that  art  the  eternity  of  thought ! 
And  giv'st  to  forms  and  images  a  breath 
And  everlasting  motion !  not  in  vain. 
By  day  or  star-light,  thus  from  my  first  dawn 
Of  childhood  didst  thou  intertwine  for  me 
The  passions  that  build  up  our  human  soul — 
Not  with  the  mean  and  vulgar  works  of  Man, 
But  Avith  high  objects,  with  enduring  tilings, 
With  Life  and  Nature ;  purifying  thus 
The  elements  of  feeling  and  of  thought, 
And  sanctifying  by  such  discipline 
Both  i)ain  and  fear, — until  we  recognize 
A  grandeur  in  the  beatings  of  the  heart. 


lU 


POEMS   OF   NATURE. 


Xui-  was  this  fellowship  vouchsafed  to  me 
Witli  stinted  kindness.     In  November  days, 
AVlieu  vapors  rolling  down  the  valleys  made 
A  lonely  scene  more  lonesome ;  among  woods 
At  noon ;    and   'mid  the   calm   of   summer 

nights, 
When,  by  the  margin  of  the  trembling  lake, 
Beneath  the  gloomy  hills,  homeward  I  went 
In  solitude,  such  intercourse  was  mine. 
'Slma  was  it  in  the  Holds  both  day  and  night, 
And  l)y  the  waters,  all  the  Summer  long; 
And  in  the  frosty  season,  when  the  sun 
"Was  set,  and,  visible  for  many  a  mile. 
The  cottage  windows  through  the  twilight 

blazed, 
I  heeded  not  the  summons.     Happy  time 
It  was  indeed  for  all  of  us ;  for  me 
It  was  a  time  of  rapture !     Clear  and  loud 
The  village-clock  tolled  six ;  I  wheeled  about. 
Proud  and  exulting  like  an  untired  liorse 
That  cares  not  for  his  home.     All  shod  with 

steel, 
VTe  hi-^sed  along  the  polished  ice,  in  games 
Confederate,  imitative  of  the  chase 
And    woodland    pleasures, — the    resounding 

horn. 
The  pack  loud-chiming,  and  the  himted  hare. 
So  through  the  dai'kness  and  the  cold  we  flew, 
And  not  a  voice  was  idle.    With  the  din 
Smitten,  the  precipices  rang  aloud  ; 
The  leafless  trees  and  every  icy  crag 
Tinkled  hke  iron ;  while  far-distant  hills 
Into  the  tumult  sent  an  alien  sound 
Of  melancholy,  not  unnoticed ;  while  the  stars. 
Eastward,  were  sparkling  clear,  and  in  the 

west 
The  orange  sky  of  evening  died  away. 

Xot  seldom  from  the  uproar  I  retired 
Into  a  silent  bay,  or  sportively 
Glanced    sideway,    lea'V'ing    the    tumultuous 

throng. 
To  cut  across  the  reflex  of  a  star — 
Image,  that,  flying  stiU  before  me,  gleamed 
Upon  the  glassy  plain.     And  oftentimes. 
When  we  had  given  our  bodies  to  the  wind. 
And  aU  the  shadowy  banks  on  either  side 
Came  sweeping  through  the  darkness,  spin- 
ning still 
Tlic  rapid  line  of  motion,  then  at  once 
Have  I,  reclining  back  upon  my  heels, 


Stopped  short ;  yet  still  the  solitary  clitfs 
Wheeled  by  me,— even  as  if  the  Earth  had 

rolled 
With  visible  motion  her  diurnal  round  ! 
Behind  me  did  they  stretch  in  solemn  train, 
Feebler  and  feebler ;  and  I  stood  and  watched 
Till  all  was  tranquil  as  a  summer  sea. 

William  Wordsworth. 


HYMN 

BEFORE    SXINEISE,    IX   THE   VALE    OF   CHAMOITNI. 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning-star 
In  his  steep   course?    So  long  he  seems  to 

pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovereign  Blanc ! 
The  Arve  and  Arvciron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly ;  but  thou,  most  awful  Form, 
Eisest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 
How  silently !     Around  thee  and  above 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black — 
An  ebon  mass.     Methinks  thou  piercest  it, 
As  with  a  wedge !  But  when  I  look  again. 
It  is  thine    own    calm    home,   thy    crystal 

shrine. 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity  ! 

0  dread  and  silent  Moimt !  I  gazed  upon  thee. 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 
Didst  vanish  from  my  thought.     Entranced  in 

prayer 

1  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone. 

Yet,  like  some  sweet  beguiling  melody. 
So  sweet  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it. 
Thou,   the  meanwhile,   wast  blending  with 

my  thought — 
Yea,  with  my  life  and  life's  own  secret  joy — 
Till  the  dilating  soul,  cnrapt,  transfused. 
Into  the  mighty  vision  passing — there. 
As    in    her  natural  form,    swelled    vast  to 

Heaven ! 

Awake,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest !  not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
Mute  thanks  and  secret  ecstasy !  Awake, 
Voice   of  sweet  song!     Awake,   my  heart, 

awake ! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn. 


HYMN  IX  THE  TALE  OF  CHAMOUNI. 


115 


Tliou  first  and  cliief,  sole  sovereign  of  the 

vale! 
Oh,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 
Or  -R-hen  they  climb  the  sky  or  when  they 

sink — 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn. 
Thyself  Earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald — wake,  oh  wake,  and  ntter  praise ! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  glad ! 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter 

death. 
From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 
Dowu  t  aose  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 
For  ever  shattered  and  the  same  for  ever  ? 
Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life. 
Your   strength,  your   speed,  your  fury,  and 

your  joy, 
Unceasing  tliunder  and  eternal  foam  ? 
And  who  commanded  (and  the  silence  came), 
Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest  ? 

Ye  ice-faUs!  ye  that  from  the  mountain's 

brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain — 
Torrents,    methinks,    that    heard   a    mighty 

voice, 
And  stopped   at  once  amid  their  maddest 

plunge ! 
Motionless  torrents !  silent  cataracts ! 
Who    made  you    glorious  as  the   gates   of 

Heaven 
Beneath  the  keen   full  moon?    Who  bade 

the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows?     Who.  wit](  liv- 

inir  flowers 


Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your 
feet? 

God ! — let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  na- 
tions. 

Answer !  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God  ! 

God!    sing  ye  meadow-streams  with   glad- 
some voice ! 

Ye  pine-groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like 
sounds ! 

And  they  too  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 

And  in  their    perilous  fall    shall    thunder, 
God! 
Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the   eternal 
frost! 

Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest ! 

Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain-storm  ! 

Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds ! 

Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements ! 

Utter  forth    God,    and  fill    the    hills    with 


praise 


Thou    too,   hoar   Mount!    v/ith    thy   sky- 
pointing  peaks. 
Oft  from  Avhose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard. 
Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure 

serene, 
Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast — 
Thou  too  again,  stupendous  Mountain!  thou 
That  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bowed  low 
In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 
Slow  travelling  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with 

tears, 
Solemnly  seemcst,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 
To  rise  before  me — Rise,  oh  ever  rise ! 
Rise  like  a  cloud  of  incense,  from  the  Earth  ! 
Thou  kingly  Spirit  throned  among  the  hills, 
Thou  dread  ambassador  from  Earth  to  Heaven, 
Great  Ilierarch  !  tell  thou  the  silent  sky. 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun. 
Earth,  Avith  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God. 

Samuel  Taylor  Colekidge. 


PART  11. 
P  0  E  I\l  S      OF      CHILDHOOD 


Piping  down  the  valleys  wild, 
I'iping  songs  of  pleasant  glee, 

On  a  cloud  I  saw  a  child, 

And  he,  laughing,  said  to  me  : 

"Pipe  a  song  about  a  lamb." 

So  I  piped  with  merry  cheei'. 
"  Piper,  pipe  that  song  again." 

So  I  piped  ;  he  wept  to  hear. 

"  Drop  thy  pipe,  thy  happy  pipe. 
Sing  thy  songs  of  happy  cheer.' 

So  I  sung  the  same  again, 

While  he  wept  with  joy  to  hear. 

"  Piper,  sit  thee  down  and  write. 
In  a  book,  that  all  may  read." — 

So  he  vanished  from  my  sight, 
And  I  plucked  a  hollow  reed  ; 

And  1  made  a  rural  pen  ; 

And  I  stained  the  water  cieai 
And  I  wrote  my  happy  songs 

Everj'  child  may  joy  to  hear. 

Wu-LiAM   Blake. 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


BABY  MAY. 

Cheeks  as  soft  as  July  peaches ; 
Lips  whose  dewy  scarlet  teaches 
Poppies  paleness  ;  round  large  eyes 
Ever  great  with  new  surprise  ; 
Minutes  filled  with  shadeless  gladness ; 
Minutes  just  as  brimmed  with  sadness ; 
Happy  smiles  and  wailing  cries  ; 
Crows  and  laughs  and  tearful  eyes ; 
Lights  and  shadows,  swifter  born 
Than  on  wind-swept  autumn  corn ; 
Ever  some  new  tiny  notion, 
Making  every  limb  all  motion  ; 
Catchings  up  of  legs  and  arms  ; 
Throwings  back  and  small  alarms ; 
Clutching  fingers ;  straightening  jerks ; 
Twining  feet  whose  each  toe  works ; 
Kickings  up  and  straining  risings; 
Mother's  ever  new  surprisings  ; 
Hands  all  wants  and  looks  all  wonder 
At  all  things  the  heavens  under ; 
Tiny  scorns  of  smiled  reprovings 
That  have  more  of  love  than  lovings  ; 
Mischiefs  done  with  such  a  winning 
Archness  that  we  prize  such  sinning; 
Breakings  dire  of  plates  and  glasses ; 
Grasj)ings  small  at  all  that  passes ; 
PuUings  off  of  all  that 's  able 
To  be  caught  from  tray  or  table ; 
Silences — small  meditations 
Deep  as  thoughts  of  cares  for  nations ; 
Breaking  into  wisest  speeches 
In  a  tongue  that  nothing  teaches ; 
All  the  thoughts  of  whose  possessing 
Must  be  A\ooed  tn  light  by  guessing ; 


Slumbers — such  sweet  angel-seem  ings 
That  we  'd  ever  have  such  dreamings  ; 
Till  from  sleep  we  see  thee  breaking, 
And  we  'd  always  have  thee  waking ; 
"Wealth  for  which  we  know  no  measure ; 
Pleasure  high  above  all  pleasure ; 
Gladness  brimming  over  gladness  ; 
Joy  in  care ;  delight  in  sadness ; 
Loveliness  beyond  completeness ; 
Sweetness  distancing  all  sweetness ; 
Beauty  all  that  beauty  may  be  ; — 
That 's  May  Bennett ;  that 's  my  baby. 

"William  C.  Bennltt. 


LULLABY. 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea. 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go  ; 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me  ; 
While  my  little  one,  while   7ny  pretty  one, 
sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  "Vest ; 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon. 
Rest,  rest  on  mother's  breast ; 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon. 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest ; 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 

Under  the  silver  moon  ; 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 

ALFnGO   Tennybon 


i:;o 


POEMS   OF    CniLDIIOOl). 


CllOOSlXCr  A  NAME. 

I  ii.vvE  fcot  a  new-born  sister ; 

I  was  nigh  the  first  tliat  kissed  lier. 

Wlion  the  nursiug-woman  brought  her 

To  papa,  his  infant  daughter, 

llow  papa's  dear  eyes  did  ghsten ! — 

She  will  shortly  be  to  christen ; 

And  papa  has  made  the  oiier, 

I  shiUl  have  the  naming  of  her. 

Now  I  wonder  what  would  please  her — 

Charlotte,  Julia,  or  Lousia  ? 

Ann  and  Mary,  they  're  too  common ; 

Joan  's  too  formal  for  a  woman ; 

Jane  's  a  prettier  name  beside  ; 

But  we  had  a  Jane  that  died. 

They  would  say,  if  't  was  Eebecca, 

That  she  was  a  little  Quaker. 

Edith 's  pretty,  but  that  looks 

Better  in  old  English  books ; 

Ellen 's  left  off  long  ago ; 

Blanche  is  out  of  fashion  now. 

None  that  I  have  named  as  yet 

Arc  so  good  as  Margaret. 

Emily  is  neat  and  fine ; 

"What  do  you  think  of  Caroline? 

IIow  I  'm  puzzled  and  perplexed 

"What  to  choose  or  think  of  next ! 

I  am  in  a  little  fever 

Lest  the  name  that  I  should  give  her 

Should  disgrace  her  or  defame  her  ; — 

I  will  leave  papa  to  name  her. 

Maet  Lamb. 


THE  CHRISTENIXG. 

Arrayed — a  half-angelic  sight — 
la  vests  of  pure  baptismal  white. 
The  mother  to  the  Font  doth  bring 
The  little  helpless,  nameless  thing 
"With  hushes  soft  and  mild  caressing, 
At  once  to  get — a  name  and  blessing. 
Close  by  the  babe  the  priest  doth  stand. 
The  cleansing  water  at  his  hand 
"Which  must  assoil  the  soul  witliin 
From  every  stain  of  Adam's  sin. 
The  infant  eyes  the  mystic  scenes, 
Nor  knows  what  all  this  wonder  means ; 


And  now  ho  smiles,  as  if  to  say, 

"  I  am  a  Christian  made  this  day ;  " 

Now  frighted  clings  to  nurse's  hold, 

Shrinking  from  the  water  cold, 

"Whose  virtues,  rightly  understood. 

Are,  as  Bethcsda's  waters,  good. 

Strange  words— The  World,  The  Flesh,  The 

Devil- 
Poor  babe,  what  can  it  know  of  evil? 
But  we  must  silently  adore 
Mysterious  truths,  and  not  explore. 
Enough  for  him,  in  after-times, 
"When  he  shall  read  these  artless  rhymes, 
If,  looking  back  upon  this  day 
"With  quiet  conscience,  he  can  say, 
"  I  have  in  part  redeemed  the  pledge 
Of  my  baptismal  privilege  ; 
And  more  and  more  will  strive  to  flee 
AB.  which  my  sponsors  kind  did  then   re- 
nounce for  me." 

Chaeles  Lamb. 


WILLIE  WINKIE. 

Wee  Willie  Winkie  rins  through  the  town, 
Up  stairs  and  doon  stairs,  in  his  nicht-gown, 
Tirlin'  at  the  window,  cryin'  at  the  lock, 
"  Are  the  weans  in  their  bed  ? — for  it 's  now 
ten  o'clock." 

Hey,  Willie  Winkie  !  are  ye  comin'  ben  ? 
The  cat 's  singin'  gay  thrums  to  the  sleepin' 

hen. 
The  doug's  speldered  on  the  floor,  and  disna 

gie  a  cheep  ; 
But  here 's  a  wauki-ife  laddie,  that  winna  fa' 

asleep, 

Ony  thing  but  sleep,  ye  rogue ! — glow'rin'  like 

the  moon, 
Rattlin'  in  an  airn  jug  wi'  an  aim  spoon, 
Rumblin',  tumblin'  roun'  about,  crawin'  like 

a  cock, 
Skirliu'  like  a  kenna-what — wauknin'  sleepin' 

folk! 

Iley,  Willie  Winkie !  the  wean 's  in  a  creel ! 
Waumblin'  aff  a  bodie's  knee  hke  a  vera  eel, 
Ruggin'  at  the  cat's  lug,  and  ravellin'  a'  her 

thrums : 
Hey,  Willie  Winkie !  —Sec,  there  he  comes ! 


BABYHOOD.                                                                121 

Wearie  is  the  raitlier  that  has  a  storie  wean, 

Some  beloved  Madonna,  bending 

A.  wee  stumpie  stoussie,  that  canna  rin  his 

O'er  the  infant  she  is  tending : 

lane. 

Holy,  bright,  and  undefiled 

That  has  a  hattle  aye  -wV  sleep,  before  he  '11 

Mother  of  the  Heaven-born  child ; 

close  an  ee ; 

Who,  though  painted  strangely  fair, 

But  a  kiss  frae  aff'  his  rosy  lips  gies  strength 

Seems  but  made  for  holy  prayer. 

anew  to  me. 

Pity,  tears,  and  sweet  appeal. 

William  Millee. 

And  fondness  such  as  angels  feel ; 

Bafiiing  earthly  passion's  sigh 
With  serenest  majesty! 

TO  FEItDINAM)  SEYMOUR. 

Oh !  may  those  enshrouded  years 

Rosy  child,  with  forehead  fair, 
Coral  lip,  and  shining  hair. 
In  whose  mirthfal,  clever  eyes 
Such  a  world  of  gladness  hes; 
As  thy  loose  curls  idly  straying 
O'er  thy  mother's  cheek,  while  playing. 
Blend  her  soft  lock's  shadowy  twine 
With  the  glittering  hght  of  thine, — 
Who  shall  say,  who  gazes  now, 
Which  is  fairest,  she  or  thou  ? 

Whose  fair  dawn  alone  appears, — 
May  that  brightly  budding  life, 
Knowing  yet  nor  sin  nor  strife, — 
Bring  its  store  of  hoped-for  joy. 
Mother,  to  thy  laughing  boy  ! 
And  the  good  thou  dost  impart  ' 
Lie  deep -treasured  in  his  heart. 
That,  when  he  at  length  shall  strive 
In  the  bad  world  where  we  live. 
Thy  sweet  name  may  still  be  blest 
As  one  who  taught  his  soul  true  rest ! 

In  sweet  contrast  are  ye  met. 

Caroline  Noeton. 

Such  as  heart  could  ne'er  forget : 
Thou  art  brilliant  as  a  flower, 

Crimsoning  in  the  sunny  hour ; 

Merry  as  a  singing-bird. 

PHILIP,  MY  KIXG. 

In  tlie  green  wood  sweetly  heard ; 

Restless  as  if  fluttering  wings 

"  Who  bears  upon  tis  baby  brow  the  round 

Bore  thee  on  thy  wanderings  ; 

And  top  of  sovereignty." 

Ignorant  of  all  distress. 

Look  at  me  with  thy  large  brown  eyes. 

Full  of  childhood's  carelessness. 

Philip,  my  king ! 

For  round  thee  the  purple  shadow  lies 

She  is  gentle ;  she  hath  known 

Of  babyhood's  royal  dignities. 

Something  of  the  echoed  tone 

Lay  on  my  neck  thy  tiny  hand 

Sorrow  leaves,  whei'e'er  it  goes, 

With  Love's  invisible  sceptre  laden  ; 

In  this  world  of  many  woes. 

I  am  thine  Esther,  to  command 

On  her  brow  such  shadows  are 

Till  thou  shalt  find  thy  queen-handmaiden, 

As  the  faint  cloud  gives  the  star. 

Philip,  my  king ! 

Veiling  its  most  holy  light. 

Thougli  it  still  be  pure  and  bright ; 

Oh,  the  day  when  thou  goest  a-wooing. 

And  the  color  in  her  cheek 

Philip,  my  king ! 

To  the  hue  on  thine  is  w^eak, 

When  those  beautiful  lips  'gin  suing. 

Save  when  flushed  with  sweet  surprise, 

And,  some  gentle  heart's  bars  undoing, 

Sudden  welcomes  light  her  eyes  ; 

Thou  dost  enter,  love-crowned,  and  there 

And  her  softly  chiselled  face 

Sittest  love-glorified  ! — ^Rnle  kindly. 

(But  for  li\-ing,  moving  grace) 

Tenderly  over  thy  kingdom  fair ; 

Looks  like  one  of  those  which  beam 

For  we  that  love,  ali !  we  love  so  blindly, 

In  th'  Italian  painter's  dream, — 
20 

Philip,  my  king ! 

122 


rOEMS   OF    CHILDHOOD. 


I  g:\zo  from  thy  s\Yoot  mouth  up  to  thy  brow, 

rhilip,  my  khig! 
The  spirit  that  there  lies  sleeping  now, 
^[ay  rise  like  a  giant,  and  make  men  bow 
As  to  one  Iloavoii-choseii  amongst  his  peers. 
My  Saul,   than  thy  brotlireii  higher   and 
fairer, 
Let  mo  behold  thee  in  future  years ! 
Yet  thy  head  needeth  a  circlet  rarer, 
rhilip.  my  king — 

A  wreath,  not  of  gold,  but  palm.     One  day, 

Philip,  my  king ! 
Thou  too  must  tread,  as  we  trod,  a  way 
Thorny,  and  cruel,  and  cold,  and  gray ; 
Rebels  within  thee,  and  foes  without 
"Will  snatch  at  thy  crown.     But  march  on, 
'  glorious. 
Martyr,  yet  monarch !  till  angels  shout, 
As  thou  sitt'st  at  the  feet  of  God  victorious, 
'•Plulip,  the  king!" 

Dinah  Makia  Mulock. 


THE  ANGEL'S  WHISPER. 

A  superstition  of  great  beauty  prevails  in  Ireland,  that, 
wjen  a  child  smiles  in  its  sleep,  it  is  "talking  -mfh 
angels." 

A  BABY  was  sleeping ; 
Its  mother  Avas  weeping ; 
For  her  husband  was  far  on  the  wild  raging 
sea; 
And  the  tempest  was  swelling 
Rovmd  the  fisherman's  dwelling; 
And  slic  cried,  "Dermot,  darling,  oh  come 
back  to  me !  " 

Her  beads  while  she  numbered. 
The  baljy  still  slumbered. 
And  smiled  in  her  face  as  she  bended  her 
knee : 
"  Oh  blest  be  that  warning. 
My  child,  thy  sleep  adorning. 
For  I  know  that  the  angels  are  whispering 
with  thee, 

"  And  while  they  are  Keeping 
Bright  watch  o'er  thy  sleeping. 
Oh,  pray  to  them  softly,  my  baby,  with  me ! 


And  say  thou  wouldst  rather 
They'd  watch  o'er  thy  father ! 
For  I  know  that  the  angels  are  whispering 
to  thee." 

The  dawn  of  the  morning 
Saw  Dermot  returning. 
And  the  wife  wept  with  joy  her  babe's  father 
to  see ; 
And  closely  caressing 
Her  chQd  with  a  blessing. 
Said,  "I  knew  that  the  angels  were  whis- 
pering with  thee." 

Samttel  LOVEIU 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  WATCHER. 

Sleep  on,  baby  on  the  floor, 

Tired  of  all  thy  playing — 
Sleep  with  smile  the  sweeter  for 

That  you  dropped  away  in ; 
On  your  curls'  fair  roundness  stand 

Golden  lights  serenely ; 
One  cbeek,  pushed  out  by  the  hand, 

Folds  the  dimple  inly — 
Little  head  and  little  foot 

Heavy  laid  for  pleasure ; 
Underneath  the  lids  half-shut 

Plants  the  shining  azure ; 
Open-souled  in  noonday  sun, 

So,  you  lie  and  slumber ; 
Nothing  evil  having  done, 

Nothing  can  encumber. 

I,  who  cannot  sleep  as  well, 

Shall  I  sigh  to  view  you  ? 
Or  sigh  further  to  foretell 

All  that  may  undo  you  ? 
Nay,  keep  smiling,  little  cbild, 

Ere  the  fate  appearetb ! 
I  smile,  too ;  for  patience  mild 

Pleasure's  token  weareth. 
Nay,  keep  sleeping  before  loss ; 

I  shall  sleep,  thougli  losing ! 
As  by  cradle,  so  by  cross. 

Sweet  is  the  reposing. 

And  God  knows,  who  sees  us  twain, 

Child  at  childish  leisure, 
I  am  all  as  tired  of  pain 

As  you  are  of  pleasure. 


THE    CHILD    ASLEEP. 


123 


Ycrj  soon,  too,  by  His  grace, 

Gently  wrapt  around  me, 
I  shall  show  as  calm  a  face, 

I  shall  sleep  as  soundly — 
Differing  in  this,  that  you 

Clasp  yonr  playthings  sleeping, 
"While  my  hand  must  drop  the  few 

Given  to  my  keeping — 

Differing  in  this,  that  I, 

Sleeping,  must  be  colder, 
And,  in  waking  presently, 

Brighter  to  beholder — 
Differing  in  this  beside 

(Sleeper,  have  you  heard  me  ? 
Do  you  move,  and  open  wide 

Your  great  eyes  toward  me  ?) 
That  while  I  you  draw  withal 

From  this  slumber  solely. 
Me,  from  mine,  an  angel  shall, 

Trumpet-tongued  and  holy ! 

Elizabeth  Bakeett  Bkowiong. 


THE  CHILD  ASLEEP. 

Sweet  babe!    true  portrait  of  thy  father's 
face, 
Sleep   on  .the  bosom  that  thy  lips  have 
pressed ! 
Sleep,  little  one ;  and  closely,  gently  place 
Thy  drowsy  eyelid  on  thy  mother's  breast. 

Upon  that  tender  eye,  my  little  friend, 

Soft  sleep  shall  come,  that  comcth  not  to 
me! 
I  watch  to  see  thee,  nourish  thee,  defend ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  watch  for  thee — alone  for 
thee! 

His  arms  fall  down ;  sleep  sits  upon  his  brow ; 
His  eye  is  closed;  he  sleeps,  nor  dreams 
of  harm. 
Wore  not  his  check  the  apjjle's  ruddy  glow, 
Would  you  not  say  he  slept  on  Death's 
cold  arm  ? 

Awake,  my  boy  ! — I  tremble  with  affright! 

Awake,   and  chase  this  fatal  thought! — 
Unclose 
Thine  eye  but  for  one  moment  on  the  light! 

Even  at  the  price  of  thine,  give  me  repose ! 


Sweet  error ! — he  but  slept — I  breathe  again. 

Come,  gentle  dreams,   the  hour  of  sleep 
beguile ! 
Oh !  when  shaU  he,  for  whom  I  sigh  in  vain. 

Beside  me  watch  to  see  thy  waking  smile  ? 

Clotilde  de  Surville.  (French.) 
Translation  of  II.  W.  Longfellow. 


THE  KITTED  AXD  F^y:.LIXG  LEAVES. 

That  way  look,  my  infant,  lo ! 
"What  a  pretty  baby- show ! 
See  the  kitten  on  the  wall. 
Sporting  with  the  leaves  that  fall — 
"Withered  leaves, — one,  two,  and  three, — 
From  the  lofty  elder-tree ! 
Through  the  calm  and  frosty  air 
Of  this  morning  bright  and  fair, 
Eddying  round  and  round,  they  sink 
Softly,  slowly ;  one  might  think, 
From  the  motions  that  are  made, 
Every  little  leaf  conveyed 
Sylph  or  fairy  hither  tending. 
To  this  lower  world  descending. 
Each  invisible  and  mute 
In  his  wavering  parachute. 

But  the  Kitten,  how  she  starts, 

Crouches,  stretches,  paws,  and  darts ! 
First  at  one,  and  then  its  fellow 
Just  as  light  and  just  as  yellow  ; 
There  are  many  now, — now  one, — 
Now  they  stop,  and  there  are  none. 
"What  intenseness  of  desire 
In  her  upward  eye  of  fire ! 
"With  a  tiger-leap !     Half-way 
Now  she  meets  the  coming  prey, 
Lets  it  go  as  fast,  and  then 
Has  it  in  her  power  again ; 
Now  she  works  with  three  or  four, 
Like  an  Indian  conjurer; 
Quick  as  he  in  feats  of  art. 
Far  beyond  in  joy  of  heart. 
"Were  her  antics  played  in  the  eye 
Of  a  tliousand  standers-by. 
Clapping  hands  with  shout  and  stare, 
"What  would  little  Tabby  care 
For  the  plaudits  of  the  crowd  ? 
Over  happy  to  be  proud, 


lii-i                                               POEMS   OF 

1 
CHILDHOOD. 

Over  wealthy  in  tlie  treasure 

Of  a  sky  serene  and  pure ; 

Of  her  own  exceeding  pleasure! 

Creature  none  can  she  decoy 

Into  open  sign  of  jo3^ 

'T  is  a  pretty  baby  treat, 

Is  it  that  they  have  a  fear 

Nor,  I  deem,  for  mo  unmeet ; 

Of  the  dreary  season  near  ? 

Here  for  neither  Babe  nor  me 

Or  that  other  pleasures  be 

Other  playmate  can  I  sec. 

Sweeter  even  than  gayety  ? 

Of  the  countless  living  things 

That  with  stir  of  feet  and  wings 

Yet,  whatc'er  enjoyments  dwell 

(In  the  sun  or  under  shade. 

In  the  impenetrable  cell 

Upon  bough  or  grassy  blade). 

Of  the  silent  heart  which  Nature 

And  with  busy  revellings, 

Furnishes  to  every  creature — 

Chu'p,  and  song,  and  murmurings, 

"Whatsoe'er  we  feel  and  know 

Made  this  orchard's  narrow  space. 

Too  sedate  for  outward  show — 

And  this  vale,  so  blithe  a  place ; 

Such  a  light  of  gladness  breaks, 

Multitudes  are  swept  away. 

Pretty  Kitten !  from  thy  freaks, — 

Never  more  to  breathe  the  day. 

Spreads  with  such  a  living  grace 

Some  are  sleeping ;  some  in  bands 

O'er  my  little  Doi-a's  face — 

Travelled  into  distant  lands  ; 

Yes,  the  sight  so  stirs  and  charms 

Others  slunk  to  moor  and  wood. 

Thee,  Baby,  laughing  in  my  arms, 

Far  from  human  neighborhood ; 

Tliat  almost  I  could  repine 

And,  among  the  kinds  that  keep 

That  your  transports  are  not  mine, 

"With  us  closer  fellowship, 

That  I  do  not  wholly  fare 

"With  us  openly  abide, 

Even  as  ye  do,  thoughtless  pair ! 

All  have  laid  their  mirth  aside. 

And  I  will  have  my  careless  season 

Spite  of  melancholy  reason. 

"Where  is  lie,  that  giddy  sprite. 

"U^ill  walk  through  life  in  such  a  way 

Blue-cap,  with  his  colors  bright, 

That,  when  time  brings  on  decay, 

Who  was  blest  as  bird  could  be, 

Now  and  then  I  may  possess 

Feeding  in  the  apple-tree — 

Hours  of  perfect  gladsomeness. 

Made  such  wanton  spoil  and  rout. 

Pleased  by  any  random  toy — 

Turning  blossoms  inside  out — 

By  a  kitten's  busy  joy. 

Hung,  head  pointing  towards  the  ground. 

Or  an  infant's  laughing  eye 

Fluttered,  percbed,  into  a  round 

Sharing  in  the  ecstasy — 

Bound  himself,  and  then  unbound — 

I  would  fare  like  that  or  this, 

Lithest,  gaudiest  Harlequin  I 

Find  my  wisdom  in  my  bliss. 

Prettiest  tumbler  ever  seen ! 

Keep  the  spriglitly  soul  awake, 

Light  of  heart,  and  light  of  limb — 

And  have  faculties  to  take, 

"What  is  now  become  of  him  ? 

Even  from  things  by  sorrow  wrought, 

Lambs,  that  through  the  mountains  went 

Matter  for  a  jocund  thought — 

Frisking,  bleating  merriment. 

Spite  of  cai-e,  and  spite  of  grief. 

"When  the  year  was  in  its  prime, 

To  gambol  Avith  Life's  falling  leaf. 

They  are  sobered  by  this  time. 

William  "Wordswobth. 

If  you  look  to  vale  or  hill. 
If  you  listen,  all  is  still. 

. 

Save  a  little  neighboring  riU 

THE  CHILD  IN  THE  "WILDERNESS. 

That  from  out  the  rocky  ground 

Strikes  a  solitary  sound. 

ExoixcTUEED  in  a  twine  0/ leaves-^ 

Yainly  glitter  hill  and  plain. 

That  leafy  twine  his  only  dress — 

And  the  air  is  calm  in  vain ; 

A  lovely  boy  was  plucking  fruits 

Vainly  Morning  spreads  the  lure 

In  a  moonlight  wilderness. 

THE    GIPSY'S   MALISOX. 


125 


The  moon  was  bright,  the  air  was  free, 
And  fruits  and  flowers  together  grew, 

And  many  a  shrub,  and  many  a  tree : 
And  all  put  on  a  gentle  hue, 

Hanging  in  the  shadowy  air 

Like  a  picture  rich  and  rare. 

It  was  a  climate  where  they  say 

The  night  is  more  beloved  than  day. 
But  who  that  beauteous  boy  beguiled — 

That  beauteous  boy! — to  linger  here? 
Alone  by  night,  a  little  child. 
In  place  so  silent  and  so  wild— 

Has  he  no  friend,  no  loving  mother  near  ? 
Samuei,  Tayloe  Coleridge. 


OX  THE  PIOTUEE  OF  AN  INTANT 

PLATTSTG   NEAR   A   PRECIPICE. 

While  on   the   cliff  Avith   calm   delight  she 
kneels. 

And  the  blue  vales  a  thousand  joys  recall, 
See,  to  the  last,  last  verge  her  infant  steals ! 

Oh  fly — yet  stir  not,  speak  not,  lest  it  foil. — 

Far  better  taught,  she  lays  her  bosom  bare. 

And  the  fond  boy  springs  back  to  nestle  there. 

Leonidas  of  Alexandria.  (Greek.) 
Translation  of  Samuel  Eooees. 


THE  GIPSY'S  MALISOX. 

"  Suck,  baby,  suck !  mother's  love  grows  by 

glying; 
Drain  the  sweet  founts  that  only  thrive  by 

wasting : 
Black  manhood  comes,  when  riotous  guilty 

living 
Htmds  thee  the  cup  that  shall  be  death  in 

tasting. 

Kiss,    baby,   kiss !     mother's  lips    shine  by 

kisses  ; 
Choke  the  warm  breath  that  else  would  fall 

in  blessings : 
Black  manhood  comes,  when  turbulent  guilty 

blisses 
Tend  thee  the  kiss  that  poisons  'raid  caress- 


Hang,  baby,  hang !  mother's  love  loves  such 

forces ; 
Strain  the  fond  neck  that  bends  still  to  thy 

clinging : 
Black  manhood  comes,  Avlien  violent  lawless 

courses 
Leave  thee  a  spectacle  in  rude  air  sv.inging." 

So  sang  a  withered  beldam  energetical. 
And  banned  the  ungiving  door  Avith  lips  pro- 
phetical. 

Charles  Lamb. 


TO  A  CHILD 


EMBEACIXG  UIS  MOTHER, 


Love  thy  mother,  little  one ! 
Xiss  and  clasp  her  neck  again, — 
Hereafter  she  may  have  a  son 
Will  kiss  and  clasp  her  neck  in  vain. 
Love  thy  mother,  little  one ! 

II. 

Gaze  upon  her  living  eyes. 
And  muTor  back  her  love  for  thee, — 
Hereafter  thou  mayst  shudder  sighs 
To  meet  them  Avhen  they  cannot  see. 
Gaze  upon  her  living  eyes  I 

in. 

Press  her  lips  the  while  they  glow 
With  love  that  they  have  often  told, — 
Hereafter  thou  mayst  press  in  woe, 
And  kiss  them  till  thine  OAvn  are  cold. 
Press  her  lips  the  while  they  gloAV ! 

lA'. 

Oh,  revere  her  raven  liair  ! 
Although  it  be  not  silver-gray — 
Too  early  Death,  led  on  by  Care, 
^lay  snatch  save  one  dear  lock  Kway. 
Oh,  revere  her  raven  hair! 

A'. 

Pray  for  her  at  eve  and  morn. 
That  Heaven  may  long  the  stroke  defer— 
For  thou  mayst  live  the  hour  forlorn 
When  thou  wilt  ask  to  die  with  her. 
Pray  for  her  at  e\'e  and  morn  ! 

Thomas  Hood. 


rji'. 


POEMS   OF   CHILDHOOD. 


TO  J.  11. 

FOUK    YEARS   OLD: — A   NURSERY    SOXG. 


....    rion  (Vamoii, 
I'ien  di  c.iuti,  o  iiion  ili  Ilori. 

Full  of  litllo  loves  of  ours, 
Full  of  songs,  and  full  of  flowers. 


Fkugoni. 


All,  little  ranting  Jolinnv, 

For  over  blithe  and  bonnr, 

And  singing  noanj,  nonny, 

With  hat  jnst  thro\vn  upon  ye; 

Or  whistling  like  the  thrushes, 

With  a  voice  in  silver  gushes ; 

Or  twisting  random  posies 

With  daisies,  weeds,  and  roses ; 

And  strutting  in  and  out  so. 

Or  dancing  all  about  so ; 

With  cock-up  nose  so  lightsome, 

And  sidelong  eyes  so  brightsome, 

And  cheeks  as  ripe  as  apples, 

And  head  as  rough  as  Dapple's, 

And  arms  as  sunny  shining 

As  if  their  veins  they'd  wine  in. 

And  mouth  that  smiles  so  truly 

Ileaven  seems  to  have  made  it  newly— 

It  breaks  into  such  sweetness 

With  merry -lipped  completeness ; 

Ah  Jack,  ah  Gianni  mio, 

As  blithe  as  Laughing  Trio ! 

— Sir  Richard,  too,  you  rattler. 

So  christened  from  the  Tattler, 

!My  Bacchus  in  his  glory. 

My  httle  Cor-di-fiori, 

My  tricksome  Puck,  my  Eobin, 

Who  in  and  out  come  bobbing. 

As  full  of  feints  and  frolics  as 

Tliat  fibbing  rogue  Autolycus, 

And  play  the  graceless  robber  on 

Your  grave-eyed  brother  Oberon, — 

Ah  Dick,  ah  Dolce-riso, 

IIow  can  you,  can  you  bo  so? 

One  cannot  turn  a  minute, 

But  mischief — there  you  're  in  it : 

A-getting  at  my  books,  John, 

With  mighty  bustling  looks,  John ; 

Or  poking  at  the  roses. 

In  midst  of  which  your  nose  is; 

Or  climbing  on  a  table. 


No  matter  how  unstable. 

And  turning  up  your  quaint  eye 

And  half-shut  teeth,  with  "  May  n't  1  ?" 

Or  else  you  're  off  at  play,  John, 

Just  as  you  'd  be  all  daj',  John, 

With  hat  or  not,  as  happens ; 

And  there  you  dance,  and  clap  hands. 

Or  on  the  grass  go  rolling. 

Or  plucking  flowers,  or  bowling, 

And  getting  me  expenses 

With  losing  balls  o'er  fences ; 

Or,  as  the  constant  trade  is, 

Are  fondled  by  the  ladies 

With  "  What  a  young  rogue  this  is!" 

Eeforming  him  with  kisses; 

Till  suddenly  you  cry  out, 

As  if  you  had  an  eye  out, 

So  desperately  tearful. 

The  sound  is  really  fearful ; 

When  lo !  directly  after, 

It  bubbles  into  laughter. 

Ah  rogue !  and  do  you  know,  John, 

Why  'tis  we  love  you  so,  Jolin? 

And  how  it  is  they  let  ye 

Do  what  you  hke  and  pet  ye. 

Though  all  who  look  upon  ye, 

Exclaim,  "Ah,  Johnny,  Johnny!" 

It  is  because  you  please  'em 

Still  more,  John,  than  you  teaze  'em ; 

Because,  too,  when  not  present, 

The  thought  of  you  is  pleasant ; 

Because,  though  such  an  elf,  John, 

They  think  tliat  if  yourself,  John, 

Had  something  to  condemn  too, 

You  'd  be  as  kind  to  them  too ; 

In  short,  because  you're  very 

Good-tempered,  Jack,  and  merry ; 

And  are  as  quick  at  giving 

As  easy  at  receiving ; 

And  in  the  midst  of  pleasure 

Are  certain  to  find  leisure 

To  think,  my  boy,  of  ours. 

And  bring  us  lumps  of  flowers. 

But  see,  the  sun  shines  brightly ; 
Come,  put  your  hat  on  rightly, 
And  we'll  among  the  bushes. 
And  hear  jowr  friends,  the  thrushes ; 
And  see  what  flowers  the  weather 
lias  rendered  fit  to  gather  ; 


TO    A    CHILD    DURING   SICKXESS. 


127 


And,  when  we  home  must  jog,  you 
Shall  ride  my  back,  you  rogue  you, — 
Your  hat  adorned  with  fine  leaves, 
Horse-chestnut,  oak,  and  ^ine-leaves, 
And  so,  with  green  o'erhead,  John, 
Shall  whistle  home  to  bed,  John. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


THE  FAIEY  CHILD. 

The  summer  sun  was  sinking 
"With  a  mild  light,  calm  and  meUow  ; 

It  shone  on  my  little  boy's  bonny  cheeks. 
And  his  loose  locks  of  yellow. 

The  robin  was  singing  sweetly. 
And  his  song  was  sad  and  tender ; 

And  my  little  boy's  eyes,  while  he  heard  the 
song. 
Smiled  with  a  sweet  soft  splendor. 

My  little  boy  lay  on  my  bosom 

While  his  soul  the  song  was  quaflfing ; 

The  joy  of  his  soul  had  tinged  his  cheek, 
And  his  heart  and  his  eye  were  laughing. 

I  sate  alone  in  my  cottage. 

The  midnight  needle  plying  ; 
I  feared  for  my  child,  for  the  rush's  light 

In  the  socket  now  was  dying ! 

Tliere  came  a  hand  to  my  lonely  latch. 
Like  the  wind  at  midnight  moaning; 

I  knelt  to  pray,  but  rose  again. 
For  I  heard  my  little  boy  groaning. 

I  crossed  my  brow  and  I  crossed  my  breast, 
But  that  night  my  child  departed — 

They  left  a  weakling  in  his  stead, 
And  I  am  broken-hearted ! 

Oh !  it  cannot  be  my  own  sweet  boy, 
For  his  eyes  are  dim  and  hollow ; 

My  little  boy  is  gone — is  gone. 
And  his  mother  soon  will  follow 

The  dirge  for  the  dead  will  be  sung  for  me. 
And  the  mass  be  chanted  meetly, 

And  I  shall  sleep  with  my  little  boy. 
In  the  moonlight  churchyard  sweetly. 

John  Ansteb. 


TO  A  CHILD,  DURIXG  SICKKESS. 

Sleep  breathes  at  last  from  out  thee. 

My  httle  patient  boy ; 
And  balmy  rest  about  thee 
Smooths  off  the  day's  annoy. 

I  sit  me  down,  and  think 
Of  all  thy  winning  ways  ; 
Tet  almost  wish,  with  sudden  shrink. 
That  I  had  less  to  praise. 

Thy  sidelong  piUowed  meekness, 

Thy  thanks  to  all  that  aid. 
Thy  heart,  in  pain  and  weakness. 
Of  fancied  faults  afraid ; 

The  little  trembling  hand 
That  wipes  thy  quiet  tears : 
These,  these  are  things  that  may  demand 
Dread  memories  for  years. 

Sorrows  I  'vc  had,  severe  ones, 

I  will  not  think  of  now  ; 
And  calmly,  midst  my  dear  ones, 
Have  wasted  with  dry  brow  ; 
But  when  thy  fingers  press 
And  pat  ray  stooping  head, 
I  cannot  bear  the  gentleness — 
The  teai's  are  in  their  bed. 

Ah,  first-born  of  thy  mother, 

TVhen  life  and  hope  were  new  ; 
Kind  playmate  of  thy  brother. 
Thy  sister,  father  too ; 

My  light,  where'er  I  go ; 
My  bird,  when  pi-ison-bound ; 
My  hand-in-hand  companion — Xo, 
My  prayers  shall  hold  thee  roimd. 

To  say  "  He  has  departed  " — 

"  His  voice  " — "  his  face  " — is  gone, 
To  feel  impatient-hearted, 

Yet  feel  we  must  bear  on — 
Ah,  I  could  not  endure 

To  whisper  of  such  woe, 
Unless  I  felt  this  sleep  ensure 

That  it  will  not  be  so. 

Yes,  still  he  's  fixed,  and  sleeping ! 

Tliis  silence  too  the  while — ■ 
Its  very  hush  and  creeping 

Seem  whispering  us  a  smile ; 


J 


128 


POEMS   OF   CHILDHOOD. 


Sometliinsr  divine  aiul  dim 
Scoins  g:oing  by  one's  ear, 
Like  parting  wings  of  clicrubiui, 

"Who  say,  "  We  'vo  finished  here." 

Leigh  IIukt. 


TO  11.  C. 


SIX  TEARS   Or.I). 


O  Tnor,  whose  foncies  from  afor  are  brought ; 
Who  of  thy  words  dost  make  a  mock  apparel, 
And  fittest  to  unutterable  thought 
The    breeze-like  motion   and    tlie  self-born 

carol ; 
Thou  foii-y  voyager !  that  dost  float 
In  such  clear  water,  that  thy  boat 
May  rather  seem 

To  brood  on  air  than  on  an  earthly  stream — 
Suspended  in  a  stream  as  clear  as  sky, 
Where    earth    and    heaven    do    make    one 

imagery ; 

0  blessed  vision !  happy  child ! 
Thou  art  so  exquisitely  wild, 

1  tliink  of  thee  with  many  fears 

For  what  may  be  thy  lot  in  future  years. 

I  thought  of  times  when  Pain  might  be  thy 

guest, 
Lord  of  thy  house  and  hospitality ; 
And  Grief,  uneasy  lover,  never  rest 
But  when  she  sat  within  the  touch  of  thee. 
O  too  industrious  folly  ! 
O  vain  and  causeless  melancholy ! 
Nature  will  either  end  thee  quite ; 
Or,  lengthening  out  thy  season  of  delight. 
Preserve  for  thee,  by  individual  right, 
A  young  lamb's  heart  among  the  full-grown 

flocks. 
Wliat  hast  tliou  to  do  with  sorrow. 
Or  the  injuries  of  to-morrow  ? 
Tliou  art  a  dew-drop,  which  the  morn  brings 

forth, 
m  fitted  to  sustain  unkindly  shocks. 
Or  to  be  trailed  along  the  soiling  earth ; 
A  gem  that  glitters  while  it  lives. 
And  no  forewarning  gives. 
But,  at  the  touch  of  wrongs,  without  a  strife, 
Shps  in  a  moment  out  of  life. 

William  Woedswobth. 


TO  A  SLEEPING  CHILD. 

Art  thou  a  thing  of  mortal  birth, 
Whose  happy  home  is  on  our  earth  ? 
Does  human  blood  with  life  imbue 
Those  wandering  veins  of  heavenly  blue, 
That  stray  along  that  forehead  fair, 
Lost  mid  a  gleam  of  golden  hair  ? 
Oh!  can  that  light  and  airy  breath 
Steal  from  a  being  doomed  to  death ; 
Those  features  to  the  grave  be  sent 
In  sleep  thus  mutely  eloquent ; 
Or,  art  thou,  what  thy  form  wovdd  seem, 
A  phantom  of  a  blessed  dream  ? 

A  human  shape  I  feel  thou  art — 
I  feel  it  at  my  beating  heai*t, 
Those  tremors  both  of  soul  and  sense 
Awoke  by  infant  innocence! 
Though  dear  the  forms  by  Fancy  wove, 
We  love  them  with  a  transient  love; 
Thoughts  from  the  living  world  inti'ude 
Even  on  her  deepest  solitude : 
But,  lovely  child !  thy  magic  stole 
At  once  into  my  inmost  soul. 
With  feelings  as  thy  beauty  fair. 
And  left  no  other  vision  there. 

To  me  thy  parents  are  unknown ; 
Glad  would  they  be  theu-  child  to  own ! 
And  well  they  must  have  loved  before, 
If  since  thy  birth  they  loved  not  more. 
Thou  art  a  branch  of  noble  stem, 
And,  seeing  thee,  I  figure  them. 
What  many  a  childless  one  would  give. 
If  thou  in  their  still  home  wouldst  live ! 
Though  in  thy  face  no  family  line 
Might  sweetly  say,  "  This  babe  is  mine !  " 
In  time  thou  wouldst  become  the  same 
As  their  own  child, — all  but  the  name. 

How  happy  must  thy  parents  be 
Who  daily  live  in  sight  of  thee ! 
Whose  hearts  no  greater  pleasure  seek 
Than  see  thee  smile,  and  hear  thee  speak. 
And  feel  all  natural  griefs  beguiled 
By  thee,  their  fond,  their  duteous  child. 
What  joy  must  in  their  souls  have  stirred 
When  thy  first  broken  words  were  heard  — 
Words,  that,  inspired  by  Heaven,  expressed 
The  transports  dancing  in  thy  breast ! 
And  for  thy  smile ! — thy  lip,  cheek,  brow. 
Even  while  I  gaze,  are  kindling  now. 


TO    A    SLEEPING    CHILD.                                                  129 

I  called  thee  duteous ;  am  I  wrong  ? 

Thy  sorrows,  joys,  sighs,  smiles,  and  tears ! 

No !  truth,  I  feel,  is  in  my  song : 

For  good  and  guiltless  as  thou  art. 

Duteous,  thy  heart's  still  beatings  move 

Some  transient  griefs  will  touch  thy  heart — 

To  God,  to  Nature,  and  to  love ! 

Griefs  that  along  thy  altered  face 

To  God! — ^for  thou,  a  harmless  child. 

WiU  breathe  a  more  subduing  grace 

Hast  kept  his  temple  imdeiilcd ; 

Than  even  those  looks  of  joy  that  lie 

To  Nature ! — for  thy  tears  and  sighs 

On  the  soft  cheek  of  infancy. 

Obey  alone  her  mysteries ; 

Though  looks,  God  knows,  are  cradled  there 

To  love ! — for  fiends  of  hate  might  see 

That  guilt  might  cleanse,  or  soothe  despair. 

Thou  dwell'st  in  love,  and  love  in  thee. 

0  vision  fair !  that  I  coul^  be 

What  wonder  then,  though  in  thy  dreams 

Again  as  young,  as  pure,  as  thee ! 

Thy  face  with  mystic  meaning  beams ! 

Vain  wish !  the  rainbow's  radiant  form 

Oh !  that  my  spirit's  eye  could  see 

May  view,  but  cannot  brave,  the  storm ; 

Whence  burst  those  gleams  of  ecstasy! 

Years  can  bedim  the  gorgeous  dyes 

That  light  of  dreaming  soul  appears 

That  paint  the  bird  of  Paradise ; 

To  play  from  thoughts  above  thy  years ; 

And  years,  so  Fate  hath  ordered,  roll 

Thou  smilest  as  if  thy  soul  were  soaring 

Clouds  o'er  the  summer  of  the  soul. 

To  heaven,  and  heaven's  God  adoring. 

Yet,  sometimes,  sudden  sights  of  grace. 

And  who  can  tell  what  vnsions  high 

Such  as  the  gladness  of  thy  face. 

May  bless  an  infant's  sleeping  eye  ? 

0  sinless  babe,  by  God  are  given 

What  brighter  throne  can  brightness  find 

To  charm  the  wanderer  back  to  heaven. 

To  reign  on,  than  an  infant's  mind. 

No  common  impulse  hath  me  led 

Ere  sin  destroy,  or  error  dim. 

To  this  green  spot,  thy  quiet  bed, 

The  glory  of  the  seraphim  ? 

Where,  by  mere  gladness  overcome. 

But  now  thy  changing  smiles  express 

In  sleep  thou  dreamest  of  thy  home. 

Intelligible  happiness. 

When  to  the  lake  I  would  have  gone, 

I  feel  my  soul  thy  soul  partake. 

A  wondrous  beauty  drew  me  on — 

What  grief,  if  thou  would^^t  now  awake ! 

Such  beauty  as  the  spirit  sees 

With  infants  happy  as  thyself 

In  glittering  fields  and  moveless  trees, 

I  see  thee  bound,  a  playful  elf; 

After  a  warm  and  silent  shower 

I  see  thou  art  a  darling  cliild. 

Ere  falls  on  earth  the  twilight  hour. 

Among  thy  playmates  bold  and  wild  ; 

What  led  me  hither,  all  can  say 

They  love  thee  well ;  thou  art  the  queen 

Who,  knowing  God,  his  will  obey. 

Of  all  their  sports,  in  bower  or  green  ; 

Thy  slumbers  now  cannot  be  long ; 

And  if  thou  livest  to  woman's  height, 

Thy  little  dreams  become  too  strong 

In  tlicc  will  friendship,  love,  delight. 

For  sleep — too  like  reahties  ; 

And  live  thou  surely  must ;  thy  lifo 

Soon  shall  I  see  those  hidden  eyes. 

Is  far  too  spiritual  for  the  strife 

Thou  wakest,  and  starting  from  the  ground, 

Of  mortal  pain ;  nor  could  disease 

In  dear  amazement  look'st  around  ; 

Find  heart  to  prey  on  smiles  like  these. 

Like  one  who,  little  given  to  roam, 

Oh  I  thou  wilt  be  an  angel  bright — 

Wonders  to  find  herself  from  home  I 

To  those  thou  lovest,  a  saving  light — 

But  when  a  stranger  meets  thy  view. 

The  staff  of  age,  the  help  sublime 

Glistens  thine  eye  witli  wilder  hue. 

Of  erring  youth,  and  stubborn  prime ; 

A  moment's  thought  who  I  may  be, 

And  when  thou  goest  to  heaven  again, 

Blends  with  thy  smiles  of  courtesy. 

Thy  vanishing  be  like  the  strain 

Fair  was  that  face  as  break  of  dawn. 

Of  airy  harp — so  soft  the  tone 

When  o'er  its  beauty  sleep  was  drawn, 

The  ear  scarce  knows  when  it  is  gone ! 

Like  a  thin  veil  that  half  concealed 

Thrice  blessed  he  whose  stars  design 

The  light  of  soul,  and  half  revealed. 

ITis  spirit  pure  to  lean  on  thine, 

While  thy  hushed  heart  with  visions  wrought 

And  watchful  share,  for  days  and  years, 
21 

Each  trembling  eye-lash  moved  with  thought; 

130 


POEMS   OF   CUILDHOOD. 


And  things  wo  droani,  but  no'cr  can  speak, 

Like  clouds  came  floating  o'er  tliy  cheek — 

Such  sunuuer-clouds  as  travel  light, 

"When  the  soul's  heaven  lies  calm  and  bright — 

Till  thou  awokest ;  then  to  thine  eye 

Thy  whole  heart  leapt  in  ecstasy ! 

And  lovely  is  that  heart  of  thine, 

Or  sure  those  eyes  could  never  shine 

"With  such  a  wild,  yet  bashful  glee. 

Gay,  half-o'ercorae  timidity ! 

Nature  has  breathed  into  thy  face 

A  spirit  of  unconscious  grace — 

A  spirit  tliat  lies  never  still. 

And  makes  thee  joyous  'gainst  thy  will : 

As,  sometimes  o'er  a  sleeping  lake 

Soft  airs  a  gentle  rippling  make. 

Till,  ere  we  know,  the  strangers  fly. 

And  water  blends  again  with  sky. 

O  happy  sprite!  didst  thou  but  know 
What  pleasures  through  my  being  flow 
From  thy  soft  eyes !  a  holier  feeling 
From  their  blue  light  could  ne'er  be  stealing; 
But  thou  wouldst  be  more  loth  to  part. 
And  give  me  more  of  that  glad  heart. 
Oh  I  gone  tliou  art !  and  bearest  hence 
The  glory  of  thy  innocence. 
But  with  deep  joy  I  breathe  the  air 
That  kissed  thy  clieek,  and  fanned  thy  hair, 
And  feel,  though  fate  our  lives  must  sever. 
Yet  shall  thy  image  live  for  ever ! 

John  Wilson. 


CHILDEEN. 

CiTTLTtREN  ai'G  what  file  mothers  are. 
No  fondest  father's  fondest  care 
Can  fashion  so  the  infant  heart 
As  those  creative  beams  that  dart, 
With  all  their  hopes  and  fears,  upon 
The  cradle  of  a  sleeping  son. 

His  startled  eyes  with  wonder  see 
A  father  near  him  on  his  knee, 
"Who  wishes  all  the  while  to  trace 
The  mother  in  his  futureface  ; 
But 't  is  to  lier  fdone  uprise 
His  wakening  arms ;  to  her  those  eyes 
Open  with  joy  and  not  surprise. 

Waltee  Savage  Lakdor. 


TO  A  ciin.D. 

Dear  child !  whom  sleep  can  hardly  tame. 
As  live  and  beautiful  as  flame, 
Thou  glancest  round  my  graver  hours 
As  if  tliy  crown  of  wild-wood  flowers 
Were  not  by  mortal  forehead  worn. 
But  on  the  summer  breeze  were  borne. 
Or  on  a  mountain  streamlet's  waves 
Came  glistening  down  from  dreamy  caves. 

With  bright  round  cheek,  amid  whose  glow 
Delight  and  Avonder  come  and  go ; 
And  eyes  whose  inward  meanings  play. 
Congenial  with  the  light  of  day ; 
And  brow  so  calm,  a  home  for  Thought 
Before  he  knows  his  dwelling  wrought ; 
Tliough  wise  indeed  thou  seemest  not. 
Thou  brightenest  well  the  wise  man's  lot. 

That  shout  proclaims  the  undoubting  mind ; 
That  laughter  leaves  no  ache  behind ; 
And  in  thy  look  and  dance  of  glee. 
Unforced,  unthought  of,  simply  free, 
How  weak  the  schoolman's  formal  art 
Tliy  soul  and  body's  bliss  to  part ! 
I  hail  thee  Childhood's  very  Lord, 
In  gaze  and  glance,  in  voice  and  word. 

In  spite  of  all  foreboding  fear, 
A  thing  tliou  ai't  of  present  cheer ; 
And  thus  to  be  beloved  and  known, 
As  is  a  rushy  fountain's  tone, 
As  is  the  forest's  leafy  shade. 
Or  blackbird's  hidden  serenade. 
Thou  art  a  flash  that  lights  the  whole — 
A  gush  from  Nature's  vernal  soul. 

And  yet,  dear  child !  within  thee  lives 
A  power  that  deeper  feeling  gives, 
That  makes  thee  more  than  light  or  air, 
Than  all  things  sweet  and  all  things  fair ; 
And  sweet  and  fair  as  aught  may  be, 
Diviner  life  belongs  to  thee. 
For  'mid  thine  aimless  joys  began 
The  perfect  heart  and  wiU  of  Man. 

Thus  what  thou  art  foreshows  to  me 
IIow  greater  far  thou  soon  shalt  be ; 


THE    MOTHER'S    HOTE. 


131 


And  while  amid  thy  garlands  blow 
The  winds  that  warbling  come  and  go, 
Ever  within,  not  loud  but  clear, 
Prophetic  murmur  fills  the  ear, 
And  says  that  every  human  birth 
Anew  discloses  God  to  earth. 

John  Sterling. 


THE  MOTHER'S  HOPE. 

Is  there,  when  the  winds  are  singing 

In  the  happy  summer  time — 
"When  the  raptured  air  is  ringing 
With  Earth's  music  heavenward  springing. 

Forest  chirp,  and  village  chime — 
Is  there,  of  the  sounds  that  float 
Cnsighingly,  a  single  note 
Half  30  sweet,  and  clear,  and  wild. 
As  the  laughter  of  a  child  ? 

L'sten!  and  be  now  delighted  : 

Morn  hath  touched  her  golden  strings ; 

Earth  and  Sky  their  vows  have  plighted; 

Life  and  Light  are  reunited. 
Amid  countless  carollings ; 

Yet,  delicious  as  they  are. 

There  's  a  sound  that 's  sweeter  far — 

One  that  makes  the  heart  rejoice 

More  than  all, —  the  human  voice! 

Orjran  finer,  deeper,  clearer. 
Though  it  be  a  stranger's  tone — 
Than  the  winds  or  waters  dearer, 
More  enchanting  to  the  hearer, 
For  it  answereth  to  his  own. 
But,  of  all  its  witching  words. 
Those  are  sweetest,  bubbling  wild 
Through  the  laughter  of  a  child. 

Harmonies  from  time-touched  towers, 

Haunted  strains  from  rivulets, 
Hum  of  bees  among  the  flowers. 
Hustling  leaves,  and  silver  showers, — 

These,  ere  long,  the  ear  forgets  ; 
l>nt  m  mine  there  is  a  sound 
Itinging  on  the  whole  year  round — 
Heart-deep  laughter  that  I  heard 
Ere  my  child  coidd  speak  a  word. 


Ah  !  't  was  heard  by  ear  far  purer, 

Fondlier  formed  to  catch  the  strain  - 
Ear  of  one  whose  love  is  surer — 
Hers,  the  mother,  the  endurer 
Of  the  deepest  share  of  pain ; 
Hers  the  deepest  bliss  to  treasure 
Memories  of  that  cry  of  pleasure ; 
Hers  to  hoard,  a  life-time  after, 
Echoes  of  that  infant  laughter. 


'T  is  a  mother's  large  afiectlon 
Hears  with  a  mysterious  sense — 

Breathings  that  evade  detection. 

Whisper  faint,  and  fine  inJiexion, 
Thi-ill  in  hev  with  power  intense. 

Childhood's  honeyed  words  untaught 

lliveth  she  in  loving  thought — 

Tones  that  never  thenc  e  depart ; 

For  she  listens — with  her  heart. 

Lajian  Blanchakd. 


THE  MOTHER'S  HEART. 

WnEN  first  thou   earnest,    gentle,   shy,    and 
fond. 
My  eldest  born,  first  hope,   and  dearest 

treasure. 
My  heart  received  thee  with  a  joy  beyond 

All  that  it  yet  had  felt  of  earthly  pleasure  ; 
Nor  thought  that  any  love  again  might  be 
So  deep  and  strong  as  that  I  felt  for  thee. 


Faithful  and  true,    with  sense  beyond  thy 
years, 
And  natural  piety  that  leaned  to  heaven ; 
Wrung  by  a  harsh  word  suddenly  to  tears, 

Yet  patient  to  rebuke  when  justly  given — 
Obedient — easy  to  be  reconciled —  ; 

And  meekly  cheerful;  such  wert  thou,  my 
child ! 


Wot  willing  to  be  left — still  by  my  side. 
Haunting    my  walks,   while  summer-day 
was  dying ; 


Ui 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


Nor  leaving  in  tliy  turn,  but  pleasctl  to  glide 
Through  tin.-  dark  room  where  I  was  sadly 
lying ; 
Or  by  the  conch  of  pain,  a  sitter  meek, 
"Watch  the  dim  eye,   and  ki.ss  the  i'evorcd 
cheek. 


O  boy !  of  such  as  thou  are  oftenest  made 
Earth's  fragile  idols ;  like  a  tender  llower, 

No   strength  in  all  thy  freshness,  prone  to 
ftide. 
And    bending    -weakly    to    the    thunder- 
shower  ; 

Still,  round  the  loved,  thy  heart  found  force 
to  bind, 

And  clung,   like  woodbine    shaken    in  the 
wind  I 


Then  tuoit,  my  merry  love — bold  in  thy  glee, 
Uudei'  the  bough,  or  by  the  firelight  danc- 
ing, 
With  thy  sweet  temper,  and  thy  spirit  free — 
Didst  come,  a.s  restless  as  a  bird's  wing 
glancing. 
Full  of  a  -svild  and  irrepressible  mirth, 
Like  a  young  sunbeam  to  the  gladdened  earth! 


Thine  was  the  shout,  the  song,  the  burst  of 

joy, 

Which  sweet  from  childhood's  rosy  lip  re- 
soundeth ; 
Thine  was  the  eager  spirit  naught  could  cloy. 
And  the  glad  heart  from  wliich  all  grief 
reboundeth ; 
And  many  a  mirthful  jest  and  mock  reply 
Lurked  in  the  laughter  of  thy  dark-blue  eye. 


And  thine  was  many  an  art  to  win  and  bless, 
The  cold  and  stern  to  joy  and  fondness 
warming ; 
The  coaxing  smile— the  frequent  soft  caress — 
The  earnest  tearful  prayer  all  wrath  dis- 
arming ! 
Again  my  heart  a  new  affection  found. 
But  thought  that  love  with  thee  had  reached 
its  bound. 


At  length  tiiot:  earnest — thou,  the  last  and 
least, 
Nick-named  "the  Emperor  "  by  thy  laugh- 
ing brothers — 
Because  a  haughty  spirit  swelled  thy  breast. 
And  thou  didst  seek  to  rule  and  sway  the 
others — 
Mingling  with  every  playful  infant  wile 
A  mimic  majesty  that  made  us  smile. 


And  oh !  most  like  a  regal  child  wert  thou  ! 

An  eye  of  resolute  and  successful  scheming ! 
Fair  shoulders — curling  lips — and   dauntless 
brow — 
Fit  for  the  world's  strife,  not  for  poet's 
dreaming  ; 
And  proud  the  lifting  of  thy  stately  head, 
And  the  firm  bearing  of  thy  conscious  tread. 


Difterent  from  both!    yet  each    succeeding 
claim 
I,  that  all  other  love  had  been  forswearing. 
Forthwith  admitted,  equal  and  the  same ; 

Nor  injm-ed  either  by  this  love's  comparing; 
Nor  stole  a  fraction  for  the  newer  call — 
But  in  the  mother's  heart  found  room  for  all  I 

Caeoline  Nokton. 


TO  GEORGE  M- 


Yks,  I  do  love  thee  well,  my  child  ! 
Albeit  mine  's  a  wandering  mind ; 
But  never,  darling,  hast  thou  smiled 
Or  breathed  a  wish  that  did  not  find 
A  ready  echo  in  my  heart. 
What  hours  I  've  held  thee  on  my  knee, 
Thy  little  rosy  lips  apart ! 
Or,  when  asleep,  I  've  gazed  on  thee 
And  with  old  tunes  sung  thee  to  I'cst, 
Hugging  thee  closely  to  my  bosom  ; 
For  thee  my  very  heart  hatli  blest, 
My  joy,  my  care,  my  blue-eyed  blossom ! 

Thomas  Miller. 


MOTHER'S   LOVE. 


133 


MOTHER'S  LOVE. 

He  sang  so  wildly,  did  the  bor, 

That  you  could  never  tell 

If 't  was  a  madman's  voice  you  heard, 

Or  if  the  spirit  of  a  bird 

"Within  his  heart  did  dwell — 

A  bird  that  dallies  with  his  voice 

Among  the  matted  branches  ; 

Or  on  the  fi-ee  blue  air  his  note, 

To  pierce,  and  fall,  and  rise,  and  float, 

With  bolder  utterance  launches. 

None  ever  was  so  sweet  as  he, 

The  boy  that  wildly  sang  to  me ; 

Though  toilsome  was  the  way  and  long, 

He  led  me,  not  to  lose  the  song. 

But  when  again  we  stood  below 

The  unhidden  sky,  his  feet 

Grew  slacker,  and  his  note  more  slow, 

But  more  than  doubly  sweet. 

He  led  me  then  a  little  way 

Athwart  the  barren  moor. 

And  there  he  stayed,  and  bade  me  stay. 

Beside  a  cottage  door ; 

I  could  have  stayed  of  my  own  will, 

in  truth,  my  eye  and  heart  to  fill 

With  the  sweet  sight  which  I  saw  there, 

At  the  dwelling  of  the  cottager. 

A  little  in  the  doorway  sitting. 

The  mother  plied  her  busy  knitting ; 

And  her  cheek  so  softly  smiled. 

You  might  be  sure,  although  her  gaze 

Was  on  the  meshes  of  the  lace. 

Yet  her  thoughts  were  with  her  child. 

But  when  the  boy  had  heard  her  voice. 
As  o'er  her  work  she  did  rejoice, 
His  became  silent  altogether ; 
And  slyly  creeping  by  the  wall, 
He  seized  a  single  plume,  let  fall 
By  some  wild  bird  of  longest  feather; 
And  all  a-tremljlo  with  his  freak, 
He  touched  her  lightly  on  the  cheek. 

Oh  what  a  loveliness  her  eyes 
Gather  in  that  one  moment's  space, 


While  peeping  round  the  post  she  spies 
Her  darhng's  laughing  face ! 
Oh  mother's  love  is  glorifying, 
On  the  cheek  like  sunset  lyiug ; 
In  the  eyes  a  moistened  light. 
Softer  than  the  moon  at  night ! 

Thomas  Btjebidge. 


THE  PET  LAMB. 


A  PASTOEAL. 


The  dew  was  faUiag  fast,  the  stars  began  to 

blink ; 
I  heard    a  voice;    it  said,    ''Drink,   pretty 

creature,  drink !  " 
And,   looking  o'er  the  hedge,  before  me  I 

espied 
A  snow-white  mountain-lamb  with  a  maiden 

at  its  side. 


ISTor  sheep  nor  kine  were  near ;  the  lamb  was 

all  alone, 
And  by  a  slender  cord  Avas  tethered  to  a 

stone ; 
With  one  knee   on  the   grass  did  the  little 

maiden  kneel. 
While  to  that  mountain-larab   she  gave  its 

evening  meal. 


The  lamb,  while  from  her  hand  he  thus  his 

supper  took. 
Seemed  to  feast  with  head  and  ears ;  aud  his 

tail  with  pleasure  sliook. 
"  Drink,  pretty  creatm-e,  drink !  "   she   said, 

in  such  a  tone 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own. 

'T  was  little  Barbara  Lewthwaite,  a  child  of 

beauty  rare ! 
I  watched  them  with  delight:  they  were  a 

lovely  pair. 
Now  with  her  empty  can  the  maiden  turned 

away ; 
But  ere  ten  yards  were  gone,  her  footsteps 

did  she  stay. 


1C4 


POEMS   OF    CniLDnOOD. 


Right  to\v;u\ls  tlic  lamb  she  looked;  and 
from  a  sliady  place 

I  unobserved  could  see  tlie  workings  of  her 
fiice. 

If  nature  to  her  tongue  could  measured  num- 
bers bring, 

Thus,  thought  I,  to  lier  lamb  that  little  maid 
might  sing: — 

""What  ails  thee,  yomig  one?  what?    "Why 

pull  so  at  thy  cord  ? 
Is  it  not  well  with  thee?  well  both  for  bed 

and  board  ? 
Thy  plot  of  grass  is  soft,  and  green  as  grass 

can  be ; 
Eest,  little  young  one,  rest;  wliat  is't  that 

ailetli  thee  ? 


"  TVliat  is  it  thou  wouldst  seek  ?     "What  is 

wanting  to  thy  heart? 
Thy  limbs,  are  they  not  strong  ?     And  beau- 

tilul  thou  art. 
This  grass  is  tender  grass ;  these  flowers  they 

have  no  peers ; 
And  that  green  corn  all  day  is  rustling  in  thy 

ears  I 


"If  the  sun  be  shining  hot,  do  but  stretch 

thy  woollen  chain — 
This  beech  is  standing  by,  its  covert  thou 

canst  gain ; 
For  rain  and  mountain-storms — the  like  tliou 

need'st  not  fear ; 
rhe  rain  and  storm  are  things  that  scarcely 

can  come  here. 


"Rest,  little  young  one,  rest ;  thou  hast  forgot 

the  day 
When  my  fiither  found  thee  first  in  places  far 

away; 
Many  flocks  were  on  the  hills,  but  thou  Avert 

owned  by  none, 
And  thy  mother  from  thy  side  for  evermore 

was  gone. 


ria  too':   t'loo  v.i   hh   arms,    and   in   pity 
broiT'it  t'loo  home: 


A  blessed  day  for  thee !  Then  whither  wouldst 

thou  roam  ? 
A  faithful  nurse  thou  hast — the  dam  that  did 

thee  yean 
Upon  tlie    mountain-tops   no    kinder    could 

have  been. 


"Thou   know'st   that  twice  a    day  I    have 

brought  thee  in  this  can 
Fresh  water  from  the  brook,  as  clear  as  ever 

ran ; 
And  twice  in  the  day,  when  the  ground  is 

wet  with  dew, 
I  bring  thee  draughts  of  milk — warm  milk  it 

is,  and  new. 


"  Thy  limbs  will  shortly  be  twice  as  stout  as 

they  are  now ; 
Then  I  '11  yoke  thee  to  my  cart  like  a  pony 

in  the  plough. 
My  playmate  thou  shalt  be;   and  Avhen  the 

wind  is  cold, 
Our  hearth  shall  be  thy  bed,  our  house  shall 

be  thy  fold. 


"It  will  not,  will  not  rest! — Poor  creature, 
can  it  be 

That  't  is  thy  mother's  heart  which  is  work- 
ing so  in  thee? 

Things  that  I  know  not  of  belike  to  thee  aro 
dear. 

And  dreams  of  things  which  thou  canst  nei- 
ther see  nor  hear. 

"  Alas,  the  mountain-tops  that  look  so  green 

and  fair ! 
I  've  heard  of  fearful  winds  and  darkness  that 

come  there ; 
Tlie  little  brooks,  that  seem  aU  pastime  and 

all  play, 
"When  they  are  angry  roar  like  lions  for  their 

prey. 

"Here  thou  need'st  not  dread  the  raven  in 

the  sky  ; 
Night  and  day  thou  art  safe— our  cottage  is 

hard  bv. 


TO   MY   DAUGHTER. 


135 


Why  bleat  so  after  me  ?     "Why  pull  so  at  thy 

chain? 
Sleep— and  at  break  of  day  I  -will  come  to 


thee  again ! " 


— As  homeward  through  the  lane  I  went  with 

lazy  feet, 
This  song  to  myself  did  I  oftentimes  repeat ; 
And  it  seemed,  as  I  retraced  the  ballad  line 

by  line, 
That  but  half  of  it  was  hers,  and  one-half  of 

it  was  mine. 


Again  and  once  again,  did  I  repeat  the  song ; 

"  Fay,"  said  I,  "  more  tlian  half  to  the  dam- 
eel  must  belong, 

For  she  looked  with  such  a  look,  and  she 
spake  with  such  a  tone, 

Tliat  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my 


own. 


"William  Woeds-woetil 


TO  MY  DAUGHTEE, 


ox  HEE  BXETHDAT. 


Deae  Fanny !  nine  long  years  ago, 
"While  yet  the  morning  sun  was  low, 
And  rosy  with  the  eastern  glow 

The  landscape  smiled ; 
Whilst  lowed  the  newly-wakened  herds- 
Sweet  as  the  early  song  of  birds, 
I  heard  those  first,  delightful  words, 

*'  Thou  hast  a  chUd !  " 


II. 

Along  with  that  uprising  dew 

Tears  glistened  in  my  eyes,  though  few, 

To  hail  a  dawning  quite  as  new 

To  mc,  as  Thne  : 
It  was  not  sorrow — not  annoy — 
But  like  a  happy  maid,  though  coy. 
With  grief-lilce  welcome,  even  Joy 

Forestalls  its  prime. 


III. 

So  may'st  thou  live,  dear !  many  years, 

In  aU  the  bliss  that  life  endears, 

Xot  without  smiles,  nor  yet  from  tears, 

Too  strictly  kept. 

Wlaen  first  thy  infant  littleness 

I  folded  in  my  fond  caress, 

The  greatest  proof  of  happiness 

Was  this — I  wept. 

Thomas  Hood. 


LITTLE  CHILDEEX.  " 

Spoetin-g  through  the  forest  wide ; 
Playing  by  the  waterside ; 
Wandering  o'er  the  heathy  fells ; 
Down  within  the  woodland  dells ; 
All  among  the  mountains  wild, 
Dwelleth  many  a  little  child  ! 
In  the  baron's  hall 'of  pride; 
By  the  poor  man's  dull  fireside  : 
'Mid  the  mighty,  'mid  the  mean. 
Little  children  may  be  seen, 
Lilve  the  flowers  that  spring  up  tair, 
Bright  and  countless  everywhere! 
In  the  far  isles  of  the  main ; 
In  the  desert's  lone  domain ; 
In  the  savage  mountain-glen, 
'Mong  the  tribes  of  swarthy  men ; 
Wheresoever  a  foot  hath  gone ; 
Wheresoe'er  the  sun  hath  shone 
On  a  league  of  peopled  ground, 
Little  children  may  be  found ! 
Blessings  on  them !  they  in  me 
Move  a  kindly  sympathy. 
With  their  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears; 
With  their  laughter  and  their  tears; 
With  their  wonder  so  intense. 
And  their  small  experience ! 
Little  children,  not  alone 
On  the  wide  earth  are  ye  kno  wn, 
'Mid  its  labors  and  its  cares, 
'Mid  its  sufferings  and  its  snares; 
Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  strife. 
In  the  world  of  love  and  life. 
Where  no  sinful  thing  liath  trod — 
In  the  presence  of  your  God, 
Spotless,  blameless,  glorified — 
Little  children,  ye  abide ! 

Mary  TIowitt 


I. HO 


rOEMS    OF     GIIILDnOOD. 


THE  IDLE  SllEPlIEKD  BOYS. 

A   PASTORAL. 

Tin:  valley  rings  witli  mirth  and  joy; 

Among  the  hills  the  echoes  play 

A  never,  never-ending  song, 

To  welcome  in  the  May. 

The  magpie  chatters  with  delight; 

The  mountain  raven's  youngling  brood 

Have  left  the  mother  and  the  nest ; 

And  they  go  rambling  cast  and  west 

In  search  of  their  own  food ; 

Or  through  the  glittering  vapors  dart 

In  very  wantonness  of  heart. 

Beneath  a  rock,  upon  the  grass, 
Two  boys  are  sitting  in  the  sun ; 
Their  work,  if  any  work  they  have, 
Is  out  of  mind, — or  done. 
On  pipes  of  sycamore  they  play 
The  fragments  of  a  Christian  hymn  ; 
Or  with  that  plant  which  in  our  dale 
"We  call  stag-horn,  or  fox's  tail. 
Their  rusty  hats  they  trim  : 
And  thus,  as  happy  as  the  day, 
Those  shepherds  wear  the  time  away. 

Along  the  rivers  stony  marge 

The  sand-lark  chants  a  joyous  song; 

The  thrush  is  busy  in  the  wood, 

And  carols  loud  and  strong. 

A  thousand  lambs  are  on  the  rocks, 

All  newly  born!  both  earth  and  sky 

Keep  jubilee,  and  more  than  all. 

Those  boys  with  their  green  coronal ; 

Thev  never  hear  the  crv. 

That  plaintive  cry !  which  up  the  hiL 

Comes  from  the  depth  of  Dungeon-GIiyll. 

Said  "Walter,  leaping  from  the  ground, 
"Down  to  the  stump  of  yon  old  yew 
We'll  for  our  whistles  run  a  race." 

Away  the  shepherds  flew ; 

They  leapt — they  ran — and  wlien  they  came 
Right  opposite  to  Dungeon-Gliyll, 
Seeing  tliat  he  should  lose  the  prize, 
"  Stop ! "  to  his  comrade  "Walter  cries. 
James  stopped  with  no  good  will. 
Said  Walter  then,  exulting,  "  Hero 
You'll  find  a  task  for  lialf  a  vear. 


"  Cross,  if  you  dare,  Avhcro  I  shall  cross,— 

Come  on,  and  tread  where  I  shall  tread  '' 

The  other  took  him  at  his  word, 

And  followed  as  he  led. 

It  was  a  spot  which  you  may  see 

If  ever  you  to  Langdale  go  ; 

Into  the  chasm  a  mighty  block 

Ilath  fallen,  and  made  a  bridge  of  rock : 

The  gulf  is  deep  below  ; 

And,  in  a  basin  black  and  small, 

Receives  a  lofty  Avaterfall. 

With  stafT  in  hand  across  the  cleft 

The  challenger  pursued  his  march  ; 

And  now,  all  eyes  and  feet,  hath  gained 

The  middle  of  the  arch. 

When  list !  he  hears  a  piteous  moan. 

Again ! — his  heart  within  him  dies ; 

His  pulse  is  stopped,  his  breath  is  lost, 

He  totters,  pallid  as  a  ghost. 

And,  looking  down,  espies 

A  lamb,  that  in  the  pool  is  pent 

Within  that  black  and  frightful  rent. 

The  lamb  had  slipped  into  the  stream, 

And  safe  without  a  bruise  or  wound 

The  cataract  had  borne  him  down 

Into  the  gulf  profound. 

His  dam  had  seen  him  when  he  fell — 

She  saw  him  down  the  torrent  borne ; 

And,  with  all  a  mother's  love. 

She  from  the  lofty  rocks  above 

Sent  forth  a  cry  forlorn ; 

The  lamb,  still  swimming  round  and  round, 

Made  answer  in  that  plaintive  sound. 

When  he  had  learnt  what  thing  it  was 

That  sent  this  rueful  cry,  I  ween 

The  boy  recovered  heart,  and  told 

The  sight  which  he  had  seen. 

Both  gladly  noAv  deferred  their  task ; 

Nor  was  there  wanting  other  aid  : 

A  Poet,  one  who  loves  the  brooks 

Far  better  than  the  sages'  books. 

By  chance  had  hither  strayed ; 

And  there  the  helpless  lamb  he  found 

By  those  huge  rocks  encompassed  round. 

He  drew  it  from  the  troubled  pool, 
And  brought  it  forth  into  the  light ; 
The  shepherds  met  him  Avith  his  chare:e. 


LITTLE    BOY    BLUE.                                                    U1 

An  unexpected  sight ! 

£nto  their  arms  the  lamb  they  took, 
Whose  life  and  limbs  the  flood  had  spared  ; 

LITTLE  BOY  BLUE. 

Then  up  the  steep  ascent  they  hied, 

And  placed  him  at  his  mother's  side ; 

And  gently  did  the  Bard 

Those  idle  shepherd  boys  upbraid, 

A  nd  bade  them  better  mind  their  trade. 

"Whex  the  corn-fields  and  meadow? 

A.re  pearled  with  the  dew, 
"With  the  first  sunny  shadow 

Walks  little  Boy  Blue. 

"William  "Woedswoeth. 

Oh  the  Jfymphs  and  the  Graces 

Still  gleam  on  his  eyes, 

. 

And  the  kind  fairy  fiices 

Look  down  from  the  skies ; 

THE  SHEPHERD  BOY. 

And  a  secret  revealing 

Like  some  vision  olden 

Of  far  other  time, 
"When  the  age  was  golden. 

Of  life  within  life, 
"When  feeling  meets  feeling 
In  musical  strife ; 

In  the  young  Avorld's  prime. 
Is  thy  soft  pipe  ringing, 

0  lonely  shepherd  boy  : 
"What  song  art  thou  singing. 

In  thy  youth  and  joy  ? 

A  winding  and  weaving 
In  flowers  and  in  trees, 

A  floating  and  heaving 
In  sunlight  and  breeze  ; 

Or  art  thou  complaining 
Of  tliy  lowly  lot. 

A    striving   and  soaring, 
A  gladness,  and  grace, 

And  thine  own  disdaining. 

Make  him  kneel  half  adoring 

Dost  ask  what  thou  hast  not  ? 

The  God  in  the  place. 

Of  the  future  dreaming. 

"Weary  of  the  past. 

Then  amid  the  live  shadows 

For  the  present  scheming — 

Of  lambs  at  their  play, 

All  but  what  thou  hast. 

Where  the  kine  scent  the  meadows 

With  breath  like  the  May, 

No,  thou  art  delighting 

In  thy  summer  home ; 

He  stands  in  the  splendor 

"Where  the  flowers  inviting 

That  waits  on  the  morn, 

Tempt  the  bee  to  roam  ; 

And  a  music  more  tender 

"Where  the  cowslip,  beading 

Distils  from  his  horn  ; 

"With  its  golden  bells. 

Of  each  glad  hour's  ending 

And  he  weeps,  he  rejoices, 

■\Vith  a  sweet  chime  tells. 

He  prays ;  nor  in  vain, 

Eor  soft  loving  voices 

All  wild  creatures  love  him 

"Will  answer  again ; 

"When  he  is  alone  ; 

Every  bird  above  him 

And  the  Nymphs  and  the  Graces 

Sings  its  softest  tone. 

Still  gleam  through  the  dew. 

Thankful  to  high  Heaven. 

And  kind  fairy  faces 

Humble  in  thy  joy. 
Much  to  thee  is  given, 

Watch  little  Boy  Blue. 

A>ONY»IOUS. 

Lowly  shepherd  bov. 

•'I                            •/ 

L-KTITIA    ELIZABBTU  LaNDON. 

22 

13S 


POEMS    OF    OlIILDIIOOD. 


LITTLE  EED  RIDING  HOOD. 


CoiiK  Lack,  como  back  together, 

All  yo  fancies  of  tlie  past, 
Ye  days  of  April  weather, 

Yo  shadows  that  arc  cast 

By  the  haunted  hours  before ! 
Come  back,  come  back,  my  Childhood  ; 

Thou  art  summoned  by  a  spell 
From  the  green  leaves  of  the  wildwood, 

From  beside  the  charmed  well, 

For  Rod  Riding  Ilood,  the  darling. 
The  flower  of  foiry  lore ! 

The  fields  were  covered  over 

"With  colors  as  she  went ; 
Daisy,  buttercup,  and  clover 

Below  her  footsteps  bent ; 

Sunnner  shed  its  shining  store  ; 
She  was  liappy  as  she  pressed  them 

Beneath  her  little  feet ; 
She  plucked  them  and  caressed  them  ; 

They  were  so  very  sweet. 

They  had  never  seemed  so  sweet  before, 
To  Red  Riding  Hood,  the  darling, 
The  flower  of  fairy  lore. 

How  the  heart  of  cliildhood  dances 

Upon  a  sunny  day  ! 
It  has  its  own  romances, 

And  a  wide,  wide  world  have  they  ! 
A  world  where  Phantasie  is  king. 
Made  all  of  eager  dreaming ; 

When  once  grown  up  and  tall — 
N^ow  is  the  time  for  scheming — 
Tiien  we  shall  do  them  all ! 

Do  such  pleasant  fancies  spring 
For  Red  Riding  Hood,  the  darling. 
The  flower  of  fairy  lore  ? 

She  seems  like  an  ideal  love, 
The  poetry  of  childhood  shown, 

And  yet  loved  with  a  real  love. 
As  if  she  were  our  own — 

A  younger  sister  for  the  heart ; 

Like  the  woodland  pheasant, 
Iler  hair  is  brown  and  bright ; 

And  her  smile  is  pleasant, 


AVith  its  rosy  light. 
Never  can  the  memory  part 
AYith  Red  Riding  Hood,  the  darling, 
The  flower  of  fairy  lore. 


Did  the  painter,  dreaming 

In  a  morning  hour, 
Catch  the  fairy  seeming 
Of  this  fairy  flower  ? 

Winning  it  with  eager  eyes 
From  the  old  enchanted  stories, 
Lingering  witli  a  long  delight 
On  the  unforgotten  glories 
Of  the  infant  sight  ? 

Giving  us  a  sweet  sm-prise 
In  Red  Riding  Hood,  the  darling, 
The  flower  of  fairy  lore  ? 

Too  long  in  the  meadow  staying, 

Where  the  cowslip  bends. 
With  the  buttercups  delaying 
As  with  early  friends. 

Did  the  little  maiden  stay. 
Sorrowful  the  tale  for  us  ; 

We,  too,  loiter  mid  life's  flowers, 
A  little  while  so  glorious. 
So  soon  lost  in  darker  houi's. 

All  love  lingering  on  their  way, 
Like  Red  Riding  Hood,  the  darling, 
The  floAver  of  fairy  lore. 

L^TiTiA  Elizabeth  Landon. 


THE  GAMBOLS  OF  CHILDREN. 

DoWiSr  the  dimpled  green-sward  dancing, 
Bursts  a  flaxen-headed  bevy — 

Bud-lipt  boys  and  girls  advancing. 
Love's  irregular  little  levy. 

Rows  of  liquid  eyes  in  laughter. 

How  they  glimmer,  how  they  quiver  I 

Sparkling  one  another  after. 
Like  bright  ripples  on  a  river. 

Tipsy  band  of  rubious  faces. 
Flushed  with  Joy's  ethereal  spirit, 

Make  your  mocks  and  sly  grimaces 
At  Love's  self,  and  do  not  fear  it. 

George  Darlby. 


THE     PIED    PIPER    OF    HAMELIN. 


139 


THE  PIED  PIPER  OF  IIAMELIK 


Hamelix  Town 's  in  Brunswick, 
Bv  famous  Hanover  city ; 

The  river  Weser,  deep  and  wide, 

"Washes  its  wall  on  the  southern  side  ; 

A  pleasanter  spot  you  never  spied ; 
But  when  begins  my  ditty, 

Almost  five  hundred  years  ago, 

To  see  the  townsfolk  sufl:er  so 
From  vermin,  was  a  pity. 

ir. 
Eats  ! 

They  fought  the  dogs,  and  killed  the  cats. 

And  bit  the  babies  in  the  cradles. 

And  ate  the  cheeses  out  of  the  vats, 

And  licked  the  soup  from  the  cook's  own 

ladles. 

Split  open  the  kegs  of  salted  sprats. 

Made  nests  inside  men's  Sunday  hats. 

And  even  spoiled  the  women's  chats. 

By  drowning  their  speaking 

"With  shrieking  and  squeaking 

In  fifty  different  sharps  and  flats. 

III. 
At  last  the  people  in  a  body 

To  the  Town  Hall  came  flocking : 
'"Tis  clear,"   cried  they,    "our  Mayor's  a 
noddy ; 

And  as  for  our  Corporation — shocking 
To  think  we  buy  gowns  lined  with  ermine 
For  dolts  that  can't  or  won't  determine 
"^^hat's  best  to  rid  us  of  our  vermin ! 
You  hope,  because  you  're  old  and  obese. 
To  find  in  the  furry  civic  robe  ease  ? 
Rouse  up,  Sirs !     Give  your  brains  a  racking 
To  find  the  remedy  we  're  lacking. 
Or,  sure  as  fote,  we  '11  send  you  packing !  " 
At  this  the  Mayor  and  Corporation 
Quaked  with  a  mighty  consternation. 

IV. 

An  hour  they  sate  in  counsel — 

At  length  the  Mayor  broke  silence  : 

"  For  a  guilder  I  'd  my  ermine  gown  sell ; 
I  wish  I  were  a  mile  hence  ! 

It's  easy  to  bid  one  rack  one's  brain — 

I'm  sure  my  poor  head  aches  again. 


I  've  scratched  it  so,  and  all  in  vain. 

Oh  for  a  trap,  a  trap,  a  trap  !  " 

Just  as  he  said  this,  what  should  hap 

At  the  chamber  door  but  a  gentle  tap  ? 

"  Bless  us,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "  what's  that  ? " 

("With  the  Corporation  as  he  sat. 

Looking  little  though  wondrous  fat ; 

ISTor  brighter  was  his  eye,  nor  moister 

Than  a  too-long-opened  oyster. 

Save  Avhen  at  noon  his  pauncli  grew  mutinous 

For  a  plate  of  turtle,  green  and  glutinous,) 

"  Only  a  scraping  of  shoes  on  the  mat  ? 

Anything  like  the  sound  of  a. rat 

Makes  my  heart  go  pit-a-pat !  " 


"Come   in!"  —  the    Mayor    cried,    looking 

bigger ; 
And  in  did  come  the  strangest  figure : 
His  queer  long  coat  from  heel  to  head 
"Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red ; 
And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin  ; 
"With  sharp  blue  eyes,  ?!ach  like  a  pin ; 
And  light  loose  hair,  yet  swarthy  skin  ; 
No  tuft  on  cheek  nor  beard  on  chin. 
But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and  in — 
There  was  no  guessing  his  kith  and  kin  ! 
And  nobody  could  enoagh  admire 
The  tall  man  and  his  quaint  attire. 
Quoth  one  :  "  It 's  as  my  great-grandsire. 
Starting  up  at  the  trump  of  doom's  tone, 
Had  walked  this  way  from  his  painted  tomb- 
stone ! " 

VI. 

He  advanced  to  the  council-table  : 

And,  " Please  your  honours,"  said  he,  "I'm 

able. 
By  means  of  a  secret  charm,  to  draw 
All  creatures  living  beneath  tlic  sun, 
That  creep,  or  swim,  or  fly,  or  run. 
After  me  so  as  you  never  saw  ! 
And  I  chiefly  use  my  charm 
On  creatures  that  do  people  harm — 
The  mole,  and  toad,  and  newt,  and  viper — 
And  people  call  me  the  Pied  Piper." 
(And  here  they  noticed  round  his  neck 
A  scarf  of  red  and  yellow- stripe. 
To  match  with  his  coat  of  the   self  same 

clieck ; 
And  at  the  scarf's  end  hung  a  pipe  ; 


110 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


;\.iul  liis  tingers,    they  noticed,    were    ever 

straying 
As  if  impatient  to  bo  playing 
Upon  this  pipe,  as  low  it  dangled 
Over  his  vesture  so  old-fangled.) 

Yet,"  said  he,  "  poor  piper  as  I  am, 
In  Tartary  I  freed  the  Cham, 
Last  June,  from  his  huge  swarm  of  gnats ; 
I  eased  in  Asia  the  Nizam 
Of  a  monstrous  brood  of  vampire-bats  ; 
And,  as  for  what  your  brain  bewilders — 
If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rats, 
Will  you  give  me  a  thousand  guilders  ? " 
"One ?  fifty  thousand ! " — was  the  exclamation 
Of  the  astonished  Mayor  and  Corporation. 

VII. 

Into  the  street  the  Piper  slept. 

Smiling  first  a  little  smile. 
As  if  he  knew  what  magic  slept 

In  his  quiet  pipe  the  while  ; 
Then,  like  a  musical  adept, 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  wrinkled. 
And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes  twinkled. 
Like  a  candle  flame  where  salt  is  sprinkled ; 
And  ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  uttered, 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered  ; 
And  the  muttering  grew  to  a  grumbling  ; 
And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  rum- 
bling ; 
And  out  of  the  houses  the  rats  came  tum- 
bling. 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats. 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  grey  rats,  tawny  rats. 
Grave  old  plodders,  gay  young  friskers. 

Fathers,  mothBrs,  uncles,  cousins. 
Cocking  tails  and  pricking  whiskers; 

Families  by  tens  and  dozens, 
Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives — 
Followed  the  Piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped  advancing. 
And  step  for  step  they  followed  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  river  Weser 
Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished 
— Save  one  who,  stout  as  Julius  Caesar, 
Swam  across  and  lived  to  carry 
(As  he  the  manuscript  he  cherished) 
To  Pat-land  home  his  coramentary, 
Which  was :  "  At  the  first  shrill  notes  of  the 

pipe, 
I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe^ 


And  putting  apples,  wondrous  ripe. 

Into  a  cider-press's  gripe — 

And  a  moving  away  of  picklc-tub-boards, 

And  a  leaving  ajar  of  conserve-cupboards. 

And  a  drawing  the  corks  of  train-oil-flasks. 

And  a  breaking  tlie  hoops  of  butter-casks  ; 

And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 

(Sweeter  far  than  by  harp  or  by  psaltery 

Is  breathed)  called  out,  O  rats,  rejoice  ! 

The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  drysaltery ! 

So  munch  on,  crunch  on,  take  your  nuncheon, 

Breakfast,  supper,  dinner,  luncheon ! 

And  just  as  a  bulky  sugar-puncheon, 

All  ready  staved,  like  a  great  sun  shone 

Glorious,  scarce  an  inch  before  me. 

Just  as  methought  it  said,  Come,  bore  me  ! 

— I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me." 

Tin. 

Y^'ou  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin  people 
Pinging  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the  steeple ; 
"  Go,"  ci'ied  the  Mayor,  "  and  get  long  poles  ! 
Poke  out  the  nests  and  block  up  the  holes ! 
Consult  with  carpenters  and  builders. 
And  leave  in  our  town  not  even  a  trace 
Of  the  rats  !  " — Avhen  suddenly,  up  the  face 
Of  the  Piper  perked  in  the  market-place. 
With  a,  "First,  if  you  please,  my  thousand 
guilders ! " 

IX. 

A  thousand  guilders  !     The  Mayor  looked 

blue ; 
So  did  the  Corporation  too. 
For  council  dinners  made  rare  havock 
With  Claret,  Moselle,  Vin-de-Grave,  Ilock ; 
And  half  the  money  would  replenish 
Their  cellar's  biggest  butt  with  Ehenish. 
To  pay  this  sum  to  a  wandering  fellow 
With  a  gipsy  coat  of  red  and  yellow  ! 
"  Beside,"  quoth  the  Mayor,  Avith  a  knowing 

wink, 
"  Our  business  was  done  at  the  river's  brink ; 
We  saw  with  our  eyes  the  vermin  sink. 
And  what's  dead  can't  come  to  life,  I  think. 
So,  friend,  Ave  're  not  the  folks  to  shrink 
From  the  duty  of  giving  you  something  for 

drink. 
And  a  matter  of  money  to  put  in  your  poke ; 
But,  as  for  the  guilders,  what  Ave  spoke 
Of  them,  as  you  very  Avell  knoAV,  Avas  in  joke 


THE     PIED     PIPER     OF     HAMELIN. 


141 


Reside,  our  losses  have  made  us  tlirifty ; 
A-  thousand  guilders !     Come,  take  fifty  !  " 


The  piper's  face  fell,  aud  he  cried, 

"  'So  trifling !     I  can't  -vrait !    beside, 

I  've  promised  to  visit  by  dinner  time 

Bagdat,  and  accept  the  prime 

Of  the  head  cook's  pottage,  all  he 's  rich  in, 

For  having  left,  in  the  Caliph's  kitchen. 

Of  a  nest  of  scorpion's  no  survivor — 

With  him  I  proved  no  bargain-driver; 

With  you,  don't  think  I'll  bate  a  stiver ! 

And  folks  who  put  me  in  a  passion 

May  find  me  pipe  to  another  fashion." 

XI. 

"How?"  cried  the  Mayor,  "d'ye  think  I'll 

brook 
Being  worse  treated  than  a  cook  ? 
Insulted  by  a  lazy  ribald 
With  idle  pipe  and  vesture  piebald  ? 
You  threaten  us,  fellow  ?     Do  your  worst. 
Blow  your  pipe  there  till  you  burst !  " 

xir. 

Once  more  he  stept  into  the  street ; 
And  to  his  lips  again 

Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth  straight  cane  ; 
And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (sucli  sweet 

Soft  notes  as  yet  musician's  cunning 
Xever  gave  the  enraptured  air) 

Tliere  was  a  rustling  that  seemed  like  a  bus- 
tling 

Of  merry  crowds  justling  at  pitching  and 
hustling  ; 

Small   feet  were   pattering,    wooden    shoes 
•    clattering, 

Little    hands    clapping,    and    little    tongues 
chattering; 

And,  like  fowls  in  a  fixrm-yard  when  barley 
is  scattering, 

Out  came  the  children  running: 

All  the  little  boys  and  girls. 

With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls. 

And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls. 

Tripping  and  skipping,  ran  merrily  after 

The   wonderful  music    Avith    shouting    and 
laughter. 


XIII. 

The  Mayor  was  dumb,  and  the  Council  stood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of  wood, 
Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by — 
And  could  only  follow  with'  the  eye 
That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  back. 
But  how  the  Mayor  was  on  the  rack, 
Aud  the  wretched  Council's  bosoms  beat, 
As  the  Piper  turned  from  the  High  Street 
To  where  the  Weser  rolled  its  waters 
Eight  in  the  way  of  their  sons  and  daughters ! 
However, he  turned  from  South  to  West, 
Aud  to  Koppelberg  Ilill  his  steps  addressed, 
And  after  him  the  children  pressed  ; 
Great  was  the  joy  in  every  breast. 
"  He  never  can  cross  that  mighty  top  ! 
He 's  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop. 
And  we  shall  see  our  children  stop !  " 
When,  lo,  as  they  reached  the  mountain's  side, 
A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide. 
As  if  a  cavern  was  suddenly  hollowed  ; 
And  the  Piper  advanced  and  the  children 

followed ; 
And  when  all  were  in,  to  the  very  last, 
The  door  in  the  mountain  side  shut  fast. 
Did  I  say  all  ?     No  !     One  was  lame. 
And  could  not  dance  the  whole  of  the  way  ; 
And  in  after  years,  if  you  would  blame 
His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say, — 
"It's  dull  in  our  town  since  my  playmates 

left! 
I  can't  forget  that  I'm  bereft 
Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see. 
Which  the  Piper  also  i^romised  me  ; 
For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous  land. 
Joining  the  town  and  just  at  hand. 
Where  waters  gushed  and  fruit-trees  grew, 
And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue. 
And  every  thing  was  strange  and  new  ; 
The  sparrows  were  brighter  than  peacocks 

here. 
And  their  dogs  outran  our  fallow  deer, 
And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings, 
And  horses  were  born  with  eagles'  wings ; 
And  just  as  I  became  assured 
My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 
The  music  stopped  and  I  stood  still. 
And  found  myself  outside  the  Hill, 
Left  alone  against  my  will, 


M'^ 


POEMS    OF    CniLDIIOOD. 


To  go  now  limping  as  before, 

And  never  hear  of  that  conntry  more  !  " 


XIV. 

Alas,  alas  for  ITamelin  ! 

There  came  into  many  a  burgher's  pate 

A  text  which  says,  that  Heaven's  gate 

Opes  to  the  rich  at  as  easy  rate 
As  the  needle's  eye  takes  a  camel  in ! 
The   ^Nfayor   sent   East,    West,    North,    and 

South, 
To  ofter  the  piper  by  word  of  mouth, 

"Wherever  it  was  men's  lot  to  lind  him. 
Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content. 
If  he  'd  only  return  the  way  he  went. 

And  bring  the  children  behind  him. 
But  when  they  saw  'twas  a  lost  endeavor. 
And  piper  and  dancers  were  gone  for  ever. 
They  made  a  decree  that  lawyers  never 

Sliould  think  their  records  dated  duly 
If,  after  the  day  of  the  month  and  year. 
These  words  did  not  as  well  appear, 
"  And  so  long  after  what  happened  here 

On  the  Twenty-second  of  July, 
Thirteen  Hundred  and  Seventy-six : " 
And  the  better  in  memory  to  fix 
The  place  of  the  Children's  last  retreat 
They  called  it  the  Pied  Piper's  Street — 
"Where  any  one  playing  on  pipe  or  tabor 
Was  sure  for  the  future  to  lose  his  labor. 
"N^or  suifered  they  hostelry  or  tavern 

To  shock  with  mirth  a  street  so  solemn  ; 
But  opposite  the  place  of  the  cavern 

They  wrote  the  story  on  a  column. 
And  on  the  Great  Church  window  painted 
The  same,  to  make  the  world  acquainted 
How  their  children  were  stolen  away  ; 
And  there  it  stands  to  this  very  day. 
And  I  must  not  omit  to  say 
Tliat  in  Transylvania  there 's  a  tribe 
Of  alien  people  that  ascribe 
TJic  outlandish  ways  and  dress 
On  which  their  neighbors  lay  such  stress 
To  their  fathers  and  mothers  having  risen 
Out  of  some  subterranean  prison 
Into  which  they  Averc  trepanned 
Long  time  ago,  in  a  mighty  band. 
Out  of  Haraelin  town  in  Brunswick  land, 
But  how  or  why,  they  don't  understand. 


XV. 

So,  Willy,  let  you  and  me  be  wipers 

Of  scores  out  with  all  men — especially  pipers ; 

And,  Avhcther  they  pipe  us  free  from  rats  or 

from  mice, 

If  we've  promised  them  aught,  let  us  keep 

our  promise. 

Robert  Browning. 


A  VISIT  FROM  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

'T  WAS  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all 

throi'.gh  the  house 
Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse ; 
The  stockings  Avere  hung  by  the  chimney  with 

care. 
In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be 

there ; 
The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their 

beds. 
While  visions  of  sugar-plums  danced  in  their 

heads ; 
And  Mamma  in  her  kerchief,  and  I  in  my 

cap. 
Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's 

nap — 
When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a 

clatter, 
I  sprang  from  my  bed  to  see  what  was  the 

matter. 
Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 
Tore  open  the  shutters  and  threw  up  the  sash. 
The  moon,  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen 

snow, 
Gave  a  lustre  of  mid-day  to  objects  below; 
When,  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should 

appear. 
But  a  miniature  sleigh,  and  eight  tiny  rein- 
deer. 
With  a  little  old  driver,  so  lively  and  quick, 
I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St,  Nick, 
More  rapid  than  eagles  his   coursers  they 

came. 
And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and   called 

them  by  name ; 
"Now,  Dasher !  now,  Dancer !  now,  Prancer 

and  Vixen ! 
On !    Comet,  oh !    Cupid,  on !    Donder   and 

Blitzen — 


SATURDAY     AFTERXOON 


143 


To  the  top  of  the  porch,  to  the  top  of  the 

Avail ! 
Now,    dash   away,    dash   away,    dash   away 

all!" 
As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hiu-ricane 

fly, 

When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle,  mount  to 

the  sky, 
So,  up  to  the  house-top  the  coursers  they 

flew, 
With  the  sleigh  full  of  toys — and  St.  Nicho- 
las too. 
And  then  in  a  twinkling  I  heard  on  the  roof 
The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 
As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  was  turning 

around, 
Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a 

bound. 
He  was  dressed  all  in  fur  from  his  head  to 

his  foot, 
And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with  ashes 

and  soot ; 
A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 
And  he  looked  like  a  pedler  just  opening  Ms 

pack, 
riis  eyes  how  they  twinkled!  his  dimples  how 


merry 


His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like  a 

cherry ; 
His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like  a 

bow, 
And  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  as  white  as 

the  snow. 
The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in  his  teeth, 
And  the  smoke,  it  encircled  his  head  like  a 

wreath. 
He  had  a  broad  face  and  a  little  round  belly 
That  shook,  when  he  laughed,  like  a  bowl  full 

of  jelly. 
He  was  chubby  and  plump — a  right  jolly  old 

elf; 
And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him,  in  spite  of 

myself. 
A  wink  of  his  eye,  and  a  twist  of  his  head, 
Soon  gave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread. 
He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to 

his  work, 
And  filled  all  the  stockings ;  then  turned  with 

a  jerk. 
And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose, 
And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose. 


He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a 

whistle. 
And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a 

thistle ; 
But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  he  drove  out  of 

sight, 
"Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  good- 


night ! " 


Clement  C.  Mooke 


SATURDAY  AFTERNOON. 

I  LOVE  to  look  on  a  scene  like  this. 

Of  wild  and  careless  play. 
And  persuade  myself  that  I  am  not  old, 

And  my  locks  are  not  yet  gray  ; 
For  it  stirs  the  blood  in  an  old  man's  heart, 

And  makes  his  pulses  fly. 
To  catch  the  thrill  of  a  happy  voice, 

And  the  light  of  a  pleasant  eye. 

I  have  walked  the  world  for  fourscore  years, 

And  they  say  that  I  am  old — 
That  my  heart  is  ripe  for  the  reaper  Death, 

And  my  years  are  well-nigh  told. 
It  is  very  true — it  is  very  true — 

I  am  old,  and  I  "  bide  my  time  ;  " 
But  my  heart  will  leap  at  a  scene  like  this, 

And  I  half  renew  my  prime. 

Play  on  !  play  on  !     I  am  with  you  there. 

In  the  midst  of  your  merry  ring ; 
I  can  feel  the  thrill  of  the  daring  jump. 

And  the  rash  of  the  breathless  swing. 
I  hide  with  you  in  the  fragrant  hay. 

And  I  whoop  the  smothered  call. 
And  my  feet  slip  up  on  the  seedy  floor. 

And  I  care  not  for  the  fall. 

I  am  willing  to  die  when  my  time  shall  come, 

And  I  shall  be  glad  to  go — 
For  the  world,  at  best,  is  a  weary  place. 

And  my  pulse  is  getting  low  ; 
But  the  grave  is  dark,  and  the  heart  will  fail 

In  treading  its  gloomy  way  ; 
And  it  wiles  my  heart  from  its  dreariness 

To  see  the  young  so  gay. 

Nathaniel  Paekee  Willis, 


Ml 


POEMS    OF    CEILDIIOOD. 


THE  SCHOOLMISTKESS. 

Ah  mo  !  full  soroly  is  my  heart  forlorn, 
To  tliiuk  how  modest  worth  neglected  lies, 
"Wliilo  partial  Fame   doth   with  her  hlasts 

adorn 
Siu'h  deeds  alone  as  pride  and  pomp  disguise; 
Deeds  of  ill  sort,  and  mischievous  emprise. 
Lend  mo  thy  clarion,  goddess !  let  me  try 
To  sound  the  praise  of  merit,  ere  it  dies. 
Such  as  I  oft  Lave  chaunced  to  espy. 
Lost  in  the  dreary  shades  of  dull  obscurity. 

In  every  village  marked  with  little  spire, 
Embowered  in  trees,  and  hardly  known  to 

Fame, 
There  dwells,  in  lowly  shed  and  mean  attire, 
A   matron    old,    whom    we  Schoolmistress 

name, 
Who  boasts  unruly  brats  with  birch  to  tame; 
They  grieven  sore,  in  piteous  durance  pent. 
Awed  by  the  power  of  this  relentless  dame; 
And  ofttimes,  on  vagaries  idly  bent. 
For  unkempt  hair,    or   task  unconned,  are 

sorely  shent. 

And  all  in  sight  doth  rise  a  birchen  tree, 
Wliich  Learning  near  her  little  dome  did 

stow. 
Whilom  a  twig  of  small  regard  to  see, 
Though  now  so  wide  its  waving  branches  flow, 
And  work  the  simple  vassals  mickle  woe  ; 
For  not  a  wind  might  curl  the  leaves  that 

blew, 
But  their  limbs  shuddered,  and  their  pulse 

beat  low ; 
And  as  they  looked,  they  found  their  horror 

grew. 
And  shaped  it  into  rods,  and  tingled  at  the 

view. 

So  have  I  soon  (who  has  not,  may  conceive) 
A  lifeless  phantom  near  a  garden  placed ; 
So  doth  it  wanton  birds  of  peace  bereave, 
Of  sport,  of  song,  of  jjleasure,  of  repast ; 
They  start,  they  stare,  they  wheel,  they  look 

agliast ; 
Sad  servitude !  such  comfortless  annoy 
iLay  no  bold  Briton's  riper  age  e'er  taste  ! 


No  superstition  clog  his  dance  of  joy. 

No  vision  empty,  vain,  his  native  hliss  destroy. 

Near  to  this  dome  is  found  a  patch  so  green, 
On  which  the  tribe  their  ganihols  do  display ; 
And  at  the  door  imprisoning-hoard  is  seen, 
Lest  weakly  wights  of  smaller  size  should 

stray, 
Eager,  perdie,  to  hask  in  sunny  day  ! 
The  noises  intermixed,  which  thence  resound, 
Do  Learning's  little  tenement  betray  ; 
AVhere  sits  the  dame,  disguised  in  look  pro- 
found, 
And  eyes  her  fairy  throng,  and  turns  her 
wheel  around. 

Her  cap,  far  whiter  than  the  driven  snow, 
Emblem  right  meet  of  decency  does  yield ; 
Her  apron  dyed  in  grain,  as  blue,  I  trowe. 
As  is  the  hare-bell  that  adorns  the  field ; 
And  in  her  hand  for  sceptre,  she  does  wield 
Tway  birchen  sprays,  with  anxious  fears  en- 
twined, 
"With  dark  distrust,  and  sad  repentance  filled, 
And  stedfast  hate,  and  sharp  affliction  joined, 
And  fury  nncontrolled,and  chastisement  im- 
kind. 

Few  but  have  kenned,  in  semblance  meet  por- 
trayed, 
The  childish  faces  of  old  Eol's  train  ; 
Libs,  Notus,  Auster ;  these  in  frowns  arrayed. 
How  then  would  fare  or  earth,  or  sky,  or 

maiu; 
AVere  the  stern  god  to  give  his  slaves  the 

rein  ? 
And  were  not  she  rebellious  breasts  to  quell, 
And  were  not  she  her  statutes  to  maintain, 
The  cot  no  more,  I  ween,  were  deemed  the 

cell, 
Where  comely  peace   of  mind  and  decent 
order  dwell. 

A  russet  stole  w^as  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown; 
A  russet  kirtle  fenced  the  nipping  air ; 
'T  was  simple  russet,  but  it  was  her  own ; 
'T  was  her  own  country  bred  the  flock  so 

lair ; 
'T  was  her  own  labor  did  the  fleece  prepare  ; 
And,  sooth  to  say,  her  pupils,  ranged  around. 
Through  pious  awe  did  term  it  passing  rare ; 


HE    SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


145 


For  tliev  in  gaping  -wonderment  abound, 
And  thiul':,  no  doubt,  she  been  the  greatest 


wight  on  ground ! 


Albeit  ne  flattery  did  corrupt  her  truth, 
Ne  pompous  title  did  debauch  her  ear ; 
Goody,  good-woman,  gossip,  n'aunt,  forsooth, 
Or  dame,  the  sole  additions  she  did  hear ; 
Yet  these  she  challenged,  these  she  held  right 

dear; 
Ne  would  esteem  him  act  as  mought  behove. 
Who  should  not  honored  eld  with  these  re- 
vere ; 
For  never  title  yet  so  mean  could  prove, 
But  there  was  eke  a  mind  which  did  that 
title  love. 

One  ancient  hen  she  took  delight  to  feed, 
The  plodding  pattern  of  the  busy  dame ; 
Which,  ever  and  anon,  impelled  by  need, 
Into  her  school,  begirt  with  chickens,  came  ! 
Such  favor  did  her  past  deportment  claim  ; 
And  if  Neglect  had  lavished  on  the  ground 
Fragment  of  bread,  she  would  collect  the  same ; 
For  well  she  knew,  and  quaintly  could  ex- 
pound. 
What  sin  it  were  to  waste  the  smallest  crumb 
she  found. 

Herbs,  too,  she  knew,  and  well  of  each  could 

speak, 
Tliat  in  her  garden  sipped  the  silvery  dew, 
Where   no  vain  flower    disclosed  a  gaudy 

streak ; 
But  herbs  for  use  and  physic  not  a  few. 
Of  grey  renown,  within  these  bordei's  grew  ; 
The  tutted  basil,  pun-provoking  thyme. 
Fresh  balm,  and  maiygold  of  cheerful  hue, 
The  lowly  gill,  that  never  dares  to  climb  ; 
And  more  I  fain  would  sing,  disdaining  here 

to  rhyme. 

Yet  euphrasy  may  not  be  left  unsung. 

That    gives    dim    eyes  to    wander    leagues 

around  ; 
And  pungent  radish,  biting  infant's  tongue  ; 
And  plantain  ribbed,  tliat  licals  the  reaper's 

wound ; 
A^nd  marjoram   sweet,  in  shepherd's  posie 

found  ; 

23 


And  lavender,  whose  spikes  of  azure  bloom 
Shall  be  erewliile  in  arid  bundles  bound. 
To  lurk  amid  the  labors  of  her  loom. 
And  crown  her  kerchiefs  clean  with  miclde 
rare  perfume. 

And    here    trim    rosemarine,   that    whilom 

crowned  • 

The  daintiest  garden  of  the  proudest  peer. 
Ere,  driven  from  its  envied  site,  it  found 
A  sacred  shelter  for  its  branches  here  ; 
Where  edged  with  gold  its  glittering  skirts 

appear. 
Oh  wassel  days !  O  customs  meet  and  well ! 
Ere  this  was  banished  from  its  lofty  sphere ! 
Simplicity  then  sought  this  humble  ceil, 
Nor  ever  would  she  more  with  thane  and 
lordling  dwell. 

Here  oft  the  dame,  on  Sabbath's  decent  eve, 
Hymned  such  psalms  as  Sternhold  forth  did 

mete. 
If  winter  't  were,   she   to  her    heartli   did 

cleave. 
But  in  her  garden  found  a  summer-seat ; 
Sweet  melody !  to  hear  her  then  repeat 
How  Israel's  sons,  beneath  a  foreign  king. 
While  taunting  foemen  did  a  song  entreat. 
All  for  the  nonce  untuning  every  string, 
Uphung  their  useless  lyres — small  heart  had 

they  to  sing. 

For  she  was  just,  and  friend  to  virtuous  lore, 
xVnd  passed  much  time  in  truly  virtuous  deed; 
And  in  those  elfin  ears  would  oft  deplore 
The  times  when  truth  by   Popish  rage  did 

bleed. 
And  tortuous    death   was    true    devotion's 

meed, 
And  simple  Faith  in  iron  chains  did  mourn. 
That  nould  on  wooden  image  place  her  creed ; 
And  lawny  saints  in  smouldering  flames  did 

burn ; 
Ah,  dearest  Lord,  forefend  thilk  days  should 

e'er  return ! 

In  elbow-chair,  like  that  of  Scottish  stem 
By  the  sharp  tooth  of  cankering  eld  defaced, 
In  which,  wlicn  he  receives  his  diadem. 
Our  sovereign  prince   and    liefest    liege   is 
placed, 


14G 


POEMS    OF    CniLDIIOOD. 


The  matron  sate,  aud  some  "with  rank  she 

graced, 
(The  source  of  children  s  and  of  courtiers' 

pride !) 
Redressed  atlronts,   I'or  vile    affronts  there 

passed  ; 
And  warned  them  not  the  fretful  to  deride, 
But»  love   each  other  dear,  whatever  them 

betide. 

Right  well  she  knew  each  temper  to  descry  ; 
To  thwart  the  proud,   and  the  submiss  to 

raise  ; 
Some  with  vile  copper-prize  exalt  on  high. 
And  some  entice  with    pittance    small  of 

praise ; 
And  other  some  witli  baleful  sprig  she  frays; 
E'en  absent,  she  the  reins  of  power  doth  hold, 
"While  with  quaint  arts  the  giddy  crowd  she 

sways ; 
Forewarned  if  little  bird  their  pranks  behold, 
'T  will  whisper  in  her  ear  and  all  the  scene 

unfold. 

Lo !  now  with  state  she  utters  the  command ; 
Eftsoons  the  urchins  to  their  tasks  repair ; 
Their  books  of  stature   small  they  take  in 

hand. 
Which  with  pellucid  horn  secured  are. 
To  save  from  fingers  wet  the  letters  fair  ; 
The  work  so  gay,  that  on  their  back  is  seen, 
St.  George's  high  achievements  doth  declare ; 
On  which  thilk  wight  that  has  y-gazing  been. 
Kens  the  forthcoming  rod — ^unpleasing  sight, 

I  ween ! 

Ah  luckless  he,  and  born  beneath  the  beam 
Of  evil  star !  it  irks  me  while  I  write  ; 
As  erst  the  bard  by  MuUa's  silver  stream, 
Oft  as  he  told  of  deadly,  dolorous  plight, 
Sighed  as  he  sung,  and  did  in  tears  indite. 
For,  brandishing  the  rod,  she  doth  begin 
To  loose  the  brogues,  the  stripling's  late  de- 
light ! 
And  down  they  drop ;  appears  his  dainty 

skin. 
Fair  as  HiQ  furry  coat  of  whitest  ermilin. 

U  ruthful  scene !  when  from  a  nook  obscure, 
His  little  sister  doth  his  peril  see  ; 
All  playful  as  she  sate,  she  grows  demure  ; 
She  finds  full  soon  her  wonted  spirits  flee  ; 


She  meditates  a  prayer  to  set  him  free ; 
Nor  gentle  pardon  could  this  dame  deny, 
(If  gentle  pardon  could  with  dames  agree) 
To  her  sad  grief,  which  swells  in  either  eye, 
And  wrings  her  so  that  all  for  pity  she  could 
die. 

No  longer  can  she  now  her  shrieks  command, 
And  hardly  she  forbears,  through  awful  fear, 
To   rusheu  forth,    and    with    presumptuous 

hand 
To  stay  harsh  justice  in  his  mid-career. 
On  thee  she  calls,  on  thee,  her  parent  dear ! 
(Ah !  too  remote  to  ward  the  shameful  blow !) 
She  sees  no  kind  domestic  visage  near  ; 
And  soon  a  flood  of  teai's  begins  to  flow. 
And  gives  a  loose  at  last  to  unavailing  woe. 

But  ah  !    what  pen  his  piteous  plight  may 

trace  ? 
Or  what  device  his  loud  laments  explain? 
The  form  uncouth  of  his  disguised  face  ? 
The  pallid  hue  that  dyes  his  looks  amain  ? 
The  plenteous  shower  that  does  his  cheek 

distain  ? 
"When  he  in  abject  wise  implores  the  dame, 
Ne  hopeth  aught  of  sweet  reprieve  to  gain  ; 
Or  when  from  high  she  levels  well  her  aim, 
And  through  the  thatch  his  cries  each  falling 

stroke  proclaim. 

The  other  tribe,  aghast,  with  sore  dismay. 
Attend,  and  con  their  tasks  with  mickle  care; 
By  turns,  astonied,  every  twig  survey, 
And  from  their  fellow's  hateful  wounds  be- 
ware. 
Knowing,  I  wis,  how  each  the  same  may 

share, 
Till  fear  has  taught  them  a  performance  meet, 
And  to  the  well-known  chest  the  dame  re- 
pair, 
"Whence  oft  with  sugared  cates  she  doth  them 

greet, 
And  ginger-bread  y-rare ;  now,  certes,  doubly 
sweet. 

See  to  their  seats  they  hie  with  merry  glee, 
And  in  beseemly  oi-der  sitten  there  ; 
All  but  the  wight  of  bum  y-galled  ;  he 
Abhorreth  bench,  and  stool,  and  fourm,  and 
chair, 


THE    SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


147 


(Tills  Jiand  in  mouth  y-fixed,  that  rends  his 

hair ;) 
And  eke  with  snubs  profound,  and  heaving 

breast, 
Convulsions  intermitting,  doth  declare 
His  grievous  wrong,  his  dame's  unjust  behest; 
And  scorns  her  offered  love,  and  shuns  to  be 

caressed. 

His  face  besprent  with  liquid  crystal  shines, 
His  blooming  face  that  seems  a  purple  flower, 
Which  low  to  earth  its  drooping  head  de- 
clines. 
All  smeared  and  sullied  by  a  vernal  shower. 
Oh  the  hard  bosoms  of  despotic  power ! 
All,  all  but  she,  the  author  of  his  shame, 
All,  all  but  she,  regret  this  mournful  hour ; 
Yet  hence  the  youth,   and  hence  the  flower 

shall  claim. 
If  so  I  deem  aright,  transcending  worth  and 
fame. 

Echind  some  door,  in  melancholy  thought, 
Mindless  of  food,  he,  dreary  caitiff'!  pines; 
Ne  for  his  fellows'  joyauuce  careth  aught. 
But  to  the  wind  all  merriment  resigns ; 
And  deems  it  shame  if  he  to  peace  inclines ; 
And  many  a  sullen  look  askance  is  sent. 
Which  for  his  dame's  annoyance  he  designs ; 
And  still  the  more  to  pleasure  him  she's  bent, 
The  more  doth  he  perverse,  her'haviour  past 
resent. 

Ah  me  !  how  much  I  fear  lest  pride  it  be ! 
But  if  that  pride  it  be,  which  thus  inspires. 
Beware,  ye  dames,  with  nice  discernment  see. 
Ye  quench  not  too  the  sj)arks  of  noble  fires. 
Ah  !  better  far  than  all  the  Muses'  lyres, 
All  coward  arts,  is  valor's  generous  heat ; 
Tlie  firm  fixt  breast  which  fit  and  right  re- 
quires, 
Like  Vernon's  patriot  soul !  more  justly  great 
Than  craft  that  pimps  for  ill  or  flowery  false 
deceit. 

Yet  nursed  with  skill,  what  dazzling  fruits 

appear ! 
E'en  now  sagacious  Foresight  points  to  show 
A  little  bench  of  heedless  bishops  here, 
And  there  a  chancellor  in  embryo. 


Or  bard  sublime,  if  bard  may  e'er  be  so. 
As  Milton,    Shakespeare,  names  that  ne'ei 

shall  die ! 
Though  now  he  crawl  along  the  ground  so 

low, 
ISTor  weeting  how  the  Muse  should  soar  on 

high, 
Wisheth,  poor  starveling  elf!  his  paper  kite 

may  fly. 


And  this  perhaps,  who,  censuring  the  design, 
Low  lays  the  house  which  that  of  cards  doth 

build. 
Shall  Dennis  be  !  if  rigid  Fate  incline, 
And  many  an  epic  to  his  rage  shall  yield  ; 
And  many  a  poet  quit  th'  Aonian  fleld. 
And,  soured  by  age,  profound  he  shall  ap- 
pear. 
As  he  who  now  with  'sdainful  fury  thrilled 
Surveys  mine  work ;  and  levels  many  a  sneer, 
And  furls  his  wrinkly  front,  and  cries,  "  What 
stuff"  is  here  ? " 


And  now  Dan  Phoebus  gains  the  middle  skic, 
And  Liberty  unbars  her  prison-door ; 
And  like  a  rushing  torrent  out  they  fly. 
And  now  the  grassy  cirque  had  covered  o'er 
With  boisterous  revel-rout  and  wild  uproar  ; 
A  thousand  ways  in  wanton  rings  they  run ; 
Heaven  shield  their  short-lived  pastimes,  J 

implore ! 
For  well  may  freedom  erst  so  dearly  won. 
Appear  to  British  elf  more  gladsome  than 

the  sun. 


Enjoy,  poor  imps !  enjoy  your  sportive  trade, 

And  chase  gay  flies,  and  cull  the  fairest  flow- 
ers. 

For  when  my  bones  in  grass-green  sods  arc; 
laid; 

For  never  may  ye  taste  more  careless  hours 

In  knightly  castles,  or  in  ladies'  bowers. 

Oh  vain  to  seek  delight  in  earthly  thing ! 

But  most  in  courts  where  proud  Ambition 
towers ; 

Deluded  wight !  who  weens  fair  peace  can 
spring 

Beneath  the  pompous  dome  of  kesar  or  of 
kins. 


118 


rOEMS   OF   CrilLDEOOD 


See  in  each  sprite  some  various  bent  appear ! 
Tiiose  riulely  carol  most  incondite  lay ; 
Tlioso  sanntoring  on  the  grecu,  with  jocund 

loer 
Salute  the  stranger  passing  on  his  way ; 
Some  bnildeu  fragile  tenements  of  clay ; 
Some  to  the  standing  lake  their  courses  bend, 
With  pebbles  smooth  at  duck  and  drake  to 

play ; 
Thilk  to  the  hunter's  savory  cottage  tend, 
In  pastry  kings  and  queens  th'  allotted  mite 

to  spend. 

Here,  as  each  season  yields  a  different  store, 
Each  season's  stores  in  order  ranged  been ; 
Apples  with  cabbage-net  y-covercd  o'er. 
Galling  full  sore  th'  unmoneyed  wight,  arc 

seen; 
And  goosc-b'rie  clad  in  livery  red  or  green ; 
And  here  of  lovely  dye,  the  catharine  pear. 
Fine  pear!  as  lovely  for  thy  juice,  I  ween  : 
0  may  no  wight  e'er  pennyless  come  there, 
T.est  smit  with  ardent  love  he  pine   with 

hopeless  cai'e! 

See !  cherries  here,  ere  cherries  yet  abound, 
AVith  thread  so  white  in  tempting  posies  ty'd, 
Scattering  like  blooming  maid  their  glances 

round, 
With  pampered  look  draw  little  eyes  aside ; 
And  must  be  bought,  though  penury  betide. 
The  plumb  all  azure  and  the  nut  all  brown. 
And  here  each  season  do  those  cakes  abide. 
Whose    honored  names    th'  inventive    city 

own. 
Rendering    tln-ough    Britain's  isle  Salopia's 

praises  known. 

Admired  Salojtia !  that  with  venial  pride 
Eyes  her  bright  form  in  Severn's   ambient 

wave, 
Famed  for  her  loyal  cares  in  perils  tried, 
Her    daughters    lovely,   and    her    striplings 

brave ; 
Ah!   midst  the  rest,  may  flowers  adorn  his 

grave. 
Whose  art  did  first  these  dulcet  cates  display ! 
A  motive  fair  to  Learning's  imps  he  gave, 
'      Who  cheerless  o'er  her  darkhng  region  stray, 
'      Till  Eeason's  morn  arise,  and  light  them  on 

their  way. 

"William  Shenstoxe. 


OX  A  DISTANT  PROSPECT  OF  ETON 
COLLEGE. 

Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crown  the  watery  glade, 
Where  grateful  Science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's  holy  shade ; 
And  ye  that  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights  the  expanse  below 

Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey, 
Whose    turf,    whose    shade,   whose  flowers 

among 
Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 

His  silver  winding  way : 

Ah,  happy  hills !  ah,  pleasing  shade ! 

Ah,  fields  beloved  in  vain!  — 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 

As,  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe, 
And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race. 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green. 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace ; 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave, 
With  pliant  arm,  tliy  glassy  wave  ? 

The  captive  linnet  which  enthrall  ? 
What  idle  progeny  succeed 
To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed, 

Or  urge  the  flying  ball  ? 

While  some,  on  urgent  business  bent, 

Their  murmuring  labors  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours  that  bring  constraint 

To  s weeten. liberty ; 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  li-ttle  reign. 

And  unknown  regions  dare  descry ; 
Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind, 
They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind. 

And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 

Gay  hope  is  theirs  by  fancy  fed, 
Less  pleasing  when  possest; 


THE    CHILDTtEX    IX    THE   WOOD. 


149 


The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  slied, 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast : 
Then-  buxom  health,  of  rosy  hue, 
Wild  wit,  invention  ever  new, 

And  lively  cheer,  of  vigor  born ; 
The  thoughtless  day,  the  easy  night. 
The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light. 

That  fly  the  approach  of  morn. 

Alas !  regardless  of  their  doom, 

The  little  victims  play  ! 
No  sense  have  they  of  ills  to  come, 

N'or  care  beyond  to-day ; 
Yet  see,  how  all  around  them  wait 
The  ministers  of  human  fate, 

And  black  misfortune's  baleful  train ! 
All,  show  them  where  in  ambush  stand, 
To  seize  their  prey,  the  murderous  band ! 

Ah,  teU  them,  they  are  men  I 

These  shall  the  fury  passions  tear, 

The  vultures  of  the  mind. 
Disdainful  anger,  pallid  fear. 
And.  shame  that  skulks  behind ; 

Or  pining  love  shall  waste  their  youth. 
Or  jealousy,  with  rankling  tooth, 

That  inly  gnaws  the  secret  heart ; 
And  envy  wan,  and  faded  care, 
Grira-visaged,  comfortless  despair. 

And  sorrow's  piercing  dart. 

Ambition  this  shall  tempt  to  rise, 

Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high, 
To  bitter  scorn  a  sacrifice. 

And  grinning  infamy ; 
The  stings  of  falsehood  those  shall  try. 
And  hard  nnkindness'  altered  eye. 

That  mocks  the  tears  it  forced  to  flow ; 
And  keen  remorse,  with  blood  defiled. 
And  moody  madness,  laughing  wild 

Amid  severest  woe. 

Lo !  in  the  vale  of  years  beneath 

A  grisly  troop  are  seen. 
The  painful  family  of  death, 

More  hideous  than  their  queen ; 
This  racks  the  joints,  this  fires  the  veins. 
That  every  laboring  sinew  strains. 

Those  in  the  deeper  vitals  rage : 
Lo!  poverty,  to  fill  the  band, 


That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand. 
And  slow-consuming  age. 

To  each  his  sufferings :  all  are  men. 

Condemned  alike  to  groan ; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain. 

The  unfeeling  for  his  own. 
Yet,  ah !  why  should  they  know  their  fate  ? 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late. 

And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies. 
Thought  Avoukl  destroy  their  paradise. 
No  more  : — where  ignorance  is  bliss, 

'T  is  folly  to  be  wise  ! 

Thomas  Geat. 


THE  CHILDREN  IN  TIIE  WOOD. 

Now  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear. 

The  words  which  I  shall  write ; 
A  doleful  story  you  shall  hear. 

In  time  brought  forth  to  light : 
A  gentleman,  of  good  account, 

In  Norfolk  lived  of  late. 
Whose  wealth  and  riches  did  surmount 

Most  men  of  his  estate. 

Sore  sick  he  was,  and  like  to  die. 

No  help  then  he  could  have ; 
His  wife  by  him  as  sick  did  he. 

And  both  possessed  one  grave. 
No  love  between  these  two  was  lost, 

Each  was  to  other  kind ; 
In  love  they  lived,  in  love  they  died, 

^Vnd  left  two  babes  behind : 

The  one  a  fine  and  pretty  boy. 

Not  passing  three  years  old ; 
The  other  a  girl,  more  young  than  he, 

And  made  in  beauty's  mould. 
The  father  left  his  little  son, 

As  plainly  doth  appear,     • 
Wlien  he  to  perfect  age  should  come, 

Three  hundred  pounds  a  year — 

And  to  his  little  daughter  Jane 

Five  hundred  pounds  in  gold. 
To  be  paid  down  on  marriage-day. 

Which  might  not  be  controlled  ; 
But  if  the  chikh'en  chanced  to  die 

Ere  they  to  age  should  come. 
Their  uncle  should  possess  their  wealth, 

For  so  the  will  did  run. 


150 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


*'No\v,  Lrotlior,"  said  the  dying  man, 

"Look  to  my  cliildron  dear; 
Bo  good  mito  my  boy  and  girl, 

No  friends  else  I  bavo  liere ; 
To  God  and  you  I  do  commend 

My  children,  night  and  day  ; 
But  little  Avhile,  be  sure,  wo  have, 

AVithiu  this  world  to  stay. 

"  You  must  bo  father  and  mother  both, 

And  uncle,  all  in  one  ; 
God  knows  what  will  become  of  them 

When  I  am  dead  and  gone." 
"With  that  bespake  tlieir  mother  dear, 

"0  brother  kind,"  quoth  she, 
"You  arc  the  man  must  bring  our  babes 

To  wealth  or  misery. 

"  And  if  you  keep  tliera  carefidly, 

Then  God  will  you  reward ; 
If  otherwise  you  seem  to  deal, 

God  will  your  deeds  regard." 
"With  lips  as  cold  as  any  stone, 

She  kissed  her  children  small : 
"God  bless  you  both,  my  children  dear," 

"With  that  the  tears  did  fall. 

These  speeches  then  their  brother  spake 

To  this  sick  couple  there : 
"  The  keeping  of  your  childi*en  dear, 

Sweet  sister,  do  not  fear ; 
God  never  prosper  me  nor  mine, 

Nor  aught  else  that  I  have, 
If  I  do  wrong  your  childreii  dear. 

When  you  are  laid  in  grave." 

Their  parents  being  dead  and  gone, 

The  children  home  he  takes, 
And  brings  them  home  unto  his  house, 

And  much  of  them  he  makes. 
He  had  not  kept  these  pretty  babes 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
But,  for  their  wealth,  he  did  de^nso 

To  make  them  both  away. 

He  bargained  with  two  ruffians  strong, 

"Wliich  were  of  furious  mood, 
That  they  should  take  these  children  young. 

And  slay  them  in  a  wood. 
He  told  his  wife,  and  all  he  had, 

He  did  the  children  send 
To  be  brought  up  in  ftiir  London, 

With  one  that  was  his  friend. 


Away  then  went  these  pretty  babes, 

Kojoicing  at  that  tide, 
Rejoicing  with  a  merry  mind, 

Tliey  should  on  cock-horse  ride ; 
They  prate  and  prattle  pleasantly, 

As  they  rode  on  the  way. 
To  those  that  should  their  butchers  be, 

And  work  their  lives'  decay, 

So  that  the  pretty  speech  they  had, 

Made  Murder's  heart  relent ; 
And  they  that  undertook  the  deed 

Full  sore  they  did  repent. 
Yet  one  of  them,  more  hard  of  heart, 

Did  vow  to  do  his  chai'ge. 
Because  the  wretch  that  hired  him 

Had  paid  him  very  large. 

The  other  would  not  agree  thereto, 

So  here  they  fell  at  strife ; 
With  one  another  they  did  fight, 

Abont  the  children's  life ; 
And  he  that  was  of  mildest  mood, 

Did  slay  the  other  there, 
Within  an  unfrequented  wood ; 

While  babes  did  quake  for  fear. 

He  took  the  children  by  the  hand 

When  tears  stood  in  their  eye. 
And  bade  them  come  and  go  with  him. 

And  look  they  did  not  cry ; 
And  two  long  miles  he  led  them  on. 

While  they  for  food  complain : 
"Stay  here,"  quoth  he,  "I  '11  bring  you  bread, 

When  I  do  come  again." 

These  pretty  babes,  with  hand  in  hand, 

Went  wandering  up  and  down, 
But  never  more  they  saw  the  man. 

Approaching  from  the  town. 
Their  pretty  hps,  with  black-berries. 

Were  all  besmeared  and  dyed. 
And,  when  they  saw  the  darksome  night, 

They  sate  them  down  and  cried. 

Tims  wandered  these  two  pretty  babes, 

Till  death  did  end  their  grief; 
In  one  another's  arms  they  died, 

As  babes  wanting  relief. 
No  burial  these  pretty  babes 

Of  any  man  receives. 
Till  robin  redbreast,  painfully. 

Did  cover  them  with  leaves. 


LADY    AXX    BOTHWELL'S    LAMENT. 


lal 


And  now  the  heavy  wrath  of  God 

Upon  their  uncle  fell ; 
Yea,  fearful  fiends  did  haunt  his  house, 

His  conscience  felt  an  hell. 
His  barns  were  fired,  his  goods  consumed, 

His  lands  were  barren  made  ; 
His  cattle  died  within  the  field, 

And  nothing  with  him  stayed. 

And,  in  the  voyage  of  Portugal, 

Two  of  his  sons  did  die ; 
And,  to  conclude,  himself  was  brought 

To  extreme  misery. 
He  pawned  and  mortgaged  aU  his  land 

Ere  seven  yeai'S  came  about ; 
And  now,  at  length,  this  wicked  act 

Did  by  this  means  come  out : 

The  fellow  that  did  take  in  hand 

These  childi-en  for  to  kill, 
"Was  for  a  robber  judged  to  die. 

As  was  God's  blessed  will ; 
Who  did  confess  the  very  truth, 

The  which  is  here  expressed ; 
Their  uncle  died  while  he,  for  debt. 

In  prison  long  did  rest. 

You  that  executors  be  made. 

And  overseers  eke ; 
Of  children  that  be  fatherless. 

And  infants  mUd  and  meek. 
Take  you  example  by  this  thing, 

And  yield  to  each  his  right, 

Lest  God,  with  such  like  misery, 

Your  wicked  minds  requite. 

Akosymous. 


LADY  A^^X  BOTHWELUS  LAMENT. 

A  SCOTTISH   SONG. 

Bai-ow,  my  babe,  ly  stil  and  sleipe ! 
It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weipe ; 
If  thou'st  be  silent,  I  'se  be  glad, 
Thy  mainiug  maks  my  heart  ful  sad. 
Balow,  my  boy,  thy  mither's  joy ! 
Thy  father  brcides  me  great  annoy. 

Balow,  my  lobe,  ly  stil  and  sleipe  ! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weipe. 

Wlien  he  began  to  court  my  luvc, 
And  with  his  sugred  words  to  muve. 


His  faynings  fals,  and  flattering  chcire. 
To  me  that  time  did  not  appeire : 
Eut  now  I  see,  most  cruell  hee, 
Cares  neither  for  my  babe  nor  mee. 

Baloip,  my  hcibe,  ly  stil  and  sleipie! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  tTiee  weipe. 

Ly  std,  my  darlinge,  sleipe  awhile. 
And  when  thou  wakest  sweitly  smile : 
But  smile  not,  as  thy  father  did, 
To  cozen  maids ;  nay,  God  forbid ! 
But  yette  I  feire,  thou  wilt  gae  neire. 
Thy  fiitheris  hart  and  face  to  beire. 

Balow,  my  lale,  ly  stil  and  sleipe! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  tJiee  weipe. 

I  cannae  chuse,  but  ever  will 
Be  luving  to  thy  father  stil : 
"Whair-eir  he  gae,  whair-eir  he  ryde. 
My  luve  with  him  maun  stil  abyde : 
In  weil  or  wae,  whair-eir  he  gae. 
Mine  hart  can  neir  depart  him  frae. 

Balow,  my  lobe,  ly  stil  and  sleipe  ! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weipe. 

But  doe  not,  doe  not,  prettie  mine. 

To  faynings  fals  thine  hart  incline ; 

Be  loyal  to  thy  luver  trew, 

And  nevir  change  hir  for  a  new ; 

If  gude  or  faire,  of  hir  have  care, 

For  women's  banning 's  wonderous  sair. 

BaloiD,  my  babe,  ly  stil  and  sleipe! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  iceipe, 

Bairne,  siti  thy  cruel  father  is  gane. 

Thy  winsome  smiles  maun  else  my  paine ; 

My  babe  and  I  '11  together  live. 

He  '11  comfort  me  when  cai*es  doe  grieve  ; 

My  babe  and  I  right  saft  vnW  ly. 

And  quite  forget  man's  cruelty. 

Baloic,  my  bale,  ly  stil  and  sleipe! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  tceipe. 

Farcwcil,  farewcil,  thou  falsest  youth 
That  ever  kist  a  woman's  mouth! 
I  wish  all  maids  be  warned  by  mee, 
Nevir  to  trust  man's  curtesy ; 
For  if  we  doe  but  chance  to  bow, 
They  '11  use  us  than  they  care  not  how. 

Balow,  my  babe,  ly  stil  and  sleipe! 

It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  tceipe. 

AKOJfY-MOUS, 


15: 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


DAN7iE. 

Wiiu.sT,  around  hor  lono  ark  sweeping, 

AVailoil  the  -winds  and  waters  wild, 
Her  younj!;  cheeks  all  wan  with  weeping, 

.I>auac  clasped  her  sleeping  child  ; 
And  "  Alas,"  (cried  she,)  "  mj'  dearest, 

"What  deep  wrongs,  what  woes,  arc  mine  ! 
But  nor  Avrongs  nor  woes  thou  fearest. 

In  that  sinless  rest  of  thine. 
Faint  the  moonbeams  hreak  above  thee. 

And,  within  here,  all  is  gloom  ; 
But  fast  wrapt  in  arms  that  love  thee, 

Little  reck'st  thou  of  our  doom. 
Xot  the  rude  spray  round  thee  flying, 

lias  e'en  damped  thy  clustering  hair, — 
On  thy  purple  mantlet  lying, 

O  mine  Innocent,  my  Fair ! 
Yet,  to  thee  were  sorrow  sorrow, 

Thou  would'st  lend  thy  little  ear. 
And  this  heart  of  thine  might  borrow 

llai)ly  yet  a  moment's  cheer. 
But  no  ;  slumber  on.  Babe,  slumber  ; 

Slumber,  Ocean-waves ;  and  you. 
My  dark  troubles,  without  number, — 

Oh,  that  ye  would  slumber  too ! 
Though  with  wrongs  they  've  brimmed  my 
chalice. 

Grant  Jove,  that,  in  future  years. 
This  boy  may  defeat  their  malice. 

And  avenge  his  mother's  tears!" 

SnioxiDES.  (Greek.) 
Translation  of  'Williau  Petee. 


BOYHOOD. 

Ah,  then  how  sweetly  closed  those  crowded 

days ! 
The  minutes  parting  one  by  one  like  rays, 
Tliat  fade  upon  a  summer's  eve. 
But  oh  !  what  charm,  or  magic  numbers 
Can  give  me  back  the  gentle  slumbers 
Those  weary,  happy  days  did  leave  ? 
When  by  my  bed  I  saw  my  mother  kneel, 
And  with  her  blessing  took  her  nightly  kiss; 
Whatever  Time  destroys,  he  cannot  this — 
E'en  now  that  nameless  kiss  I  feel. 

Washingtox  Allstok. 


HER  EYES  ARE  WILD. 


IIer  eyes  are  wild,  her  head  is  bare. 

The  sim  has  burnt  her  coal-black  hair ; 

Her  eyebrows  have  a  rusty  stain. 

And  she  came  far  from  over  the  main. 

She  had  a  baby  on  her  arm. 

Or  else  she  were  alone  ; 

And  underneath  the  hay-stack  warm, 

And  on  the  greenwood  stone. 

She  talked  and  sung  the  woods  among, 

And  it  was  in  the  English  tongue. 

II. 

"  Sweet  babe !  they  say  that  I  am  mad ; 
But  nay,  my  heart  is  far  too  glad  ; 
And  I  am  happy  when  I  sing 
Full  many  a  sad  and  doleful  thing. 
Then,  lovely  baby,  do  not  fear ! 
I  pray  thee  have  no  fear  of  me ; 
But  safe  as  in  a  cradle,  here. 
My  lovely  baby !  thou  shalt  be. 
To  tliee  I  know  too  much  I  owe  ; 
I  caimot  work  thee  any  woe. 

iir. 

"  A  fire  was  once  within  my  brain, 
And  in  my  head  a  dull,  dull  pain ; 
And  fiendish  faces,  one,  two,  three. 
Hung  at  my  breast,  and  pulled  at  me. 
But  then  there  came  a  sight  of  joy ; 
It  came  at  once  to  do  me  good : 
I  waked,  and  saw  my  little  boy, 
My  little  boy  of  flesh  and  blood  ; 
Oh  joy  for  me  that  sight  to  see  ! 
For  he  was  here,  and  only  he. 

lY. 

"  Suck,  little  babe,  oh  suck  again ! 
It  cools  my  blood ;  it  cools  my  brain ; 
Thy  lips,  I  feel  them,  baby !  they 
Di-aw  from  my  heart  the  pain  away. 
Oh  press  me  with  thy  little  hand  ! 
It  loosens  something  at  my  chest ; 
About  that  tight  and  deadly  band 
I  feel  thy  little  fingers  prest. 
The  breeze  I  see  is  in  the  tree — 
It  comes  to  cool  my  babe  and  mc. 


THE    ADOPTED    CHILD. 


IfiS 


V. 

"  Oh  love  me,  love  me,  little  boy ! 
Thou  art  thy  mother's  only  joy ; 
And  do  not  dread  the  waves  below, 
"When  o'er  the  sea-rock's  edge  we  go  ; 
The  high  crag  cannot  work  me  harm, 
iSTor  leaping  torrents  when  they  howl ; 
The  babe  I  carry  on  my  arm. 
He  saves  for  me  my  precious  soul ; 
Then  happy  lie ;  for  blest  am  I ; 
Without  me  my  sweet  babe  would  die. 


TI. 

"  Then  do  not  fear,  my  boy !  for  thee 

Bold  as  a  lion  will  I  be  ; 

And  I  will  always  be  thy  guide, 

Through  hollow  snows  and  rivers  wide. 

I  '11  buUd  an  Indian  bower ;  I  know 

The  leaves  that  make  the  softest  bed ; 

And,  if  from  me  thou  wilt  not  go. 

But  still  be  true  till  I  am  dead. 

My  pretty  thing !  then  thou  shalt  sing 

As  merry  as  the  birds  in  Spring. 


VII. 

"  Thy  father  cares  not  for  my  breast, 
'T  is  thine,  sweet  baby,  there  to  rest ; 
'T  is  all  thine  own ! — and  if  its  hue 
Be  changed,  that  was  so  fair  to  view, 
'T  is  fair  enough  for  thee,  my  dove ! 
My  beauty,  little  child,  is  flown. 
But  thou  wilt  live  with  me  in  love  ; 
And  what  if  my  poor  cheek  be  brown  ? 
'T  is  well  for  me  thou  canst  not  see 
How  pale  and  wan  it  else  would  be. 

VIII. 

"Dread  not  their  taunts,  my  little  Life ; 
I  am  thy  father's  wedded  wife  ; 
And  underneath  the  spreading  tree 
^Ye  two  will  live  in  honesty. 
If  his  sweet  boy  he  could  forsake. 
With  me  he  never  would  have  stayed. 
From  him  no  liarm  my  babe  can  take ; 
But  he,  poor  man,  is  wretched  made ; 
And  every  day  we  two  will  pray 
For  him  that 's  gone  and  far  awaj'. 
24 


IX. 

"  I  '11  teach  my  boy  the  sweetest  things : 
I  '11  teach  him  how  the  owlet  singe. 
My  little  babe !  thy  lips  are  still. 
And  thou  hast  almost  sucked  thy  fill. 
— Where  art  thou  gone,  my  own  dear  child 
What  wicked  looks  are  those  I  see  ? 
Alas !  alas !  that  look  so  wild. 
It  never,  never  came  from  me. 
If  thou  art  mad,  my  pretty  lad, 
Then  I  must  be  for  ever  sad. 

X. 

"  Oh  smile  on  me,  my  little  lamb  ! 
For  I  thy  own  dear  mother  am. 
My  love  for  thee  has  well  been  tried  .• 
I  've  sought  thy  father  far  and  wide. 
I  know  the  poisons  of  the  shade ; 
I  know  the  earth-nuts  fit  for  food. 
Then,  pretty  dear,  be  not  afraid ; 
We  '11  find  thy  father  in  the  wood. 
Now  laugh  and  be  gay,  to  the  woods  away ! 
And  there,  my  babe,  we'll  live  for  aye." 
William  WoRDSwoETn. 


THE  ADOPTED  CHILD. 

'Why  would'st  thou  leave  me,  oh  gentle 

child? 
Thy  home  on  the  mountain  is  bleak  and  wild— 
A  straw-roofed  cabin,  with  lowly  wall ; 
Mine  is  a  fair  and  pillared  hall. 
Where  many  an  image  of  marble  gleams, 
And  the  sunshine  of  pictures  forever  streams.' 

"Oh!  green  is  the  turf  where  my  brothers 

play, 

Through  the  long  bright  hours  of  the  sum 

mer's  day ; 
They  find  the  red  cup- moss  where  they  climb, 
And  they  chase  the  bee  o'er  the  scented 

thyme. 
And  the  rocks  where  the  heath-fiower  blooms 

they  know, 
Lady,  kind  lady !  oh  let  me  go." 

"Content  thee,  boy!  in  my  bower  to  dweU; 
Here  are  sweet  sounds  which  tliou  lovesl 
well : 


l.vt 


POEMS    OF    CIIILDUOOD. 


Flutes  on  tlie  air  iu  the  stilly  noon, 
Harps  whioli  the  waudoriug  breezes  tune, 
And  the  silvery  wood-note  of  many  a  bird 
Whose   voice  was    ne'er  in    thy  mountain 
heard." 

•'  Oh  I  my  mother  sings  at  the  twilight's  fall, 
.V  sung  of  the  hills  far  more  sweet  than  all ; 
)She  sings  it  under  our  own  green  tree 
To  the  babe  half  slumbering  on  her  knee ; 
I  dreamt  last  night  of  that  music  low — 
Lady,  kind  lady!  oh, let  me  go." 

"  Thy  mother  is  gone  from  her  cares  to  rest ; 
She  hath  taken  the  babe  on  her  quiet  breast; 
Thou  would'st  meet  her  footstep,  my  boy,  no 

more, 
Xor  heai  her  song  at  the  cabin  door. 
Come  thou  with  me  to  the  vineyards  nigh. 
And  we'll  pluck  the  grapes  of  the  richest 

dye." 

"  Is  my  mother  gone  from  her  home  away? — 
But  I  know  that  my  brothers  are  there  at 

play — 
I  know  they  are  gathering  the  fox-glove's 

bell. 
Or  the  long  fern  leaves  by  the  sparkling  well ; 
Or  they  launch  their  boats  where  the  bright 

streams  flow — 
Lady,  kind  lady !  oh,  let  me  go." 

"  Fair  child,  thy  brothers  are  wanderers  now ; 
They  sport  no  more  on  the  mountain's  brow; 
They  have  left  the  fern  by  the  spring's  green 

side. 
And  the  streams  where  the  fairy  barks  were 

tied. 
Be  thou  at  peace  in  thy  brighter  lot. 
For  the  cabin  home  is  a  lonely  spot." 

'•  Are  they  gone,  all  gone  from  the  sunny 

liill  ?— 
But  the  bird  and  the  blue-fly  rove  o'er  it  still ; 
And  the  red-deer  bound  in  their  gladness  free. 
And  the  heath  is  bent  by  the  singing  bee. 
And  the  waters  leap,  and  the  fresh  winds  blow; 
Lady,  kind  lady !  oh,  let  me  go." 

Feuoia  Dobothba  Heuans. 


LUCY  GRAY; 

OK,  SOLITUDE. 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray ; 

And,  when  I  crossed  the  wild, 
I  chanced  to  see,  at  break  of  day 

The  solitary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew ; 

She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor, — 
The  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 

Beside  a  human  door. 

Y'ou  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play, 

The  hare  upon  the  green  ; 
But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 

"Will  never  more  be  seen. 

"  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night, — 

Y''ou  to  the  town  must  go  ; 
And  take  a  lantern.  Child,  to  light 

Your  mother  through  the  snow." 

"  That,  Father !  will  I  gladly  do ; 

'T  is  scarcely  afternoon, — 
The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two, 

And  yonder  is  the  moon.  " 

At  this  the  father  raised  his  hook, 

And  snapped  a  faggot-band. 
He  plied  his  work ; — and  Lucy  took 

The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe — 

With  many  a  wanton  stroke 
Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow 

That  rises  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time ; 

She  wandered  up  and  down ; 
And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb. 

But  never  reached  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 
Went  shouting  far  and  wide ; 

But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight 
To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  daybreak  on  the  hill  they  stood 

That  overlooked  the  moor ; 
And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood, 

A  furlong  from  their  door. 


THE    CHILDREN'S    HOUR. 


155 


They  wept, — and,  turning  homeward,  cried, 
"In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet ; " — 

When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 
The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 

Then  downwards  from  the  steep  hill's  edge 
They  tracked  the  footmarks  small ; 

And  through  the  broken  hawthorn-hedge, 
And  by  the  low  stone-wall ; 

And  then  an  open  field  they  crossed — 
The  marks  were  still  the  same — 

They  tracked  them  on,  nor  ever  lost ; 
And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

Tliey  followed  from  the  snowy  bank 

Those  footmarks,  one  by  one, 
Into  the  middle  of  the  plank  ; 

And  further  there  were  none ! 


— Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 

She  is  a  living  child ; 
That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 

Upon  the  lonesome  wUd. 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along. 

And  never  looks  behind ; 
And  sings  a  sohtary  song 

Tliat  whistles  in  the  wind. 

TVlLLTAM   "WOEDSWOKTH. 


CfflLDHOOD. 

In  my  poor  mind  it  is  most  sweet  to  muse 
Upon  the  days  gone  by ;  to  act  in  thought 
Past  seasons  o'er,  and  be  again  a  child ; 
To  sit  in  tancy  on  the  turf-clad  slope 
Down  which  the  chUd  would  roll;  to  pluck 

gay  flowers, 
MiJce  posies  in  the  sun,  which  the  child's 

hand 
(Cliildhood  offended  soon,  soon  reconciled) 
Would  throw  away,  and  straight  take  up 

again, 


Then  fling  them  to  the  winds,  and  o'er  the 

lawn 
Bound  with  so  playful  and  so  light  a  foot, 
That  the  pressed  daisy  scai-ce  declined  her 

head. 

CnAELES  T.A-vin. 


THE  OHILDREX'S  HOUR. 

Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight. 
When  night  is  beginning  to  lower. 

Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations, 
That  is  known  as  the  childi-en's  hour. 


I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me 

The  patter  of  little  feet, 
The  sound  of  a  door  that  is  opened. 

And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 


From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight, 
Descending  the  broad  hall  stair. 

Grave  Alice  and  laughing  Allegra, 
And  Edith  with  golden  hair. 


A  whisper  and  then  a  sUence : 
Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes 

They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  rae  by  surprise. 


A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 
A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall. 

By  three  doors  left  unguarded. 
They  enter  my  castle  wall. 


They  climb  up  into  my  turret. 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair  ; 

If  I  try  to  escape,  they  surround  me ; 
They  seem  to  be  everywhere. 


They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses, 
Their  arms  about  me  entwine. 

Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bmgea 
In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhino. 


150 


POEMS    OF   CHILDHOOD. 


Do  you  tbiuk,  oli  blue-eyed  banditti, 
Because  you  liave  scaled  tlie  -wall, 

Such  an  old  moustache  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all  ? 

I  have  you  fast  in  my  fortress, 

^Vnd  will  not  let  you  depart, 
But  put  you  into  the  dungeon 

In  the  round-tower  of  ray  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever, 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day, 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin. 

And  moulder  in  dust  away. 

IIeney  "Wadswoeth  Longfellow. 


UXDER  MY  WINDOW. 

rxDER  my  v.-indow,  under  my  window, 

All  in  the  Midsummer  w'eather, 
Tlirec  little  girls  with  fluttering  cm-Is 

Flit  to  and  fro  together : — 
There 's  BeU  with  her  bonnet  of  satin  sheen, 
And  Maud  with  her  mantle  of  silver-green, 

^ind  Kate  with  her  scarlet  feather. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 

Leaning  stealthily  over, 
Merry  and  clear,  tlie  voice  I  hear, 

Of  each  glad-hearted  rover. 
Ah !  sly  little  Kate,  she  steals  my  roses ; 
And  Maud  and  Bell  twine  wreaths  and  posies, 

As  merry  as  bees  in  clover. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window. 
In  the  blue  Midsummer  weather. 

Stealing  slow,  on  a  hushed  tip-toe, 
I  catch  them  all  together: — 

Bell  with  her  bonnet  of  satin  sheen, 

And  Maud  with  her  mantle  of  silver-green, 
And  Kate  with  the  scarlet  feather. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window. 
And  oif  tlirougli  the  orchard  closes ; 


While  Maud  she  flouts,  and  Bell  she  pouts, 

They  scamper  and  drop  their  posies  ; 
But  dear  little  Kate  takes  nought  amiss, 
And  leaps  in  my  arms  with  a  loving  kiss, 
And  I  give  her  all  my  roses. 

T.  "West WOOD. 


I  EEMEMBEE,  I  EEMEMBER. 

I  EEMEMBEE,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 
Nor  brought  too  long  a  day ; 
But  now,  I  often  wished  the  night 
Had  borne  my  breath  away ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  roses,  red  and  white, 
The  violets,  and  the  lily-cups — 
Those  flowers  made  of  light  I 
The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built, 
And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birth-day, — 
The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing. 

And  thought  the-  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing ; 

My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then. 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 

And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow ! 


I  remember,  I  remember 

The  fir-trees  dark  and  high  ; 

I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky. 

It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  't  is  httle  joy 

To  know  I  'm  farther  off  from  Heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 

TnoMAa  Hood. 


WE   ARE 

SEVEX.                                                        157 

"  Theu*  graves  are  green,  they  may  be  seen," 

WE  AEE  SEVENS". 

The  little  maid  replied : 
"  Twelve  steps  or  more  from  my  mother's  door, 

A  SIMPLE  cllild, 

And  they  are  side  by  side. 

That  lightly  di-aws  its  breath, 

And  feels  its  life  in  eveiy  limb, 
What  should  it  know  of  death? 

"My  stockings  there  I  often  knit, 
My  kerchief  there  I  hem ; 

And  there  upon  the  ground  I  sit^ 

I  met  a  little  cottage  girl : 

And  sing  a  song  to  them. 

She  was  eight  years  old,  she  said, 

Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  curl 
That  clustered  round  her  head. 

"  And  often  after  sunset,  sir, 
When  it  is  light  and  fair. 

She  bnd  a  rustic,  woodland  air, 
And  she  was  wildly  clad ; 

I  take  my  little  porringer, 
And  eat  my  supper  there. 

Her  eyes  were  fair,  and  very  fan* ; — 

Her  beauty  made  me  glad. 

"  The  first  that  died  was  sister  Jane ; 

In  bed  she  moaning  lay, 

"  Sisters  and  brothers,  little  maid. 

Till  God  released  her  of  her  pain ; 

How  many  may  yon  be  ?  " 

And  then  she  went  away. 

"How  many?     Seven  in  all,"  she  said. 

And  wondering  looked  at  me. 

"So  in  the  churchyai-d  she  was  laid-. 

"  And  where  are  they  ?     I  pray  you  tell." 

She  answered :  "  Seven  are  we ; 
And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell. 

And,  when  the  grass  was  diy. 
Together  round  her  grave  we  played, 
My  brother  John  and  I. 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea. 

"And  when  the  ground  was  white  with  snow, 

'•  Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie, 

And  I  could  run  and  slide. 

My  sister  and  my  brother ; 

My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go, 

And,  in  the  churchyard  cottage,  I 

And  he  hes  by  her  side." 

Dwell  near  them  with  my  mother." 

"You  say  that  two  at  Conway  dwell, 

"  How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 
"  If  they  two  are  in  heaven  ? " 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea, 

Quick  was  the  little  maid's  reply : 

Yet  ye  are  seven !  I  pray  you  tell, 
Sweet  maid,  how  this  may  be." 

"  0  Master !  we  are  seven." 

Then  did  the  little  maid  reply : 
"  Seven  boys  and  girls  are  we ; 

Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie. 
Beneath  the  churchyard  tree." 

"But  they  are  dead;  those  two  are  dead! 

Their  spirits  are  in  heaven!  " — 
'T  was  throwing  words  away ;  for  still 
The  little  maid  would  have  her  will. 

And  said :  " Nay,  we  are  seven! " 

"WlLLIAU  WORDS-n^OKTH. 

"  You  run  about,  my  little  maid ; 

Your  limbs  they  are  alive ; 
If  two  are  in  the  churchyard  laid, 

Then  ye  are  only  five." 

15S 


rOEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


ANNIE  IN  THE  GRAVEYARD. 

Sue  bounded  o'er  the  graves, 
With  a  buoyant  step  of  mirth ; 
She  bounded  o'er  the  graves, 
Where  the  weeping  willow  waves, 
Like  a  creature  not  of  earth. 

Her  hair  was  blown  aside, 

And  her  eyes  were  glittering  bright ; 

Her  hair  was  blown  aside, 

And  her  little  hands  spread  wide, 

"With  an  innocent  delight. 

She  spelt  the  lettered  word 
That  registers  the  dead  ; 
She  spelt  the  lettered  word. 
And  her  busy  thoughts  were  stirred 
"With  pleasure  as  she  read. 

She  stopped  and  culled  a  leaf 
Left  fluttering  on  a  rose ; 
She  stopped  and  culled  a  leaf, 
Sweet  monument  of  grief, 
That  in  our  churchyard  grows. 

She  culled  it  with  a  smile — 
'T  was  near  her  sister's  mound : 
She  culled  it  with  a  smile. 
And  played  with  it  awhile. 


Then  scattered  it  around. 

Piped  the  blackbird  on  the  beechwood  spray : 

"Pretty  maid,  slow  wandering  this  way, 

I  did  not  chill  her  heart, 

"What 's  your  name  ? "  quoth  he — 

Nor  turn  its  gush  to  tears ; 

"  "What's  your  name?     Oh  stop  and  straight 

I  did  not  chill  her  heart. 

unfold. 

Oh,  bitter  drops  will  start 

Pretty  maid  with  showery  curls  of  gold," — 

Full  soon  in  coming  years. 

"Little  Bell,"  said  she. 

Cakoline  Oilman. 

T.it.flp  T^pll  c;nf,  flown  l^tonpfitli  flif*  "rnplc^— 

Tossed  aside  her  gleaming  golden  locks — 

BALLAD  OF  THE  lEiEPEST. 

"  Bonny  bird,"  quoth  she, 

"  Sing  me  your  best  song  before  I  go." 

"We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin, 

"Here 's  the  very  finest  song  I  know, 

Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep, — 

Little  Bell,"  said  he. 

It  was  midnight  on  the  waters 

And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep. 

And  the  blackbird  piped ;  you  never  heard 

Half  so  gay  a  song  from  any  bird — 

'T  is  a  fearful  tiling  in  "Winter 

Full  of  quips  and  wiles, 

To  be  shattered  by  the  blast, 

Now  so  round  and  rich,  now  soft  and  slow, 

And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 
Thunder :  "  Cut  away  the  mast  I  " 

So  we  shuddered  there  in  silence, — 
For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath, 
"While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring, 
And  the  breakers  talked  with  De.ith. 

As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 
Each  one  busy  in  his  prayers, 
"  "We  are  lost !  "  the  captain  shouted 
As  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 

But  his  little  daughter  whispered. 
As  she  took  his  icy  hand : 
"  Is  n't  God  upon  the  ocean 
Just  tho  ^ame  as  on  the  land  ?  " 

Then  we  kissed  the  little  maiden, 
And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 
And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 
"When  the  morn  was  shining  clear. 

James  T.  Fields. 


LITTLE  BELL. 

He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

Ancient  Mariner. 


THE    LITTLE    BLACK   BOY, 


159 


AH  for  love  of  that  sweet  face  below, 
Dimpled  o'er  with  smiles. 

And  the  while  the  bonny  bird  did  pour 
His  full  heart  out  freely  o'er  and  o'er 

'Xeath  the  morning  skies, 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below 
AU  the  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow. 
And  shine  forth  in  happy  overflow 

From  the  blue,  bright  eyes. 

Dovrn  the  dell  she  tripped  and  through  the 

glade. 
Peeped  the  squirrel  from  the  hazel  shade. 

And  from  out  the  tree 
Swung,  and  leaped,  and  frolicked,  void   of 

fear, — 
While  bold  blackbird  piped  that  all  might 
hear — 
"Little  Bell,"  piped  he. 

Little  Bell  sat  down  amid  the  fern — 
"  Squirrel,  squirrel  to  your  task  return- 
Bring  me  nuts,"  quoth  she. 
Up,  away  the  frisky  squirrel  hies — 
Golden  wood-lights  glancing  in  his  eyes — 

iVnd  adown  the  tree. 
Great  ripe  nuts,  kissed  brown  by  July  sun, 
Li  the  little  lap,  dropped  one  by  one — 
Hark,  how  blackbird  pipes  to  see  the  fun ! 
"Happy  Bell,"  pipes  he. 

Little  Bell  looked  up  and  down  the  glade — 
"  Squirrel,  squirrel,  if  you  're  not  afraid. 

Come  and  share  with  me !  " 
Down  came  squirrel  eager  for  his  fare — 
Down  came  bonny  blackbii'd  I  declare ; 
Little  Bell  gave  each  Ms  honest  share— 

Ah  the  merry  three ! 
And  the  while  these  frolic  playmates  twain 
Piped    and  frisked  from  bough  to    bough 
again, 

'Neath  the  morning  skies. 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below 
All  the  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow, 
And  shine  out  in  happy  overflow, 

From  her  blue,  bright  eyes. 

By  her  snow-white  cot  at  close  of  day, 
Knelt  sweet  Bell,  with  folded  palms  to  pray — 


Very  calm  and  clear 
Eose  the  praying  voice  to  where,  unseen, 
In  blue  heaven,  an  angel  shape  serene 

Paused  awhile  to  hear — 
""What  good  child  is  this,"  the  angel  said, 
"  That  with  happy  heart,  beside  her  bed 

Prays  so  lovingly  ? " 
Low  and  soft,  oh !  very  low  and  soft. 
Crooned  the  blackbird  in  the  orchard  croft, 

"  Bell,  dear  Bell !  "  crooned  he. 

"  Whom  God's  creatures  love,"  the  angel  fair 
Murmured,    "  God  doth  bless  with  angels' 
care; 
Child,  thy  bed  shall  be 
Folded  safe  from  harm — Love  deep  and  kind. 
Shall  watch  around  and  leave  good  gifts  be- 
hind. 

Little  Bell,  for  thee !  " 

T.  Westtvood. 


THE  LITTLE  BLACK  BOY. 

My  mother  bore  me  in  the  southern  wild. 
And  I  am  black ;  but,  oh,  my  soul  is  white ! 
White  as  an  angel  is  the  English  child. 
But  I  am  black,  as  if  bereaved  of  light. 

My  mother  taught  me  underneath  a  tree ; 
And,  sitting  down  before  the  licat  of  day. 
She  took  me  on  her  lap,  and  kissed  me. 
And,  pointing  to  the  east,  began  to  say  : 

"Look  on  the  rising  sun;  there  God  does 

live. 
And  gives  his  light,  and  gives  his  heat  away ; 
And  flowers,  and  trees,  and  beasts,  and  men, 

receive 
Comfort  in  mornmg,  joy  in  the  noonday. 


"  And  we  are  put  on  earth  a  little  space. 
That  we  may  learn  to  bear  the  beams  of  love. 
And  these  black  bodies  and  this  sunburnt 

face 
Are  but  a  cloud,  and  like  a  shady  grove. 


100 


POEMS   OF   CHILDHOOD. 


"  For  when  our  souls  Lave  Icarued  the  lieat 
to  bear, 

The  clouds  will  vanisli;  we  shall  hoar  His 
voice, 

Saving :  '  Come  from  the  grove,  ray  love  and 
care, 

And  round  my  golden  tent  like  lambs  re- 
joice.' " 

Thus  did  my  motlier  say,  and  kissed  me. 

And  thus  I  say  to  little  English  boy: 

"W'hcu  I  from  black,  and  he  from  white  cloud 

free. 
And  roimd  the  tent  of  God  like  lambs  we  joy, 

I  '11  shade  him  from  the  heat,  till  he  can  bear 
To  lean  in  joy  upon  our  Father's  knee ; 
And  then  I  '11  stand  and  stroke  his  silver  hair. 
And  be  like  him,  and  lie  will  then  love  me. 

William  Blake. 


Now,  tliy  mother's  arm  is  spread 
Beneath  thy  pillow  in  the  night ; 

And  loving  feet  creep  round  thy  bed, 

And  o'er  thy  quiet  face  is  shed 
The  taper's  darkened  hght ; 

But  that  fond  arm  will  pass  away. 
By  thee  no  more  those  feet  will  stay — 
Then  pray,  child,  pray  ! 

EOBEET  ArI8  WiLLMOTT. 


A  CHILD  PEAYI^s^G. 

Fold  thy  little  hands  in  prayer. 

Bow  down  at  thy  mother's  knee, 
2s  ow  thy  sunny  foce  is  fair, 
Shining  through  thine  auburn  hair ; 

Thine  eyes  are  passLon-free ; 
And  pleasant  thoughts,  hke  garlands,  bmd  thee 
Unto  thy  home,  yet  grief  may  find  thee — 
Then  pray,  cliOd,  pray ! 

2\ow,  thy  young  heart,  like  a  bird, 

Warbles  in  its  summer  nest; 
Xo  evil  thought,  no  unkind  word, 
Xo  chilling  autumn  winds  have  stirred 

The  beauty  of  thy  rest ; 
But  winter  hastens,  and  decay 
Shall  waste  thy  verdant  home  away — 
Then  pray,  child,  pray ! 

Thy  bosom  is  a  hoiise  of  glee, 

"With  gladness  harping  at  the  door ; 
"While  ever,  with  a  joyous  shout, 
Uope,  the  May  queen,  dances  out. 

Her  lips  with  music  running  o'er; 
But  Time  those  strings  of  joy  will  sever. 
And  hope  will  not  dance  on  for  ever — 
Then  pray,  child,  pray ! 


TO  A  CHILD. 

Thy  memory,  as  a  speU 

Of  love,  comes  o'er  my  mind — 
As  dew  upon  the  purple  bell — 

As  perfume  on  the  wind ; — 
As  music  on  the  sea — 

As  sunshine  on  the  river ; — 
So  hath  it  always  been  to  me. 

So  shall  it  be  for  ever. 

1  hear  thy  voice  in  dreams 

Upon  me  softly  call. 
Like  echoes  of  the  mountain  streams. 

In  sportive  waterfall. 
I  see  thy  form  as  when 

Thou  wert  a  living  thing, 
And  blossomed  in  the  eyes  of  men, 

Like  any  flower  of  spring. 

Thy  soul  to  heaven  hath  fled, 

From  eartlily  thraldom  free ; 
Yet,  't  is  not  as  the  dead 

That  thou  appear'st  to  me. 
In  slumber  I  behold 

Thy  form,  as  when  on  earth, 
Thy  locks  of  waving  gold, 

Thy  sapphire  eye  of  mirth. 

I  hear,  in  solitude, 

The  prattle  kind  and  free 
Thou  nttered'st  in  joyful  mood 

"While  seated  on  my  knee. 
So  strong  each  vision  seems 

My  spirit  that  doth  fill, 
I  think  not  they  are  dreams, 

But  that  thou  livest  still. 

Anonymotji 


LUCY. 


161 


LUCY. 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodclea  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove, 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 

And  very  few  to  love  : 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye ! 
-Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  oh ! 

The  difference  to  me ! 


Theee  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower ; 
Then  Nature  said :  "  A  lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown ; 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

"  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 

Both  law  and  impulse ;  and  with  me 

The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 

lu  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 

Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power, 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 
Of  mute  insensate  things. 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  lier ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  : 
Xor  shall  she  fail  to  see, 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm, 
Grace  tliat  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form 
By  silent  sympathy. 

"  The  stars  of  midniglit  shall  be  dear 
To  her ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place 
25 


"Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayvrard  round 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

"And  vital  feelings  of  delight 
Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  heiglit. 
Her  virgin  bosom  swell ; 
Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 
While  she  and  I  together  live 
Here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus  Nature  spake. — The  work  was  done- 
How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run ! 
She  died,  and  loft  to  me 
This  heath,  this  calm,  and  quiet  scene ; 
The  memory  of  what  has  been, 
And  never  more  will  be. 

William  Wordsworth. 


OX  THE  DExVTII  OF  AN  INFANT. 

A  HOST  of  angels  fl^'ing. 

Through  cloudless  skies  impelled, 

Upon  the  earth  beheld 
A  pearl  of  beauty  Ijing, 

Worthy  to  glitter  bright 

In  heaven's  vast  hall  of  light. 

They  saw  with  glances  tender. 
An  infant  newly  born. 
O'er  whom  life's  earliest  morn 

Just  cast  its  opening  splendor ; 
Virtue  it  could  not  know, 
Nor  vice,  nor  joy,  nor  woe. 

The  blest  angelic  legion 
Greeted  its  birth  above, 
And  came,  with  looks  of  love. 

From  heaven's  enchanting  region  ; 
Bending  their  winged  way 
To  where  the  infant  lay. 

They  spread  their  pinions  o'er  it,  — 
That  little  pearl  which  shone 
With  lustre  all  its  own, — 
And  then  on  high  they  bore  it. 
Where  glory  has  its  birth  ; — 
But  left  the  sliell  on  earth. 

DiKK  Smits.  (Datch.) 
Translation  of  H.  S.  Van  Dyk. 


162 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


MY  PLAYMATES. 

T  oxcK  had  a  sister, oli  fair  'mid  tlie  fair ! 
Witli  a  face  that  looked  out  from  its  soft 

golden  hair, 
Like  a  lily  some  tall  stately  angel  may  liold. 
Half  revealed,  half  concealed  in  a  mist  of 

pure  gold. 
I  once  had  a  brother,  more  dear  tlian  the 

day, 
"With  a  temper  as  sweet  as  tlie  blossoms  in 

May; 
"VTith  dark  hair  like  a  cloud,  and  a  face  like 

a  rose, 
The  red  child  of  the  wild !  when  the  sum- 
mer-wind blows. 
We  lived  in  a  cottage  that  stood  in  a  dell ; 
"Were  we  born  tJiere  or  brought  there  I  never 

could  tell ; 
Were  we  nursed  by  the  angels,  or  clothed  by 

the  fays, 
Or,  who  led  when  we  fled  down  the  deep 

sylvan  ways, 
'Mid  treasures  of  gold  and  of  silver ! 

W'lien  we  rose  in  fhe  morning  we  ever  said 

"  Hark ! " 
"We  shall  hear,  if  we  list,  the  first  word  of  the 

lark ; 
And  we  stood  with  our  faces,  calm,  silent, 

and  bright, 
While  the  breeze  in  the  trees  held  his  breath 

with  delight. 
Oh  the  stream  ran  withnriusic,  the  leaves  dript 

Avith  dew, 
And  we  looked  up  and  saw  the  great  God  in 

the  blue ; 
And  we  praised  him  and  blessed  him,  but 

said  not  a  word. 
For  we  soared,  we  adored,  with  that  magical 

bird. 
Tlien    with  hand  linked  in  hand,  how  we 

laughed,  liow  we  sung ! 
How  we  danced  in  a  ring,  when  the  morn- 
ing was  young! 
flow   we   wandered  where   kingcups  Avere 

crusted  Avith  gold, 
Or  more  Avhite  than  the  light  glittered  daisies 

untold. 

Those  treasures  of  gold  and  of  silver ! 


Oh  well  I  remember  the  floAvers  that  Ave  found, 
With  the  red  and  white  blossoms  that  dam- 
asked the  ground  ; 
And  the  long  lane  of  light,  that,  half  yellow, 

half  green. 
Seemed  to  fade  down  the  glade  Avhere  the 

young  fairy  queen 
Would  sit  with  her  fairies  around  her  and 

sing. 
While  Ave  listened  all  ear,  to  that  song  of  the 

Spring. 
Oh  Avell  I  remember  the  lights  in  the  west. 
And  the  spire,   where  the  fire  of  the  sun 

seemed  to  rest. 
When  the  earth,  crimson-shadowed,  laughed 

out  in  the  air, — 
Ah !  I  '11  never  believe  but  the  fairies  Avere 

there ; 
Sucli  a  feeling  of  loving  and  longing  was  ours. 
And  we  saAV,  Avith  glad  awe,  little  hands  in 

the  floAvers, 
Drop  treasures  of  gold  and  of  silver. 

Oh  weep  ye  and  wail !  for  that  sister,  alas ! 
And  that  fair  gentle  brother  lie  low  in  the 

grass ; 
Perchance  tlie  red  robins  may  strew  them 

with  leaves. 
That  each  morn,  for  white  corn,  would  come 

doAvn  from  the  eaves  ; 
Perchance  of  their  dust  the  young  violets  are 

made, 
That  bloom  by  the  church  that  is  hid  in  the 

glade ; 
But  one  day  I  shall  learn,  if  I  pass  Avhere 

they  grow. 
Far  more  sweet  they  will  greet  their  old  play- 
mates,! knoAV. 
Ah  !  the  cottage  is  gone,  and  no  longer  I  see 
The  old  glade,  the  old  paths,  and  no  lark 

sings  for  me ; 
But  I  still  must  believe  that  the  fairies  are 

there. 
That  the  light  groAvs  more  bright,  touched 

by  fingers  so  fair, 
'Mid  treasures  of  gold  and  of  silver ! 

AnOKYMOI'S. 


THE    MORNING-GLORY. 


163 


THE  OPEN  WINDOW. 

The  old  house  by  the  lindens 

Stood  silent  in  the  shade, 
And  on  the  gravelled  path-way 

The  light  and  shadow  played. 

I  saw  the  nursery  windows 

Wide  open  to  the  air  ; 
But  the  faces  of  the  children, 

They  were  no  longer  there.    , 

The  large  Newfoundland  house-dog 
Was  standing  by  the  door ; 

He  looked  for  his  little  playmates, 
Who  would  return  no  more. 

They  walked  not  under  the  lindens, 
They  played  not  in  the  hall  ; 

But  shadow,  and  silence,  and  sadness 
Were  hanging  over  all. 

The  birds  sang  in  the  branches. 

With  sweet  familiar  tone  ; 
But  the  voices  of  the  children 

Will  be  heard  in  dreams  alone ! 

And  the  boy  that  walked  beside  me, 

He  could  not  understand 
Why  closer  in  mine,  ah  !  closer, 

I  pressed  his  Avarm,  soft  hand  ! 

Hfjjkt  WiDSwoETn  Longfellow. 


SHE  CAME  AND  WENT. 

As  a  twig  trembles,  which  a  bird 
Lights  on  to  sing,  then  leaves  unbent, 

So  is  my  memory  thrilled  and  stirred  ; — 
I  only  knoAV  she  came  and  went. 

As  clasps  some  lake,  by  gusts  unriven. 
The  blue  dome's  measureless  content, 

So  my  soul  held  that  moment's  heaven  ;— 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 

As,  at  one  bound,  our  swift  Spring  heaps 
The  orchards  full  of  bloom  and  scent. 

So  clove  her  May  my  wintry  sleeps ; — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 


An  angel  stood  and  met  my  gaze, 

Through  the  low  doorway  of  my  tent ; 

The  tent  is  struck,  the  vision  stays ; — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 

Oh,  when  the  room  grows  slowly  dim. 
And  when  the  oil  is  nearly  spent, 

One  gush  of  light  these  eyes  will  brim, 
Only  to  think  she  came  and  went. 

James  Eussell  Lowelu 


THE  MORNING-GLOEY. 

We  wreathed  about  our  darling's  head 

The  morning-glory  bright ; 
Her  little  face  looked  out  beneath, 

So  full  of  life  and  light. 
So  lit  as  with  a  sunrise. 

That  Ave  could  only  say, 
"  She  is  the  morning-glory  true, 

And  her  poor  types  are  they." 

So  always  from  that  happy  time 

We  called  her  by  their  name. 
And  very  fitting  did  it  seem — 

For  sure  as  morning  came. 
Behind  her  cradle  bars  she  smiled 

To  catch  the  first  ftiint  ray, 
As  from  the  trellis  smiles  the  flower 

And  opens  to  the  day. 

But  not  so  beautiful  they  rear 

Their  airy  cups  of  blue, 
As  turned  her  sweet  eyes  to  the  light, 

Brimmed  with  sleep's  tender  dew  ; 
And  not  so  close  their  tendrils  fine 

Round  their  supports  are  thrown. 
As  those  dear  arms  whose  outstretched  plea 

Clasped  all  hearts  to  her  own. 

We  used  to  think  how  she  had  come, 

Even  as  comes  the  flower, 
The  last  and  perfect  added  gift 

To  crown  Love's  morning  hour ; 
And  how  in  her  was  imaged  forth 

The  love  we  could  not  say. 
As  on  the  little  dewdrops  round 

Shines  back  the  heart  of  day. 


uu 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


We  never  could  have  tliouglit,  O  God, 

That  she  must  wither  up, 
Almost  before  a  day  was  Hown, 

Like  the  morning-glory's  cup  ; 
We  never  thought  to  see  her  droop 

Her  fair  and  noble  head. 
Till  she  lay  stretched  before  our  eyes, 

"Wilted,  and  cold,  and  dead ! 

The  morning-glory's  blossoming 

Will  soon  bo  coming  round — 
We  see  their  rows  of  heart-shaped  leaves 

Upspringing  from  the  ground  ; 
The  tender  things  the  winter  killed 

Renew  again  their  birth. 
But  the  glory  of  our  morning 

Has  passed  aAvay  from  earth. 

Oh,  Earth  !  in  vain  our  aching  eyes 

Stretch  over  thy  green  plain ! 
Too  harsh  thy  dews,  too  gross  thine  air, 

Her  spirit  to  sustain ; 
But  up  in  groves  of  Paradise 

Full  surely  we  shall  see 
Our  morning-glory  beautiful 

Twine  round  our  dear  Lord's  knee. 

Maria  White  Lowell. 


BABY'S  SHOES. 

On  those  little,  those  little  blue  shoes ! 

Those  shoes  that  no  little  feet  use. 
Oh  the  price  were  high 
That  those  shoes  would  buy, 

Those  little  blue  unused  shoes ! 

For  they  hold  the  small  shape  of  feet 
That  no  more  their  mother's  eyes  meet, 

That,  by  God's  good  will. 

Years  since,  grew  still. 
And  ceased  from  their  totter  so  sweet. 

And  oh,  since  that  baby  slept. 

So  hushed,  how  the  mother  has  kept, 

With  a  tearful  pleasure. 

That  little  dear  treasure. 
And  o'er  them  tJiought  and  wept ! 


For  they  mind  her  for  evermore 
Of  a  patter  along  the  floor ; 

And  blue  eyes  she  sees 

Look  up  from  her  knees 
With  the  look  that  in  life  they  wore. 

As  they  lie  before  her  there. 
There  babbles  from  chair  to  chair 
A  little  sweet  face 
That's  a  gleam  in  the  place, 
With  its  little  gold  curls  of  liair. 

Tlien  oh,  wonder  not  that  her  heart 
From  all  else  would  rather  part 
Than  those  tiny  blue  shoes 
That  no  little  feet  use, 
And  whose  sight  makes  such  fond  tears  stai  1 1 

William  C.  Bennett. 


THE  THEEE  SONS. 

I  HAVE  a  son,  a  little  son,  a  boy  just  five  years 

old. 
With  eyes  of  thoughtful  earnestness,  and  mind 

of  gentle  mould. 
They  tell  me  that  unusual  grace  in  all  his 

Avays  appears. 
That  my  child  is  grave  and  wise  of  heart  be- 
yond his  childish  years. 
I  cannot  say  how  this  may  be ;    I  know  his 

face  is  fair — 
And  yet  his  chiefest  comeliness  is  his  sweet 

and  serious  air ; 
I  know  his  heart  is  kind  and  fond ;   I  know 

he  loveth  me ; 
But  loveth  yet  his  mother  more  with  grateful 

fervency. 
But  that  which  others  most  admire,  is  the 

thought  which  fills  his  mind. 
The  food  for  grave  inquiring  speech  he  every 

where  doth  find. 
Strange  questions  doth  he  ask  of  me,  when 

we  together  walk ; 
He  scarcely  thinks  as  children  think,  or  talks 

as  children  talk. 
Nor  cares  he  much  for  childish  sports,  dotes 

not  on  bat  or  ball, 
But  looks  on  manhood's  ways  and  works,  and 

aptly  mimics  all. 


THE    THREE    SONS. 


165 


His  little  heart  is  busy  still,  and  oftentimes 

perplext 
With  thoughts  about  this  world  of  ours,  and 

thoughts  about  the  next. 
He  kneels  at  his  dear  mother's  knee;    she 

teacheth  him  to  pray ; 
And  strange,  and  sweet,  and  solemn  then  are 

the  words  which  he  will  say. 
Oh,  should  my  gentle  child  be  spargd  to  man- 
hood's years  like  me, 
A  holier  and  a  wiser  man  I  trust  that  he  will 

be; 
And  when  I  look  into  his  eyes,  and  stroke 

his  thoughtful  brow, 
I  dare  not  think  what  I  should  feel,  were  I  to 

lose  him  now. 

I  have  a  son,  a  second  son,  a  simple  child  of 

three; 
I  '11  not  declare  how  bright  and  fair  his  little 

features  be. 
How  silver  sweet  tliose  tones  of  his  when  he 

prattles  on  my  knee ; 
I  do  not  think  his  light-blue  eye  is,  like  his 

brother's,  keen, 
Nor  his  brow  so  full  of  childish  thought  as 

his  hath  ever  been ; 
But  his  little  heart's  a  fountain  pure  of  kind 

and  tender  feeling ; 
And  his  every  look 's  a  gleam  of  light,  rich 

depths  of  love  revealing. 
When  he  walks  with  me,  the  country  folk, 

who' pass  us  in  the  street, 
Will  shout  for  joy,  and  bless  my  boy,  he  looks 

so  mild  and  sweet. 
A  playfellow  is  he  to  all;    and  yet,  with 

cheerful  tone. 
Will  sing  his  little  song  of  love,  when  left  to 

sport  alone. 
His  presence  is  like  sunshine  sent  to  gladden 

home  and  hearth. 
To  comfort  us  in  all  our  griefs,  and  sweeten 

all  our  mirth. 
Should  he  grow  up  to  riper  years,  God  grant 

his  heart  may  prove 
As  sweet  a  home  for  heavenly  grace  as  now 

for  earthly  love ; 
And  if,  beside  his  grave,  the  tears  our  aching 

eyes  must  dim, 
God  comfort  us  for  all  the  love  which  we 

shall  lose  in  liiin. 


I  have  a  son,  a  third  sweet  son ;    his  age  1 

cannot  tell. 
For  they  reckon  not  by  years  and  months 

where  he  is  gone  to  dwell. 
To  us,  for  fourteen  anxious  months,  his  infant 

smiles  were  given ; 
And  then  he  bade  farewell  to  Earth,  and  went 

to  live  in  Heaven. 
I  cannot  tell  what  form  is  his,  what  looks  he 

weareth  now, 
ISTor  guess  how  bright  a  glory  crowns  his 

shining  seraph  brow. 
The  thoughts  that  fill  his  sinless  soul,  the  bliss 

which  he  doth  feel. 
Are  numbered  with  the  secret  things  which 

God  will  not  reveal. 
But  I  know  (for  God  hath  told  me  this)  that 

he  is  now  at  rest, 
Where  other  blessed  infants  be,  on  their  Sa- 
viour's loving  breast. 
I  know  his  spirit  feels  no  more  this  weary 

load  of  flesh. 
But  his  sleep  is  blessed  with  endless  dreams 

of  joy  for  ever  fresh. 
I  know  the  angels  fold  him   close  beneath 

their  glittering  wings, 
And  soothe  him  with  a  song  that  breathes  of 

Heaven's  divinest  things. 
I  know  that  we  shall  meet  our  babe,  (liis 

mother  dear  and  I,) 
Where  God  for  aye  shall  wipe  away  all  tears 

from  every  eye. 
Whate'er  befalls  his  brethren  twain,  his  bliss 

can  never  cease ; 
Their  lot  may  here  be  grief  and  fear,  but  his 

is  certain  peace. 
It  may  be  that  the  tempter's  wiles  their  souls 

from  bliss  may  sever ; 
But,  if  our  own  poor  faith  fail  not,  he  must 

be  ours  for  ever. 
When  we  think  of  what  our  darling  is,  and 

what  we  still  must  be — 
When  we  muse  on  that  Avorld's  perfect  bliss, 

and  this  world's  misery — 
When  we  groan  beneath  this  load  of  sin,  and 

feel  this  grief  and  pain — 
Oh  !  we  'd  rather  lose  our  other  two,  thai 

have  him  here  again. 

JOHH  MotTLTKia 


1(36                                                 POEMS     OF 

CHILDHOOD. 

And  let  the  world's  aflFairs  go  by, 

TllREXODY. 

Awhile  to  share  his  cordial  game, 

Or  mend  his  wicker  wagon-frame. 

The  Soutli-wiiul  brings 

Still  i)lottiug  how  their  hungry  e*i' 

Life,  sunshine,  and  desire. 

That  winsome  voice  again  might  hear ; 

And  on  every  mount  and  meadow 

Fol"  his  lips  could  Avell  pronounce 

]5reatbes  aromatic  lire ; 

AYords  that  -were  persuasions. 

I>ut  over  the  dead  he  has  no  power; 

The  lost,  the  lost,  he  cannot  restore ; 

Gentlest  guardians  marked  serene 

And,  looking  over  the  hills,  I  mourn 

His  early  hope,  his  liberal  mien ; 

The  darling  who  shall  not  return. 

Took  counsel  from  his  guiding  eyes 

To  make  this  wisdom  eai-thly  wise. 

I  see  my  empty  liouse ; 

Ah,  vainly  do  these  eyes  recall 

I  see  my  trees  repair  their  houghs ; 

The  school-march,  each  day's  festival. 

And  he,  the  wondrous  child. 

When  every  morn  my  bosom  glowed 

Whose  silver  warble  wild 

To  watch  the  convoy  on  the  road ; 

Outvalued  every  pulsing  sound 

The  babe  in  willow  wagon  closed. 

AVithin  the  air's  cerulean  round — 

With  rolling  eyes  and  face  composed ; 

The  hyacinthine  boy,  for  whom 

With  children  forward  and  behind, 

^lorn  well  might  break  and  April  bloom — 

Like  Cupids  studiously  inclined ; 

The  gracious  boy,  who  did  adorn 

And  he  tlie  chieftain  paced  beside. 

The  world  whereiuto  he  was  born. 

The  centre  of  the  troop  allied. 

And  by  his  countenance  repay 

With  sunny  face  of  sweet  repose. 

The  favor  of  the  loving  Day — 

To  guard  the  babe  from  fancied  foes. 

Has  disappeared  from  the  Day's  eye ; 

The  little  captain  innocent 

Far  and  wide  she  cannot  find  him ; 

Took  the  eye  with  him  as  he  went ; 

My  hopes  pursue,  they  cannot  bind  him. 

Each  village  senior  paused  to  scan 

Returned  this  day,  the  South-wind  searches, 

And  speak  the  lovely  caravan. 

And  finds  young  pines  and  budding  birches; 

From  the  window  I  look  out 

But  finds  not  the  budding  man ; 

To  mark  thy  beautiful  parade, 

JSTature,  who  lost  him,  cannot  remake  him ; 

Stately  marching  in  cap  and  coat 

Fate  let  him  fall.  Fate  can 't  retake  him ; 

To  some  tune  by  fairies  played ; 

Xature,  Fate,  Men,  him  seek  in  vain. 

A  music,  heard  by  thee  alone, 

To  works  as  noble  led  thee  on. 

And  whither  now,  my  truant  wise  and  sweet, 

Oh,  whither  tend  thy  feet  ? 

Row  Love  and  Pride,  alas !  in  vain. 

I  l-;ad  the  right,  few  days  ago, 

Up  and  down  their  glances  strain. 

Thy  steps  to  watch,  thy  place  to  know ; 

The  painted  sled  stands  where  it  stood ; 

IIow  have  I  forfeited  the  right? 

The  kennel  by  the  corded  wood ; 

Ilast  thou  forgot  me  in  a  new  delight? 

The  gathered  sticks  to  stanch  the  wall 

I  hearken  for  thy  household  cheer, 

Of  the  snow-tower,  when  snow  should  fall ; 

0  eloquent  child! 

TliC  ominous  hole  he  dug  in  the  sand, 

Whose  voice,  an  equal  messenger, 

And  childhood's  castles  budt  or  planned ; 

Conveyed  thy  meaning  mild. 

His  daily  haunts  I  well  discern — 

What  though  the  pains  and  joys 

The  poultry-yard,  the  shed,  the  barn — 

Whereof  it  spoke  were  toys 

And  every  inch  of  garden  ground 

Fitting  his  age  and  ken, 

Paced  by  the  blessed  feet  around. 

Yet  fairest  dames  and  bearded  men, 

From  the  roadside  to  the  brook 

Who  heard  the  sweet  request. 

Whereiuto  he  loved  to  look. 

So  gentle,  wise,  and  grave, 

Step  the  meek  birds  where  erst  they  ranged 

Bended  with  joy  to  his  behest, 

The  wintry  garden  lies  unchanged; 

THRENODY. 


167 


The  brook  into  the  stream  runs  on ; 
But  the  deep-eyed  boy  is  gone. 

On  that  shaded  day, 

Dark  with  more  clouds  than  tempests  are, 

When  thou  didst  yield  thy  innocent  breath 

In  birdlike  heavings  unto  death. 

Night  came,  and  Nature  had  not  thee ; 

I  said:  "We  are  mates  in  misery." 

The  morrow  dawned  with  needless  glow ; 

Each  snowbird  chirped,  each  fowl  must  crow ; 

Each  tramper  started ;  but  the  feet 

Of  the  most  beautiful  and  sweet 

Of  human  youth  had  left  the  hill 

And  garden — they  were  bound  and  still. 

There 's  not  a  sparrow  or  a  wren. 

There 's  not  a  blade  of  Autumn  graui. 

Which  the  four  seasons  do  not  tend. 

And  tides  of  life  and  increase  lend ; 

And  every  chick  of  every  bird. 

And  weed  and  rock-moss  is  preferred. 

Oh,  ostrich-like  forgetfuluess ! 

Oh  loss  of  larger  in  the  less ! 

AVas  there  no  star  that  could  be  sent. 

No  watcher  in  the  firmament, 

No  angel  from  the  countless  host 

Tliat  loiters  round  the  crystal  coast. 

Could  stoop  to  heal  that  only  child, 

Nature's  sweet  marvel  undefiled. 

And  keep  the  blossom  of  the  earth, 

Which  all  her  harvests  were  not  worth? 

Not  mine — I  never  called  thee  mine, 

IJut  Nature's  heir — if  I  repine, 

And  seeing  rashly  torn  and  moved 

Not  what  I  made,  but  what  I  loved. 

Grew  early  old  with  grief  that  thou 

Must  to  the  wastes  of  Nature  go — 

'Tis  because  a  general  hope 

Was  quenched,  and  all  must  doubt  and  grope. 

For  flattering  planets  seemed  to  say 

This  child  should  ills  of  ages  stay, 

By  wondrous  tongue,  and  guided  pen. 

Bring  the  flown  Muses  back  to  men. 

Perchance  not  he,  but  Nature,  ailed ; 

The  world  and  not  the  infant  failed. 

It  was  not  ripe  yet  to  sustain 

A  genius  of  so  fine  a  strain. 

Who  gazed  upon  the  sun  and  moon 

As  if  he  came  unto  his  own; 

And,  pregnant  with  his  grander  thought, 

Hrought  tlie  old  order  into  doubt. 


His  beauty  once  their  beauty  tried ; 
They  could  not  feed  him,  and  he  died. 
And  wandered  backward  as  in  scorn, 
To  wait  an  ceon  to  be  born. 
Ill  day  which  made  this  beauty  waste, 
Plight  broken,  this  high  face  defaced ! 
Some  went  and  came  about  the  dead; 
And  some  in  books  of  solace  read ; 
Some  to  their  friends  the  tidings  say ; 
Some  went  to  write,  some  went  to  pray ; 
One  tarried  here,  there  hurried  one  ; 
But  their  heart  abode  with  none. 
Covetous  Death  bereaved  us  all, 
To  aggrandize  one  funeral. 
The  eager  fate  which  carried  thee 
Took  the  largest  part  of  me. 
For  this  losing  is  true  dying; 
This  is  lordly  man's  down-lying. 
This  his  slow  but  sure  reclining. 
Star  by  star  his  world  resigning. 

0  child  of  Paradise, 

Boy  who  made  dear  his  father's  home, 

In  whose  deep  eyes 

Men  read  the  welfare  of  the  times  to  come, 

1  am  too  much  bereft. 

The  world  dishonored  thou  hast  left. 
Oh,  trutli's  and  nature's  costly  lie ! 
Oh,  trusted  broken  prophecy ! 
Oh  richest  fortune  sourly  crossed ! 
Born  for  the  future,  to  the  future  lost! 

The  deep  Heart  answered:  "Weepest  thou? 

Worthier  cause  for  passion  wild 

If  I  had  not  taken  the  child. 

And  deemest  thou  as  those  who  pore. 

With  aged  eyes,  short  way  before — 

Think'st  Beauty  vanished  from  the  coast 

Of  matter,  and  thy  darling  lost? 

Taught  he  not  thee — the  man  of  eld, 

Whose  eyes  within  his  eyes  beheld 

Heaven's  numerous  hierarchy  span 

The  mystic  gulf  from  God  to  man? 

To  be  alone  wilt  thou  begin 

When  worlds  of  lovers  hem  thee  in  ? 

To-morrow  when  the  masks  shall  fall 

That  dizen  Nature's  carnival. 

The  pure  shall  see  by  their  own  will, 

Which  overflowing  Love  shall  fill, 

'Tis  not  within  the  force  of  Fate 

The  fate-cojijoined  to  separate. 


16S 


POEMS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 


But  thou,  my  votary,  -weepest  thou  ? 

I  gave  theo  sight — where  is  it  now  ? 

I  taught  thy  heart  beyoud  the  reach 

Of  ritual,  bible,  or  of  speech; 

■\Vrote  in  thy  raintVs  transparent  table. 

As  fiir  as  the  incommunicable ; 

Taught  thee  each  private  sign  to  raise, 

Lit  by  the  super-solar  blaze. 

Past  utterance,  and  past  belief, 

And  past  the  blasphemy  of  grief, 

The  mysteries  of  Nature's  heart ; 

And  though  uo  Muse  can  these  impart, 

Throb  thine  with  Nature's  throbbing  breast, 

And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west. 

"  1  came  to  thee  as  to  a  friend ; 
Dearest,  to  thee  I  did  not  send 
Tutors,  but  a  joyful  eye, 
Innocence  that  matched  the  sky, 
Lovely  locks,  a  form  of  wonder, 
Laughter  rich  as  woodland  thunder, 
Tliat  thou  might'st  entertain  apart 
The  richest  flowering  of  all  art ; 
And,  as  the  great  all-loving  Day 
Through  smallest  chambers  takes  its  way, 
That  thou  might'st  break  thy  daily  bread 
With  prophet,  saviour,  and  head ; 
That  thon  might'st  cherish  for  thine  own 
The  riches  of  sweet  Mary's  son, 
Boy -rabbi,   Israel's  paragon. 
And  thoughtest  thou  such  guest 
Would  in  thy  hall  take  up  his  rest? 
Would  rushing  life  forget  her  laws. 
Fate's  glowing  revolution  pause  ? 
High  omens  ask  diviner  guess, 
Xot  to  be  conned  to  tediousness. 
And  know  my  higber  gifts  unbind 
The  zone  that  girds  the  incarnate  mind. 
AVhcn  the  scanty  shores  arc  full 
With  Thought's  perilous,  whirling  pool ; 
When  frail  Nature  can  no  more, 
Then  the  Spirit  strikes  the  hour: 
My  servant  Death,  with  solving  rite, 
I'ours  finite  into  infinite. 

"  Wilt  thou  freeze  Love's  tidal  flow, 
Whose  streams  through  Nature  circling  go? 
Nail  the  wild  star  to  its  track 
On  the  half-climbed  zodiac  ? 
Light  is  light  -which  radiates ; 
Blood  is  blood  which  circulates ; 


Life  is  life  which  generates ; 

And  many-seeming  life  is  one — 

AVilt  thou  transfix  and  make  it  none? 

Its  onward  force  too  starkly  pent 

In  figure,  bono,  and  lineament? 

Wilt  thou,  imcalled,  interrogate, 

Talker !  the  unreplying  Fate  ? 

Nor  see  the  genius  of  the  whole 

Ascendant  in  the  private  soul. 

Beckon  it  when  to  go  and  come, 

Self-annonnced  its  hour  of  doom  ? 

Fair  the  soul's  recess  and  shrine, 

Magic-built  to  last  a  season ; 

Masterpiece  of  love  benign ; 

Fairer  than  expansive  reason, 

Whose  omen  'tis,  and  sign. 

Wilt  thou  not  ope  thy  heart  to  know 

What  rainbows  teach,  and  sunsets  show  ? 

'Verdict  which  accnnnilates 

From  lengthening  scroll  of  human  fates, 

Voice  of  earth  to  earth  returned, 

Prayers  of  saints  that  inly  burned — 

Saying:  What  is  excellent, 

As  God  lives,  is  2}ermane)it ; 

Hearts  are  dust,  hearts^  loves  remain ; 

Hearts'  love  will  meet  thee  again, 

Eevere  the  Maker ;  fetch  thine  eye 

Up  to  his  style,  and  manners  of  the  sky. 

Not  of  adamant  and  gold 

BuUt  he  heaven  stark  and  cold ; 

No,  but  a  nest  of  bending  reeds. 

Flowering  grass,  and  scented  weeds ; 

Or  like  a  traveller's  fledng  tent, 

Or  bow  above  the  tempest  bent ; 

Built  of  tears  and  sacred  flames, 

And  virtue  reaching  to  its  aims ; 

Built  of  furtherance  and  pursuing. 

Not  of  spent  deeds,  but  of  doing. 

Silent  rushes  the  swift  Lord 

Throngb  ruined  systems  still  restored, 

Broadsowing,  bleak  and  void  to  bless, 

Plants  with  worlds  the  wilderness ; 

Waters  with  tears  of  ancient  sorrow 

Apples  of  Eden  ripe  to-morrow. 

House  and  tenant  go  to  ground, 

Lost  in  God,  in  Godhead  found." 

I!alph  Waldo  Emekson, 


OASA    WAPPY. 


169 


CASA  WAPPY  * 

And  hast  tliou  sought  thy  heavenly  home, 

Our  fond,  dear  boy — 
The  realms  where  sorrow  dare  not  come, 

"Where  life  is  joy  ? 
Pure  at  thy  death,  as  at  thy  birth. 
Thy  spirit  caught  no  taint  from  earth; 
Even  by  its  bliss  we  mete  our  dearth, 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

Despair  was  in  our  last  farewell. 

As  closed  thine  eye  ; 
Tears  of  our  anguish  may  not  tell 

AVhen  thou  didst  die ; 
Words  may  not  paint  our  grief  for  thee ; 
Sighs  are  but  bubbles  on  the  sea 
Of  our  unfathomed  agony ; 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

Thou  wert  a  vision  of  delight. 

To  bless  us  given ; 
Beauty  embodied  to  our  sight — 

A  type  of  heaven ! 
So  dear  to  us  thou  wert,  thou  art 
Even  less  thine  own  self,  than  a  part 
Of  mine,  and  of  thy  mother's  heart, 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

Thy  liright,  brief  day  knew  no  decline — ■ 

'T  was  cloudless  joy ; 
Sunrise  and  night  alone  were  thine, 

Beloved  boy ! 
This  moon  beheld  thee  blythe  and  gay  ; 
That  found  thee  prostrate  in  decay ; 
And  ere  a  third  shone,  clay  was  clay, 
Casa  Wappy ! 

Gem  of  our  hearth,  our  household  pride. 

Earth's  undefiled. 
Could  love  have  saved,  thou  hadst  not  died, 

Our  dear,  sweet  child  ! 
Humbly  we  bow  to  Fate's  decree  ; 
Yet  had  we  hoped  that  Time  should  see 
Thee  mourn  for  us,  not  us  for  thee, 
Casa  "Wappy ! 


♦  The  self-appellative  of  a  beloved  child. 

.26 


Do  what  I  may,  go  where  I  will. 

Thou  meet'st  my  sight ; 
There  dost  thou  glide  before  me  still — 

A  form  of  light ! 
I  feel  thy  breath  upon  my  cheek — 
I  see  thee  smile,  I  hear  thee  speak — 
Till  oh  !  my  heart  is  like  to  break, 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

Me  thinks  thou  smil'st  before  me  now, 

"With  glance  of  stealth  ; 
The  hair  thrown  back  from  thy  full  brow 

In  buoyant  health ; 
I  see  thine  eyes'  deep  violet  light — 
Thy  dimpled  cheek  carnationed  bright — 
Thy  clasping  aiTns  so  round  and  white — 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

The  nursery  shows  thy  pictured  wall, 

Thy  bat— thy  bow— 
Thy  cloak  and  bonnet — club  and  ball ; 

But  where  art  thou  ? 
A  corner  holds  thine  empty  chair ; 
Thy  j)laythings,  idly  scattered  there, 
But  speak  to  us  of  our  despair, 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

Even  to  the  last,  thy  every  word — 

To  glad — to  grieve — 
"Was  sweet,  as  sweetest  song  of  bird 

On  Summer's  eve ; 
In  outward  beauty  undecayed. 
Death  o'er  thy  spirit  cast  no  shade. 
And,  like  the  rainbow,  thou  didst  fade, 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

"We  mourn  for  thee,  when  blind,  blank  night 

The  chamber  fills ; 
"We  pine  for  thee,  when  morn's  first  liglit 

Eeddens  the  hills ; 
The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  sea. 
All — to  the  wall-flower  and  wild-pea — 
Are  changed ;  we  saw  the  world  thro'  thee. 
Casa  "Wappy ! 

And  though,  perchance,  a  smile  may  gleam 

Of  casual  mirth. 
It  doth  not  own,  Avhate'er  may  seem, 

An  inward  birth ; 


170 


POEMS    OF    CUILDUOOD. 


We  miss  thy  small  step  ou  the  stair ; — 
We  miss  thee  at  thine  evening  prayer ; 
All  day  we  miss  thee — every  where — 
Casa  Wappy ! 

Suow;;  nuiflled  earth  when  thou  didst  go, 

lu  life's  spring-bloom, 
Down  to  the  appointed  house  below — 

The  silent  tomb. 
But  now  the  green  leaves  of  the  tree, 
The  cuckoo,  and  "  the  busy  bee," 
Keturn — but  Avith  them  bring  not  thee, 
Casa  Wappy ! 

'T  is  so  ;  but  can  it  be —  while  flowers 

Revive  again  — 
Man's  doom,  in  death  that  we  and  ours 

For  aye  remain  ? 
Oh !  can  it  be,  that,  o'er  the  grave, 
The  grass  renewed  should  yearly  wave, 
Yet  God  forget  our  child  to  save  ? — 
Casa  Wappy ! 

It  cannot  be ;  for  were  it  so 

TJuis  man  could  die. 
Life  were  a  mockery — thought  were  woe — 

And  truth  a  lie  ; — 
Heaven  were  a  coinage  of  the  brain — 
Religion  frenzy — virtue  vain — 
And  all  our  hopes  to  meet  again, 
Casa  Wappy ! 

Tlien  be  to  us,  O  dear,  lost  child  I 

With  beam  of  love, 
A  star,  death's  uncongenial  wild 

Smiling  above ! 
Soon,  soon,  tliy  little  feet  have  trod 
Tlie  skyward  path,  the  seraph's  road, 
That  led  thee  back  from  man  to  God, 
Casa  Wappy ! 

Yet,  't  is  sweet  balm  to  our  despair. 

Fond,  fairest  boy, 
That  Heaven  is  God's,  and  thou  art  there, 

W^ith  him  in  joy  ; 
There  past  are  death  and  all  its  woes ; 
There  beauty's  stream  for  ever  flows ; 
And  x>leasure's  day  no  sunset  knows, 
Casa  Wappy ! 


Farewell  then — for  a  while,  farewell — 

Pride  of  my  heart ! 
It  cannot  be  that  long  we  dwell. 

Thus  torn  apart. 
Time's  shadows  like  the  shuttle  flee ; 
And,  dark  howe'er  life's  night  may  be. 
Beyond  the  grave,  I  '11  meet  with  thee, 
Casa  Wappy ! 

Datid  Macbeth  Moik. 


MY  CHILD. 

I  CANNOT  make  him  dead ! 

His  fair  sunshiny  head 
Is  ever  bounding  round  my  study  chaii' ; 

Yet,  when  my  eyes,  now  dim 

With  tears,  I  turn  to  him. 
The  vision  vanishes — ^he  is  not  there  I 

I  walk  my  parlour  floor. 

And,  through  the  open  door, 
I  hear  a  footfall  on  the  chamber  stair ; 

I  'm  stepping  toward  the  hall 

To  give  the  boy  a  caU ; 
And  then  bethink  me  that — he  is  not  there ! 

I  thread  the  crowded  street ; 

A  satchelled  lad  I  meet, 
With  the  same  beaming  eyes  and  colored  hair ; 

And,  as  he 's  running  by, 

Follow  him  with  my  eye. 
Scarcely  believing  that — he  is  not  there  ! 

I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  cofiin  lid ; 
Closed  are  his  eyes;  cold  is  his  forehead  fair ; 

My  hand  that  marble  felt ; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt ; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that — he  is  not  there ! 

I  cannot  make  him  dead ! 

When  passing  by  the  bed, 
So  long  watched  over  with  parental  care. 

My  spirit  and  my  eye 

Seek  him  inquiringly, 
Before  the  thought  comes  that— he  is  not 
there ! 


FOR   CHARLIE'S   SAKE. 


Ill 


When,  at  the  cool,  gray  hreak 

Of  day,  from  sleep  I  "n-ake, 
With  my  first  breathing  of  the  morning  air 

My  soul  goes  up,  with  joy, 

To  Him  who  gave  my  boy ; 
Then  comes  the  sad  thought  that — he  is  not 
there ! 

When  at  the  day's  calm  close. 

Before  we  seek  repose, 
I'm  with  his  mother,  offering  up  our  prayer; 

Whate'er  I  may  be  saying, 

I  am  in  spii'it  praying 
For  our  boy's  spmt,  though — he  is  not  there ! 

Not  there! — Where,  then,  is  he? 

The  form  I  used  to  see 
Was  but  the  raiment  that  he  used  to  wear. 

The  grave,  that  now  doth  press 

Upon  that  cast-off  dress. 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  locked ; — ^lie  is  not  there  I 

He  lives ! — In  all  the  past 

He  lives ;  nor,  to  the  last. 
Of  seeing  him  again  will  I  despair; 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now ; 

And,  on  his  angel  brow, 
I  see  it  written,  "  Thou  shalt  see  me  tliere! 

Yes,  we  all  live  to  God ! 

Father,  thy  chastening  rod 
So  help  us,  thine  afflicted  ones,  to  bear, 

That,  in  the  spirit  land, 

Meeting  at  thy  right  hand, 
'T  will  be  our  heaven  to  find  that — he  is 
there ! 

JonX   PlEKPONT. 


LOSS  AXD  GAI^'. 

When  the  baby  died,  we  said. 
With  a  sudden,  secret  dread  : 
"  Death,  be  merciful,  and  pass ; — 
Leave  the  other!  " — but  alas! 

While  we  watched  he  waited  there, 
One  foot  on  the  golden  stair, 
One  hand  beckoning  at  the  gate, 
Till  the  home  Avas  desolate. 


Friends  say,  "It  is  better  so. 
Clothed  in  innocence  to  go ;" 
Say,  to  ease  the  pai-tlng  pain. 
That  "your  loss  is  but  their  gain." 

Ah !  the  parents  think  of  this ! 
But  remember  more  the  kiss 
From  the  little  rose-red  lips ; 
And  the  print  of  finger-tips. 

Left  upon  the  broken  toy. 
Will  remind  them  how  the  boy 
And  his  sister  charmed  the  days 
With  their  pretty,  winsome  ways. 

Only  time  can  give  relief 
To  the  weary,  lonesome  grief: 
God's  sweet  minister  of  pain 
Then  shall  sing  of  loss  and  gain. 

NoEA.  Perky 


FOR  CHARLIE'S  SAKE. 

The  night  is  late,  the  house  is  still ; 

The  angels  of  the  hour  fulfil 

Their  tender  ministries,  and  move 

From  couch  to  couch,  in  cares  of  love. 

They  drop  into  thy  dreams,  sweet  wife, 

The  happiest  smile  of  Charlie's  life. 

And  lay  on  baby's  lips  a  kiss. 

Fresh  from  his  angcl-brothei''s  bliss ; 

And,  as  they  pass,  they  seem  to  make 

A  strange,  dim  hymn,  "  For  Charlie's  sake." 

My  listening  heart  takes  up  the  strain. 
And  gives  it  to  the  night  again, 
Fitted  with  words  of  lowly  praise, 
And  patience  learned  of  mournful  days, 
And  memories  of  the  dead  child's  ways. 

His  will  be  done.  His  will  be  done  1 
Who  gave  and  took  away  my  son. 
In  "the  far  land"  to  shine  and  sing 
Before  the  Beautiful,  the  King, 
Who  every  day  doth  Christmas  make. 
All  starred  and  belled  for  Chai^ic's  sake. 

For  Charlie's  sake  I  will  arise ; 
I  will  anoint  mc  where  lie  lies, 


172 


POEMS   OF   CIIILDnOOD. 


And  change  my  raiment,  and  go  in 

To  tlie  Lord's  house,  aiid  leave  my  sin 

TTithont,  and  seat  me  at  liis  board, 

Eat,  and  be  glad,  aud  praise  the  Lord. 

For  wherefore  should  I  fost  and  weep, 

And  sullen  moods  of  mourning  keep? 

I  cannot  bring  him  back,  nor  he, 

For  any  calling  come  to  me. 

The  bond  the  angel  Death  did  sign, 

God  sealed —  for  Charlie's  sake,  aud  mine. 

I  'm  very  poor — this  slender  stone 

!Marks  all  the  narrow  field  I  own ; 

Yet,  patient  husbandman,  I  till 

With  faith  and  prayers,  that  precious  hill. 

Sow  it  with  penitential  pains, 

.Vnd,  hopeful,  wait  the  latter  rains ; 

Content  if,  after  all,  the  spot 

Yield  barely  one  forget-me-not — 

"Whether  or  figs  or  thistles  make 

^y  crop,  content  for  Charlie's  sake. 

I  have  no  houses,  builded  well — 

Only  that  little  lonesome  cell, 

Where  never  romping  playmates  come, 

Xor  bashful  sweethearts,  cunning-dumb — 

An  April  burst  of  girls  and  boys, 

Their  rainbowed  cloud  of  glooms  and  joys 

Born  with  their  songs,  gone  with  their  toys ; 

Xor  ever  is  its  stillness  stirred 

By  purr  of  cat,  or  chirp  of  bird, 

Or  mother's  twilight  legend,  told 

Of  Ilorner's  pie,  or  Tiddler's  gold, 

Or  fairy  hobbling  to  the  door. 

Red-cloaked  and  weird,  banned  and  poor, 

To  bless  the  good  child's  gracious  eyes. 

The  good  child's  wistful  charities, 

And  crippled  changeling's  hunch  to  make 

Dance  on  his  crutch,  for  good  child's  sake. 

IIow  is  it  with  the  child?  'Tis  well ; 

Xor  would  I  any  miracle 

IMiglit  stir  my  sleeper's  tranquil  trance, 

Or  plague  his  painless  countenance: 

I  would  not  any  seer  might  place 

His  staff  on  my  immortal's  face. 

Or  lip  to  lip,  and  eye  to  eye. 

Charm  back  his  pale  mortality. 

Ko,  Shunammite !  I  would  not  break 

God's  stillness.    Let  them  weep  who  wake. 


For  Charlie's  sake  my  lot  is  blest : 
No  comfort  like  his  mother's  breast. 
No  praise  like  her's ;  no  charm  expressed 
In  fairest  forms  hath  half  her  zest. 
For  Charlie's  sake  this  bird  's  caressed 
That  death  left  lonely  in  the  nest ; 
For  Charhe's  sake  my  heart  is  dressed, 
As  for  its  birthday,  in  its  best ; 
For  Charlie's  sake  we  leave  the  rest 
To  Him  who  gave,  and  who  did  take. 
And  saved  us  twice,  for  Charlie's  sake. 

John  "Williajisos  Palmer, 


THE  WH)OW  AND  CHILD. 

Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead  ; 

She  nor  swooned,  nor  nttered  cry ; 
All  her  maidens,  watching,  said, 

"  She  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 

Then  they  praised  him,  soft  and  low, 
Called  him  worthy  to  be  loved, 

Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe ; 
Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place. 
Lightly  to  the  warrior  stept. 

Took  a  face- cloth  fi-om  the  face. 
Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 

Rose  a  niu-se' of  ninety  years, 
Set  his  child  upon  her  knee — 

Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears — 
"  Sweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 

Alteed  Texmtson. 


THE  RECONCH^IATION. 

As  through  the  land  at  eve  we  went. 

And  plucked  the  ripened  ears, 
We  fell  out,  my  wife  and  I, — 
Oh,  we  fell  out,  I  know  not  why. 
And  kissed  again  with  tears. 

For  when  we  came  where  lies  the  child 

We  lost  in  other  years, 
There  above  the  little  grave. 
Oh,  there  above  the  little  grave. 

We  kissed  again  with  tears. 

ALFEED  TEJfNTSON. 


PAET  III. 


F  0  E  :M  S      OF      FRIENDSHIP. 


GiEB  treulich  mir  die  Hande, 
Sei  Bruder  mir,  und  weude 
Den  Blick,  vor  deiuem  Endc, 
Nicht  wieder  weg  vou  mir. 
Ein  Tempel  wo  wir  knien, 
Ein  Ort  wohin  wir  Ziehen, 
Ein  Gli'ick  far  das  wir  gluhen, 
Ein  Himmel  mir  und  dir  ! 

NOVALIB, 


Then  let  the  chill  sirocco  blow 

And  gird  us  round  with  hills  of  snow  ; 

Or  else  go  whistle  to  the  shore, 

And  make  the  hollow  mountains  roar; 

Whilst  we  together  jovial  sit 
Careless,  and  crowned  with  mirth  and  wit ; 
Where,  though  bleak  winds  confine  us  home. 
Our  fancies  round  the  world  shall  roam. 

We'll  think  of  all  the  friends  we  know. 
And  drink  to  all  worth  drinking  to  ; 
When,  having  drank  all  thine  and  mine, 
We  rather  shall  want  health  than  wine. 

But  where  friends  fail  us,  we'll  supply 
Our  friendships  with  our  charity  ; 
Jlen  that  remote  in  sorrows  live, 
Shall  by  our  lusty  brimmers  thrive. 

We  '11  drink  the  wanting  into  wealth, 
And  those  that  languish  into  health, 


The  afflicted  into  joy,  th'  opprest 
Into  security  and  rest. 

The  worthj^  in  disgrace  shall  find 
Favor  return  again  more  kind  ; 
And  in  restraint  who  stifled  lie. 
Shall  taste  the  air  of  liberty. 

The  brave  shall  triumph  in  success ; 
The  lovers  shall  have  mistresses ; 
Poor  unregarded  virtue,  praise ; 
And  the  neglected  poet,  bays. 

Thus  shall  our  healths  do  others  good, 
Whilst  we  ourselves  do  all  we  would  ; 
For,  freed  from  envy  and  from  care. 
What  would  we  be,  but  what  we  are  : 

'T  is  the  plump  grape's  immortal  juice 
That  does  this  happiness  produce, 
And  will  preserve  us  free  together, 
Maugre  mischance,  or  wind  and  weather. 

Chaeles  Cotton 


POEMS  OF  FPtlENDSHIP. 


EARLY  FRIENDSHIP. 

The  lialf-seen  memories  of  childisla  days, 
When  pains  and  pleasures  liglitly  came  and 

went; 
The  sympathies  of  boyhood  rashly  spent 
In    fearful    wanderings    through    forbidden 

ways ; 
The  vague,  but  manly  wish  to  tread  the  maze 
Of  life  to  noble  ends ;  whereon  intent, 
Asking  to  know  for  what  man  here  is  sent, 
The  bravest  heart  must  often  pause,   and 

gaze — 
The  firm  resolve  to  seek  the  chosen  end 
Of  manhood's  judgment,  cautious  and  mature: 
Each  of  these  viewless  bonds  binds  friend  to 

friend 
With  strength  no  selfish  purpose  can  secure ; — 
■My  happy  lot  is  this,  that  all  attend 
That  friendship  which  first  came,  and  which 

shall  last  endure. 

AnBKET  De  Veee. 


WHEN"  SUALL  WE  THREE  MEET 
AGAm. 

When  shall  we  three  meet  again? 
When  shall  we  tlu-ee  meet  again  ? 
Oft  shall  glowing  hope  expire, 
Oft  shall  wearied  love  retire 
Oft  shall  death  and  sorrow  reign. 
Ere  we  three  shall  meet  again. 

Though  in  distant  lands  we  sigh, 
Parched  beneath  a  hostile  sky; 


Though  the  deep  between  us  rolls, 
Friendship  shall  unite  our  souls. 
Still  in  Fancy's  rich  domain 
Oft  shall  we  thi'ce  meet  again. 

When  the  dreams  of  Kfe  are  fled. 
When  its  wasted  lamps  are  dead ; 
When  in  cold  oblivion's  shade, 
Beauty,  power,  and  fame  are  laid ; 
Where  immortal  spirits  reign. 
There  shall  we  three  meet  again. 


Anokymotts. 


SONNETS. 

WiiEjT  I  do  count  the  clock  that  tells  the 

time. 
And    see  the  brave  day  sunk  in    hideous 

night; 
When  I  behold  the  violet  past  prime. 
And  sable  curls  all  silvered  o'er  with  white ; 
When  lofty  trees  I  see  barren  of  leaves. 
Which  erst  from  heat  did  canopy  the  herd, 
And  Summer's  green  all  gu-ded  up  in  sheaves. 
Borne  on  the  bier  with  white  and  bristly 

beard ; 
Then,  of  thy  beauty  do  I  question  make. 
That  thou  among  the  wastes  of  time  must  go, 
Since  sweets  and  beauties  do  themselves  for- 
sake. 
And  die  as  fast  as  they  see  others  grow ; 
And  nothing    'gainst   Time's  scythe  can 

make  defence. 
Save  breed,  to  brave  him,  when  he  takes 
thee  hence. 


170 


POEMS   OF   FRIENDSniP. 


^iiALL  1  compare  tlicc  to  a  summer's  day? 
Thou  art  more  lovely  and  more  temperate ; 
Rough  -winds  do  shake  the  darling  buds  of 

:May, 
And  summer's  lease  hath  all  too  short  a  date. 
Sometime  too  hot  the  eye  of  heaven  shines, 
And  often  is  his  gold  complexion  dimmed, 
And  every  fair  from  fair  sometime  declines, 
By  chance,  or  nature's  changing  course,  nn- 

trimmed  ; 
But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade, 
Nor  lose  possession  of  that  fair  thou  owest ; 
Nor  shall  death  brag  thon  wander'st  in  his 

shade. 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  growest. 
So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  or  eyes  can 

see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to 

thee. 


So  is  it  not  with  me  as  with  that  Muse, 
Stirred  by  a  painted  beauty  to  his  verse ; 
Who  heaven  itself  for  ornament  doth  use, 
And  every  fair  witli  his  fair  doth  rehearse ; 
Maldng  a  compliment  of  proud  compare. 
With   sun  and   moon,  with  earth  and  sea's 

rich  gems, 
With  April's  first-born  flowers,  and  all  things 

rare 
That  heaven's  air  in  this  liuge  rondure  hems. 
Oh  let  me,  true  in  love,  but  truly  write, 
And  then  believe  me,  my  love  is  as  fair 
As  any  mother's  child,  though  not  so  bright 
As  those  gold  candles  fixed  in  heaven's  air  : 
Let  them  say  no  more  that  like  of  hearsay 

well; 
I  will  not  praise,  that  purpose  not  to  sell. 


Let  those  who  are  in  favor  with  their  stars. 
Of  pubUc  honor  and  proud  titles  boast ; 
Whilst  I,  whom  fortune   of  such  triumphs 

bars. 
Unlooked-for  joy  in  that  I  honor  most. 
Great    princes'   favorites    their  fair    leaves 

spread. 
But  as  the  marigold,  at  the  sun'a  eye ; 


And  in  themselves  their  pride  lies  buried, 
For  at  a  frown  they  in  then-  glory  die. 
The  painful  warrior  fomoused  for  fight, 
After  a  thousand  victories  once  foiled. 
Is  from  tlie  book  of  honor  rased  quite, 
And  all  the  rest  forgot  for  which  he  toiled. 
Tlicn  happy  I,  that  love  and  am  beloved, 
Where  I  may  not  remove  nor  be  removed. 


When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's 

eyes, 
I  all  alone  be  weep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless 

cries, 
And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate, 
Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  pos- 
sessed, 
Desiring  this  man's  art,  and  that  man's  scope, 
With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least; 
Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despis- 

Ilaply  I  think  on  thee,  and  then  my  state 
(Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arismg 
From  sullen  earth)  sings  hymns  at  heaven's 
gate. 
For  thy  sweet  love  remembered  such  wealth 

brings, 
That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with 
kings. 


When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  tilings  past, 
I  sigh  the  lack  of  many  a  thing  I  sought. 
And  with  old  woes  new  wail  my  dear  time's 

waste. 
Then,  can  I  drown  an  eye,  unused  to  flow, 
For  precious  friends  hid  in  death's  dateless 

night. 
And  weep  afresh  love's  long  since  cancelled 

woe. 
And  moan  th'  expense  of  many  a  vanished 

sight. 
Then  can  I  grieve  at  grievances  foregone, 
And  heavily  from  woe  to  woe  tell  o'er 
The  sad  account  of  fore-bemoaned  moan, 
Which  I  new  pay,  as  if  not  paid  before  ; 


SONNETS. 


But  if  the  while  I  think  on  thee,  dear 

friend, 
All  losses  are  restored,  and  sorrows  end. 


Thy  bosom  is  endeared  with  all  hearts. 
Which  I  by  lacking  have  supposed  dead ; 
And  there  reigns  love,  and  all  love's  loving 

parts. 
And  all  those  friends  which  I  thought  buried. 
How  many  a  holy  and  obsequious  tear 
Hath  dear  religious  love  stol'n  from  mine  eye. 
As  interest  of  the  dead,  which  now  appear 
But  things  removed,  that  hidden  in  thee  lie ! 
Thou  art  the  grave  where  buried  love  doth 

live. 
Hung  with  the  trophies  of  my  lovers  gone. 
Who  all  their  parts  of  me  to  thee  did  give ; 
That  due  of  many  now  is  thine  alone : 
Their  images  I  loved  I  vievr  in  thee. 
And  thou  (all  they)  hast  all  the  all  of  me. 


Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain  tops  with  sovereign  eye, 
Kissing  with  golden  face  the  meadows  green. 
Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchemy ; 
Anon  permit  the  basest  clouds  to  ride 
With  ugly  rack  on  his  celestial  face, 
And  from  the  forlorn  world  his  visage  hide, 
Stealing  unseen  to  west  with  this  disgrace. 
Even  so  my  sun  one  early  morn  did  shine, 
With  all  triumphant  splendor  on  my  brow ; 
But  oxit,  alack !  he  was  but  one  hour  mine. 
The  region  cloud  hath  masked  him  from  me 

now. 
Yet  him  for  this  my  love  no  whit  disdain- 

eth; 
Suns  of  the  world  may  stain,  when  heaven's 

sun  staineth. 


Why  didst  thou  promise  such  a  beauteous 

And  make  me  travel  forth  without  my  cloak, 
To  let  base  clouds  o'ertake  me  in  my  way, 
Hiding  thy  bravery  in  their  rotten  smoke  ? 
'T  is  not  enough  that  through  the  cloud  thou 

break, 
To  dry  tlie  rain  on  my  storm-beaten  face. 
For  no  man  well  of  such  a  salve  can  speak, 
27 


That  heals  the  wound,  and  cures  not  the  dis- 
grace ; 
Nor  can  thy  shame  give  physic  to  my  grief— 
Though  thou  repent,  yet  I  have  still  the  loss  : 
Th'  oftender's  sorrow  lends  but  weak  relief 
To  him  that  bears  the  strong  offence's  crons. 
All,  but  those  tears  are  pearl,  which  thy 

love  sheds, 
And  they  ai'e  rich,  and  ransom  all  iR  deeds. 


What  is  your  substance,  whereof  are  you 

made, 
That  millions  of  strange  shadows   on  you 

tend? 
Since  every  one  hath,  every  one,  one  shade, 
And  you,  but  one,  can  every  shadow  lend. 
Describe  Adonis,  and  the  counterfeit 
Is  poorly  imitated  after  you ; 
On  Helen's  cheek  all  art  of  beauty  set, 
And  you  in  Grecian  tires  are  painted  new : 
Speak  of  the  spring,  and  foison  of  the  year — 
The  one  doth  shadow  of  your  beauty  show. 
The  other  as  your  bounty  doth  appear ; 
And  you  in  every  blessed  shape  we  know. 
In  all  external  grace  you  have  some  part ; 
But  you  like  none,  none  you,  for  constant 

heart. 


On,  how  much  more  doth  beauty  beauteous 

seem. 
By  that  sweet  ornament  which  truth  doth 

give! 
The  rose  looks  fair,  but  ftiircr  we  it  deem 
For  that  sweet  odor  which  doth  in  it  live. 
The  canker-blooms  have  full  as  deep  a  dye 
As  the  perfumed  tincture  of  the  roses — 
Hang  on  such  thorns,  and  play  as  wantonly 
When   summer's  breath  their  masked  buds 

discloses ; 
But,  for  their  virtue  only  is  their  show ; 
They  live  unwooed,  and  unrespected  fade — 
Die  to  themselves.     Sweet  roses  do  not  so ; 
Of  their  sweet  deaths  are  sweetest  odors 

made: 
And  so  of  you  beauteous  and  lovely  youth, 
When  that  shall  fade,  my  verse  distils  your 

truth. 

Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded  monuments 

Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme ; 


1 78 


POEMS   OF   FRIENDSHIP. 


But  you  shall  sliiuo  moro  briglit  in  those  con- 
tents 

Tlian  unswept  stone,  besmeared  with  sluttish 
time. 

When  wasteful  war  sliaU  statues  overturn, 

And  broils  root  out  the  works  of  masonry, 

Nor  Mars  his  sword,  nor  war's  quick  fire 
shall  burn 

The  living  record  of  your  memory. 

'Gainst  death  and  all  oblivious  enmity 

Shall  you  pace  forth :  your  praise  shall  still 
find  room 

Even  in  tlie  eyes  of  all  posterity, 

That  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom. 
So,  till  the  judgment  that  yourself  arise. 
You  live  in  this,  and  dwell  in  lovers'  eyes. 

•  William  Shakespeaee, 


FROM  "IN  MEMORIAM." 

I  EXVY  not,  in  any  moods, 
The  captive  void  of  noble  rage. 
The  linnet  born  within  the  cage. 

That  never  knew  the  summer  woods. 

I  envy  not  the  beast  that  takes 
Ilis  license  in  tlie  field  of  time. 
Unfettered  by  the  sense  of  crime. 

To  whom  a  conscience  never  wakes : 

Nor,  what  may  count  itself  as  blest, 
The  heart  that  never  plighted  troth. 
But  stagnates  in  the  weeds  of  sloth— 

Nor  any  want-begotten  rest. 

I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall — 
I  feel  it,  when  I  sorrow  most — 
'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 

Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 


Wixn  trembling  fingers  did  we  weave 
The  holly  round  the  Christmas  hearth ; 
A  rainy  cloud  possessed  tlie  eai-th 

And  sadly  fell  our  Christmas  eve. 

At  our  old  pastimes  in  Ihe  hall 
Vv'e  gambolled,  making  vain  pretence 
Of  gladness,  with  an  awful  sense 

Of  one  mute  Shadow  watching  all. 


Wc  paused ;  the  winds  were  in  the  beech— 
We  heard  them  sweep  the  winter  land ; 
And  in  a  circle  hand  in  hand 

Sat  silent,  looking  each  at  each. 

Tlien  echo-like  our  voices  rang; 

We  sang,  tliough  every  eye  was  dim — 
A  merry  song  wo  sang  Avith  him 

Last  year — impetuously  we  sang ; 

"We  ceased.     A  gentler  feeling  crept 

Upon  us ;  surely  rest  is  meet : 

"  They  rest,"  we  said,  "  their  sleep  is  sweet.' 
And  silence  followed,  and  we  wept. 

Our  voices  took  a  higher  range; 
Once  more  we  sang :  "  They  do  not  die, 
Nor  lose  their  mortal  sympathy. 

Nor  change  to  us,  although  tliey  change : 

"  Rapt  from  the  fickle  and  the  frail. 
With  gathered  power,  yet  the  same, 
Pierces  the  keen  seraphic  flame 

From  orb  to  orb,  from  veU  to  veil. 

"Rise,  happy  morn!  rise,  holy  morn  ! 

Draw  forth  the  cheerfid  day  from  night ! 

O  Father !  touch  the  east,  and  light 
The  light  that  shone  when  Hope  was  born," 


Dost  thou  look  back  on  what  hath  been, 
As  some  divinely  gifted  man. 
Whose  life  in  low  estate  began, 

And  on  a  simple  village  green  ? 

Who  breaks  his  bkth's  invidious  bar. 
And  grasps  the  skirts  of  happy  chance, 
And  breasts  the  blows  of  cii'cumstance. 

And  grapples  with  his  evil  star ; 

Who  makes  by  force  his  merit  known. 
And  Uves  to  clutch  the  golden  keys — 
To  mould  a  mighty  state's  decrees, 

And  shape  tlie  whisper  of  the  throne ; 

And  moving  up  from  high  to  higher. 
Becomes  on  Fortune's  crowning  slope 
The  pillar  of  a  people's  hope. 

The  centre  of  a  world's  desire ; 

Yet  feels,  as  in  a  pensive  dream, 
When  aU  his  active  powers  are  stUl, 


FROM    "IN'   MEMORIAM." 


179 


A  distant  drearness  in  the  hill, 
A  secret  sweetness  in  the  stream, 

The  hmit  of  his  narrower  fate, 
While  yet  heside  its  vocal  springs 
He  played  at  counsellors  and  Mugs, 

With  one  that  was  his  earliest  mate ; 

Who  ploughs  with  pain  his  native  lea. 
And  reaps  the  labor  of  his  hands. 
Or  in  the  furrow  musing  stands : 

"  Does  my  old  friend  remember  me  ?  " 


Witch-elms,  that  counterchange  the  floor 
Of  this  flat  lawn  with  dusk  and  bright ; 
And  thou,  with  all  thy  breadth  and  height 

Of  fohage,  towering  sycamore ; 

How  often,  hither  wandering  down, 
My  Arthur  found  your  shadows  fair. 
And  shook  to  all  the  liberal  air 

The  dust  and  din  and  steam  of  town ! 

He  brought  an  eye  for  all  he  saw. 
He  mixed  in  all  our  simple  sports ; 
They  pleased  him,   fresh  from  brawling 
courts 

And  dusky  purlieus  of  the  law. 

Oh  joy  to  liim,  in  this  retreat, 
Immantled  in  ambrosial  dark. 
To  drink  the  cooler  air,  and  mark 

The  landscape  winking  through  the  heat. 

Oh  sound  to  rout  the  brood  of  cares. 
The  sweep  of  scythe  in  morning  dew, 
Tlie  gust  that  round  the  garden  flew. 

And  tumbling  half  the  mellowing  pears ! 

Oh  bliss,  when  all  in  circle  drawn 
About  him,  heart  and  ear  were  fed. 
To  hear  hfm,  as  he  lay  and  read 

Tlie  Tuscan  poets  on  tlie  lawn  ; 

Or  in  the  all-golden  afternoon 
A  guest,  or  happy  sister,  sung, 
Or  here  she  brought  the  harp,  and  flung 

A  ballad  to  the  brightening  moon ! 

Nor  less  it  pleased,  in  livelier  moods, 
Heyond  the  bounding  hill  to  stray. 
And  break  the  livelong  summer  day 

With  banquet  in  the  distant  woods; 


Whereat  we  glanced  from  theme  to  Iheme, 
Discussed  the  books  to  love  or  hate. 
Or  touched  the  changes  of  the  state, 

Or  threaded  some  Socratic  dream. 

But  if  I  praised  the  busy  town. 
He  loved  to  rail  against  it  still. 
For  "  ground  in  yonder  social  mill. 

We  rub  each  other's  angles  down, 

"And  merge,"  he  said,  "in  form  and  gloss 
The  picturesque  of  man  and  man." 
We  talked ;  the  stream  beneath  us  ran, 

The  wine-flask  lying  couched  in  moss, 

Or  cooled  within  the  glooming  wave ; 
And  last,  returning  from  afar, 
Before  the  crimson-circled  star 

Had  fallen  into  her  father's  grave, 

And  brushing  ankle  deep  in  flowers, 
We  heard  behind  the  woodbine  veil 
The  milk  that  bubbled  in  the  pail. 

And  buzzings  of  the  honeved  hours. 


Thy  converse  drew  us  with  delight. 
The  men  of  rathe  and  riper  years ; 
The  feeble  soul,  a  haunt  of  fears. 

Forgot  his  weakness  in  thy  sight. 

On  thee  the  loyal-hearted  hung. 

The  proud  was  half  disarmed  of  pride; 
Nor  cared  the  serpent  at  thy  side 

To  flicker  with  his  treble  tongue. 

The  stern  were  mild  when  thou  wert  by; 
The  flippant  put  himself  to  school 
And  heard  thee ;  and  the  brazen  fool 

Was  softened,  and  he  knew  not  why ; 

While  I,  thy  dearest  sat  apart, 

And  felt  thy  triumph  was  as  mine;     '^-■ 
And  loved  them  more,  tliatthey  were  thine, 

The  graceful  tact,  the  Christian  art ; 

Not  mine  the  sweetness  or  the  skill. 
But  mine  the  love  that  will  not  tire,    '  '_ 
And,  born  of  love,  the  vague  desire   ,  '; 

That  spurs  an  imitative  will. 


ISO 


POEMS   OF   FRIENDSHIP. 


pEAU.friciul,  far  off,  my  lost  (losiro, 
So  far,  so  near,  in  woe  and  weal ; 
Oh,  loved  tlie  most  wlicn  most  I  feel 

There  is  a  lower  and  a  higlier ; 

Known  and  unknown,  bmnan,  divine ! 
Sweet  human  hand  and  lips  and  eye, 
Dear  heavenly  friend  that  canst  not  die, 

Mine,  mine,  for  ever,  ever  mine ! 

Strange  friend,  past,  present,  and  to  be, 
Loved  deeplier,  darklier  understood ; 
Behold  I  dream  a  dream  of  good, 

And  mingle  all  the  world  with  thee. 


Tnr  voice  is  on  the  rolling  air ; 

I  hear  thee  whore  the  waters  run ; 

Thou  standest  in  the  rising  sun, 
And  in  the  setting  thou  art  fair, 

What  art  tliou,  then?  I  cannot  guess ; 
But  though  I  seem  in  star  and  flower 
To  feel  thee,  some  diffusive  power, 

I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less: 

My  love  involves  the  love  before ; 

My  love  is  vaster  passion  now ; 

Though  mixed  ^vith  God  and  nature  thou, 
I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Far  off  thou  art,  but  ever  nigh  ; 
I  have  thee  still,  and  I  rejoice, 
I  prospei",  circled  with  thy  voice ; 

I  shall  not  lose  thee,  though  I  die. 

Alfeed  Tennyson. 


THE  PASSAGE. 

Mant  a  year  is  in  its  grave, 
Since  I  crossed  this  restless  wave ; 
And  the  evening,  foir  as  ever. 
Shines  on  mm,  rock,  and  river. 

Then  in  this  same  boat  beside 
Sat  two  comrades  old  and  tried — 
One  with  all  a  father's  truth. 
One  with  all  the  fire  of  youth. 

Dne  on  earth  in  silence  wrought, 
And  his  grave  in  silence  sought : 
But  the  younger,  brighter  form 
Passed  in  battle  and  'n  storm. 


So,  whene'er  I  turn  my  eye 

Back  upon  the  days  gone  by, 

Saddening  thoughts  of  friends  come  o'er  me  ; 

Friends  that  closed  their  course  before  me. 

But  what  binds  us,  friend  to  friend. 
But  that  soul  w^ith  soul  can  blend? 
Soul-like  were  those  hours  of  yore ; 
Let  us  walk  in  soul  once  more. 

Take,  0  boatman,  thrice  thy  fee, — 

Take,  I  give  it  willingly ; 

For,  invisible  to  thee. 

Spirits  twain  have  crossed  with  me. 

Lttdwig  Uhlan d.    (German.) 

Anonymous  Translation. 


Ji^FAE. 

Jaffae,  the  Barmecide,  the  good  vizier, 
The  poor  man's  hope,  the  friend  without  a 

peer, 
Jafler  was  dead,  slain  by  a  doom  unjust ; 
And  guilty  Haroun,  sullen  with  mistrust 
Of  what  the  good,  and  e'en  the  bad  might 

say. 
Ordained  that  no  man  living  from  that  day 
Shoidd  dare  to  speak  his  name  on  pain  of 

death. 
All  Araby  and  Persia  held  their  breath ; 

All  but  the  brave  Mondeer :    he,  proud  to 

show 
How  f;ar  for  love  a  grateful  soul  could  go, 
And  facing  deatli  for  very  scorn  and  grief 
(For  his  great  heart  Avanted  a  great  relief). 
Stood  forth  in  Bagdad  daily,  in  the  square 
"Where  once  had  stood  a  happy  liouse,  and 

there 
Harangued  the  tremblers  at  the  scymitar 
On  all  they  owed  to  the  divine  Jaffjxr. 

"  Bring  me  this  man,"  the  calipli  cried  ;  the 

man 
"Was  brought,  v.^as  gazed  upon.     The  mutes 

began 
To  bind  ins  arms.     ""Welcome,  brave  cords," 

cried  he ; 
"From  bonds  far  worse  Jaffiir  delivered  mc; 
From  wants,    from    shames,   from    loveless 

household  fears ; 


THE    PIRE     OF    DRIFT-WOOD. 


181 


Made  a  man's  eyes  friends  witli  delicious 

tears ; 
Restored  me,  loved  me,  put  me  on  a  par 
With  his  great  self.    How  can  I  pay  Jaffar? " 


Haroun,  who  felt  that  on  a  soul  like  this 
The  mightiest  vengeance  could  but  fall  amiss, 
Now  deigned  to  smile,  as  one  great  lord  of 

fate 
Might  smile  upon  another  half  as  great, 
lie  said,  "  Let  worth  grow  frenzied  if  it  will ; 
The  caliph's  judgment  shall  be  master  still. 
Go,  and  since  gifts  so  move  thee,  take  this  gem, 
The  richest  in  the  Tartar's  diadem, 
And  hold  the  giver  as  thou  deemest  fit!  " 
"  Gifts  I  "   cried  the   friend ;    he    took,    and 

holding  it 
High  toward  the  heavens,  as  though  to  meet 

his  star, 
Exclaimed,  "  This,  too,  I  owe  to  thee,  Jaffar !  " 

Leigh  IIttnt. 


THE  FIRE  OF  DRIFT-WOOD. 

We  sat  within  the  farm-house  old, 
Whose  windows,  looking  o'er  the  bay, 

jrave  to  the  sea-breeze,  damp  and  cold, 
An  easy  entrance,  night  and  day. 

Rot  far  away  we  saw  the  port, — 
The  strange,  old-fashioned,  silent  town, — 

The  light-house, — the  dismantled  fort, — 
The  wooden  houses,  quaint  and  brown. 

We  sat  and  talked  until  the  night, 
Descending,  tilled  the  little  room ; 

Our  faces  faded  from  the  sight — 
Our  voices  only  broke  the  gloom. 

We  spake  of  many  a  vanished  scene. 
Of  what  wc  once  had  thought  and  said. 

Of  what  had  been,  and  might  have  been, 
And  who  was  changed,  and  who  was  dead  ; 

And  all  that  fills  the  hearts  of  friends. 
When  first  they  feel,  with  secret  pain, 

Tlieir  lives  thenceforth  have  separate  ends, 
And  never  can  be  one  again ; 


The  first  slight  swerving  of  the  heart, 
That  words  arc  powerless  to  express, 

And  leave  it  still  unsaid  in  part. 
Or  say  it  in  too  great  excess. 

The  very  tones  in  which  we  spake 

Had  something  strange,  I  could  but  mark  ; 

The  leaves  of  memory  seemed  to  make 
A  mournful  rustling  in  the  dark. 

Oft  died  the  words  upon  our  lips, 

As  suddenly,  from  out  the  fire 
Built  of  the  wreck  of  stranded  ships. 

The  fiames  would  leap  and  then  expire. 

And,  as  their  splendor  flashed  and  failed, 
We  thought  of  wrecks  upon  the  main, — 

Of  ships  dismasted,  that  were  hailed 
And  sent  no  answer  back  again. 

The  windows,  rattling  in  their  frames, — 
The  ocean,  roaring  up  the  beach,— 

The  gusty  blast, — the  bickering  flames, — 
All  mingled  vaguely  in  our  speech ; 

Until  they  made  themselves  a  part 

Of  fancies  floating  through  the  brain, — 

The  long-lost  ventures  of  the  heart, 
That  sends  no  answers  back  again. 

Oh  flames  that  glowed !     Oh   hearts   that 
yearned ! 

They  were  indeed  too  much  akin — 
The  di-ift-wood  fire  without  that  biu-ned, 

The  thoughts  that   burned    and    glowed 

within. 

Henry  "Wadswokth  LoNaFELLO'w. 


QUA  CURSIBI  VENTUS. 

As  ships,  becalmed  at  eve,  that  lay 
With  canvas  drooping,  side  by  side. 

Two  towers  of  sail,  at  dawn  of  day 
Are  scarce,  long  leagues  apart,  descried : 

When  fell  the  niglit,  upsprung  the  breeze, 
And  aU  the  darkling  hours  they  plied ; 

Nor  dreamt  but  each  the  self-same  seas 
By  each  was  cleaving,  side  by  side ; 


1S2 


POEMS     OF     FRIENDSHIP. 


F/oii  so — but  \vliy  tho  tale  rovoal 
Of  tlioso  vrlioin,  year  by  year  uucbanged, 

Brief  absenoo  joined  anew,  to  feel, 
Astounded,  soul  from  soul  estranged. 

At  dead  of  night  their  sails  were  filled. 
And  onward  each  rejoicing  steered ; 

Ah,  neither  blame,  for  neither  willed 
Or  wist  what  first  with  dawn  appeared. 

To  veer,  how  vain !     On,  onward  strain, 
Brave  barks !     In  light,  in  darkness  too  ! 

Through  winds  and  tides  one  compass  guides- 
To  that  and  .your  own  selves  be  true. 

But  O  blithe  breeze !  and  O  great  seas. 
Though  ne'er,  that  earliest  parting  past. 

On  yom*  wide  plain  they  join  again. 
Together  lead  them  home  at  last. 

One  port,  methought,  alike  they  sought — 
One  pvu'pose  hold  where'er  they  fixrc  ; 

0  bounding  breeze,  0  rushing  seas. 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  tliere ! 

Arthur  Utrou  Clough. 


OAPE-COTTAGE  AT  SUBSET. 

"We  stood  upon  the  ragged  rocks. 
When  the  long  day  was  nearly  done ; 

The  waves  had  ceased  their  sullen  shocks. 
And  lapped  oin*  feet  with  murmuring  tone. 

And  o'er  the  bay  in  streaming  locks 
Blew  the  red  tresses  of  the  sun. 

Along  the  "West  the  golden  bars 

Still  to  a  deeper  glory  grew  ; 
Above  our  heads  the  faint,  few  stars 

Looked  out  from  the  unfathomed  blue  ; 
And  the  fair  city's  clamorous  jars 

Seemed  melted  in  that  evening  hue. 

Oh  sunset  sky !  Oh  purple  tide ! 

Oh  friends  to  friends  that  closer  pressed ! 
Those  glories  ijave  in  darkness  died. 

And  ye  have  left  my  longing  breast. 
I  could  not  keep  you  by  my  side, 

I^Tor  fix  that  radiance  in  the  "West. 

Upon  those  rocks  the  waves  shall  beat 
"With  the  same  low  and  murmuring  strain ; 


Across  those  waves,  with  glancing  feet. 
The  sunset  rays  shall  seek  the  main ; 

But  when  together  shall  we  meet 
Upon  that  tar-ofF  shore  again  ? 

W.  B.  Glazier. 


THE  OLD  FAMILIAR  FACES. 

I  HAVE  had  playmates,  I  have  had  com- 
panions. 

In  my  days  of  childhood,  in  my  joyful  scliool- 
days; 

AD,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  been  laughing,  I  have  been  carousing. 
Drinking  late,  sitting  late,  with  my  bosom 

cronies ; 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  loved  a  love  once,  fairest  among  women ; 
Closed  are  her  doors  on  me,  I  must  not  see 

her; 
AH,  aU  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  kinder  friend  has  no  man ; 
Like  an  ingrate,  I  left  ray  friend  abruptly — 
Left  him,  to  muse  on  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Ghost-like  I  paced  round  the  haunts  of  my 
childhood. 

Earth  seemed  a  desert  I  was  bound  to  trav- 
erse, 

Seeking  to  find  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Friend  of  my  bosom,  thou  more  than  a  bro- 
ther, 

"Why  wen  thou  not  born  in  my  father's 
dwelling  ? 

So  might  we  talk  of  the  old  familiar  faces — 

How  some  they  have  died,  and  some  they 
have  left  me. 

And  some  are  taken  from  me;  aU  are  de- 
parted. 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces ! 

Charles  Lamb. 


STANZAS      TO      AUGUSTA. 


183 


TO- 


Too  late  I  stayed — forgive  the  crime — 

Unheeded  flew  the  hours : 
How  noiseless  falls  the  foot  of  time 

That  only  treads  on  flowers! 

And  -who,  with  clear  account,  remarks 

The  ebbings  of  his  glass, 
"When  all  its  sands  are  diamond  sparks, 

That  dazzle  as  they  pass  ? 

Ah !  who  to  sober  measurement 
Time's  happy  swiftness  brings, 

When  birds  of  paradise  have  lent 
Their  plumage  to  his  wings  ? 

EoBEET  'William  Spenceb. 


STANZAS  TO  AUGUSTA. 

[bYROX   to   niS   SISTER.] 

Triorcm  the  day  of  my  destiny  's  over, 

And  the  star  of  my  fate  hath  declined, 
Thy  soft  heart  refused  to  discover 

The  faults  which  so  many  could  And; 
Though  thy  soul  with  my  grief  was  acquainted, 

It  shrunk  not  to  share  it  with  me, 
And  the  love  which  my  spirit  hath  painted 

It  never  hath  found  but  in  thee. 

Then  when  nature  around  me  is  smiling. 

The  last  smile  which  answers  to  mine, 
I  do  not  believe  it  beguiling. 

Because  it  reminds  me  of  thine ; 
As  when  winds  are  at  war  with  the  ocean, 

As  the  breasts  I  believed  in  with  me, 
If  their  billows  excite  an  emotion, 

It  is  that  they  bear  me  from  thee. 

Though  the  rock  of  my  last  hope  is  shivered, 

And  its  fragments  are  sunk  in  the  wave, 
Tliough  I  feel  that  my  soul  is  delivered 

To  pain — it  shall  not  be  its  slave. 
There  is  many  a  pang  to  pursue  ine : 

They  may  crush,  but  they  shall  not  con- 
temn— 
They  may  torture,  but  shall  not  subdue  mo. — 

T  is  of  thee  that  I  think — not  of  them. 

Though  human,  thou  didst  not  deceive  me. 
Though  woman,  thou  didst  not  forsake, 


Though  loved,  thou  forborest  to  grieve  me. 
Though  slandered,  thou  never  couldst  shake, 

Though  trusted,  thou  didst  not  disclaim  me, 
Though  parted,  it  was  not  to  fly, 

Though  watchful,  'twas  not  to  delame  me, 
Nor  mute,  that  the  world  might  belie. 

Yet  I  blame  not  the  world,  nor  despise  it, 

Nor  the  war  of  the  many  with  one — 
If  my  soul  was  not  fitted  to  prize  it, 

'T  was  folly  not  sooner  to  shun ; 
And  if  dearly  that  error  hath  cost  me, 

And  more  than  I  once  could  foresee, 
I  have  foimd  that,  whatever  it  lost  me. 

It  could  not  deprive  me  of  thee. 

From  the  wreck  of  the  past  which  hath  per- 
ished 

Thus  much  I  at  least  may  recall. 
It  hath  taught  me  that  what  I  most  cherished 

Deserved  to  be  dearest  of  all. 
In  the  desert  a  fountain  is  springing, 

In  the  wild  waste  there  still  is  a  tree. 

And  a  bird  in  the  solitude  singing, 

Which  speaks  to  my  spirit  of  thee. 

LoKD  Byron. 


WE  HAVE  BEEN  FRIENDS  TOGETHER. 

We  have  been  friends  together. 

In  sunshine  and  in  shade ; 
Since  first  beneath  the  chestnut-trees 

In  infancy  we  played. 
But  coldness  dwells  within  thy  heart-  ■ 

A  cloud  is  on  thy  brow  ; 
We  have  been  friends  together — 

Shall  a  light  word  part  us  now  ? 

We  have  been  gay  together  ; 

We  have  laughed  at  little  jests ; 
For  the  fount  of  hope  was  gushmg, 

Warm  and  joyous,  in  our  breasts. 
But  laughter  now  hath  fled  thy  lip, 

And  sullen  glooms  thy  brow; 
We  have  been  gay  together— 

Shall  a  light  word  part  us  now  ? 

We  have  been  sad  together — 
We  have  wept,  with  bitter  tears, 

O'er  the  grass-grown  graves,  where  slum- 
bered 
The  hopes  of  early  years. 


181 


rOEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 


The  voices  Avliich  aro  silent  there 
"Would  bid  thee  clear  thy  brow  ; 

"We  have  been  sad  together — 
Oh  I  -what  shall  part  us  now  ? 

Caroline  Nortox. 


GIVE  ilE  THE  OLD. 


OLD  AVIN-E  TO  DRINK,  OLD  WOOD  TO  BUE^^,  OLD 
BOOKS  TO  EEAD,  AXD  OLD  FEIEXDS  TO  CON- 
VERSE WITH. 


I. 

Old  wine  to  drink ! — 
Av,  give  the  slippeiy  juice 
That  drippctli  from  the  grape  thrown  loose 

"Within  the  tun ; 
Plucked  from  beneath  the  cliff 
Of  sunny-sided  Teneriffe, 

And  ripened  'neath  the  blink 

Of  India's  sun ! 

Peat  whiskey  hot, 
Tempered  with  well-boiled  water ! 
These  make  the  long  night  shorter, — 

Forgetting  not 
Good  stout  old  English  porter. 

n. 

Old  wood  to  burn ! — 
Ay,  bring  the  hiU-side  beech 
From  where  the  owlets  meet  and  screech, 

And  ravens  croak ; 
The  crackling  pine,  and  cedar  sweet ; 
Bring  too  a  clump  of  fragrant  peat, 
Dug  'neath  the  fern  ; 

The  knotted  oak, 

A  faggot  too,  perhap, 
"Whose  briirht  flame,  dancing,  winkincr. 
Shall  light  us  at  our  drinking ; 

While  the  oozing  sap 
Shall  make  sweet  music  to  our  thinking. 

III. 

Old  books  to  read ! — 
Ay,  bring  those  nodes  of  wit, 
The  brazen-clasped,  the  vellum  writ. 
Time  honored  tomes ! 


The  same  my  sire  scanned  before, 
The  same  my  grandsire  thumbed  o'er, 
The  same  his  sire  from  college  bore. 
The  well-earned  meed 

Of  Oxford's  domes : 

Old  Homer  blind, 
Old  Horace,  rake  Anacreon,  by 
Old  Tnlly,  Plantus,  Terence  lie ; 
JtTort  Arthur's  olden  rainstrelsie, 
Quaint  Burton,  quainter  Spenser,  ay  1 
And  Gervase  Markham's  venerie — 

Nor  leave  behind 
The  Holye  Book  by  which  we  live  and  die. 

IV. 

Old  friends  to  talk ! — 
Ay,  bring  those  chosen  few, 
The  wise,  the  courtly,  and  the  true. 

So  rarely  found ; 
Him  for  my  wine.  Mm  for  my  stud, 
Him  for  my  easel,  distich,  bud 
In  mountain  walk ! 
Bring  "Walter  good : 
"With  soulful  Fred  ;  and  learned  "Will, 
And  thee,  my  alter  ego,  (dearer  still 
For  every  mood). 

Egbert  Hinckley  Messixoeb. 


SPAEKLING  AND  BKIGHT. 

Sparkling  and  bright  in  liquid  light. 
Does  the  wine  our  goblets  gleam  in ; 
"With  hue  as  red  as  the  rosy  bed 
"Which  a  bee  would  choose  to  dream  in. 
Then  fill  to-night,  tcith  hearts  as  light, 

To  loves  as  gay  and  fleeting 
As  Itihhles  that  swim  on  the  l>eaTcer''s  hrim^ 
And  Irealc  on  the  liiis  while  meeting. 

Oh !  if  Mirtb  might  arrest  the  flight 
Of  Time  through  Life's  dominions, 
AVe  hei'e  a  while  would  now  beguile 
The  graybeard  of  his  pinions. 

To  drinTc  to-night,  with  hearts  as  ligMy 

To  loves  as  gay  and  fleeting 
As  JjuJjljles  that  swim  on  the  healcer^s  hrim^ 
And  IreaTc  on  the  lips  ichile  meeting. 


CONVIVIAL    SONGS.                                                      185 

But  since  Delight  can't  tempt  the  wight, 

Say,  why  did  time 

N'or  fond  Eegret  delay  him, 

His  glass  sublime 

Kor  Love  himself  can  hold  the  elf. 

Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly, 

Kor  soher  Friendship  stay  him. 

When  wine  he  knew 

WeUl  drinTc  to-night,  with  hearts  as  light, 

Runs  brisker  through, 

To  loves  as  gay  and  fleeting 

And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 

As  luibles  that  sicim  on  the  hca'ker's  hrim, 

Oh,  lend  it  us, 

And  hreah  on  the  lips  ichile  meeting. 

And,  smiling  thus, 

Chaeles  Fen  no  Hoffman. 

The  glass  in  two  Ave  'd  sever. 

Make  pleasure  glide 

Tn  dmil)lp  tulp 

♦ 

And  fill  both  ends  for  ever ! 

WREATHE  THE  BOWL. 

Then  Avreathe  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 

Weeathe  the  bowl 

The  brightest  wit  can  find  us; 

With  flowers  of  soul, 

We'll  take  a  flight 

The  brightest  wit  can  find  us ; 

Towards  heav'n  to-night, 

We'll  take  a  flight 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 

Towards  heav'n  to-night. 

Thomas  Mooee. 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 
Should  Love  amid 

"♦ 

The  wreaths  be  hid 

That  Joy,  the  enchanter,  brings  us, 

CHAMPAGNE  ROSE. 

No  danger  fear 

While  wine  is  near — 

Lilt  on  liquid  roses  floating — 

We  '11  drown  him  if  he  stings  us. 

So  floats  yon  foam  o'er  pink  champagne- 

Then  wreathe  the  bowl 

Fain  would  I  join  such  pleasant  boating. 

AVith  flowers  of  soul. 

And  prove  that  ruby  main. 

The  brightest  wit  can  find  us ; 

And  float  away  on  wine ! 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Towards  heav'n  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 

Those  seas  are  dangerous,  graybeards  swear— 
Whose  sea-beach  is  the  goblet's  brim ; 

'T  was  nectar  fed 
Of  old,  'tis  said. 

And  true  it  is  they  drown  old  care — 
But  what  care  Ave  for  him. 

Their  Junos,  Joves,  Apollos ; 

So  we  but  float  on  wine ! 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too ; 

And  true  it  is  they  cross  in  pain, 

The  rich  receipt's  as  follows  — 

Who  sober  cross  the  Stygian  ferry; 

Take  wine  like  this; 

But  only  make  our  Styx  champagne. 

Let  looks  of  bliss 

And  we  shall  cross  right  merry. 

Around  it  well  be  blended; 

Floating  aAvay  in  wine ! 

Then  bring  wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream, 
And  there's  your  nectar,  splendid! 
So  wreathe  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  l>rig]itest  wit  can  find  us; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Towards  heav'n  to-night. 

Old  Charon's  self  shall  make  him  mellow. 
Then  gayly  row  his  boat  from  shore; 

While  Ave,  and  every  jovial  felloAV, 
Hear,  unconcerned,  the  oar. 
That  dips  itself  in  Avine ! 

John  Kenton 

And  loiive  dull  cartli  behind  us! 

28 

ISi;                                              POEMS    or    FRIENDSHIP. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

FILL  THE  BUMPER  FAIK. 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 

O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Fill  the  Inmiper  ftiir ! 

Smooths  aw-ay  a  wrinkle. 

Every  drop  -vve  sprinkle 

TnOMAS  MOOBB. 

O'er  the  bi'ow  of  care 

♦ 

Smooths  away  a  -wrinkle. 

Wit's  electric  flame 

Xe'er  so  swiftlv  passes 

AND  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIEIE 

v          1 

As  when  through  tlie  I'rame 

THIS. 

It  shoots  from  brimming  glasses. 

And    doth  not  a  meeting  like   this  make 

Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

amends 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 

For  aU  the  long  years  I  've  been  wand'ring 

O'er  the  brow  of  care 

away — 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

To   see  thus  around  me  my  youth's  early 

friends. 

Sages  can,  they  say, 

As  smiling  and  kind  as  in  that  happy  day  ? 

Grasp  the  lightning's  pinions, 

Though  haply  o'er  some  of  your  brows,  as 

And  bring  down  its  ray 

o'er  mine, 

From  the  starred  dominions: — 

The  snow-fall  of  Time  may  be  stealing — what 

So  we,  sages,  sit. 

then? 

And,  'mid  bumpers  bright'ning. 

Like  Alps  in  the  sunset,  thus  lighted  by  wine. 

From  the  heaven  of  wit 

We'll  wear  the  gay  tinge  of  Youth's  roses 

Draw  down  all  its  lightning. 

again. 

"Wouldst  thou  know  what  first 

What  softened  remembrances  come  o'er  the 

Made  our  souls  inherit 

heart. 

This  ennobling  thu-st 

In  gazing  on  those  we've  been  lost  to  so  long! 

For  wine's  celestial  spirit  ? 

The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  they 

It  chanced  upon  that  day. 

were  part. 

"W  hen,  as  bards  inform  us, 

StiU  round  them,  like  visions  of  yesterday. 

Prometheus  stole  away 

throng ; 

The  living  fires  that  warm  us : 

As  letters  some  hand  hath  invisibly  traced. 

When  held  to  the  flame  will  steal  out  on  the 

The  careless  Youth,  when  up 

sight. 

To  Glory's  fount  aspiring. 

So  many  a  feeling,  that  long  seemed  eflfaced, 

Took  nor  urn  nor  cup 

The  warmth  of  a  moment  like  this  brings  to 

To  hide  the  pilfered  fire  in. — 

light. 

But  oh  his  joy,  when,  round 

The  halls  of  heaven  spying 

And  thus,  as  in  memory's  bark  we  shall  glide. 

Among  the  stars,  he  found 

To  visit  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood  anew, 

A  bowl  of  Bacchus  lying ! 

Though  oft  we  may  see,  looking  down  on  the 

tide. 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl. 

The   wreck   of   full   many   a  hope   shining 

Remains  of  last  night's  pleasure, 

through ; 

"With  which  the  sparks  of  soul 

Yet  still,  as  in  fancy  we  point  to  the  flowers 

Mixed  their  burning  treasure. 

That  once  made  a  garden  of  all  the  gay  shore, 

Hence  the  goblet's  shower 

Deceived  for  a  moment,  we'll  think  them 

Hath  such  spells  to  win  us ; 

still  ours, 

Hence  its  mighty  power 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  Life's  morning 

O'er  that  flame  within  us. 

once  more. 

CONVIVIAL    SONGS.                                                    18T 

So  brief  our  existence,  a  glimpse,  at  the  most, 

Don't  fear,  drink  on,  be  jolly,  boys ! 

Is  all  vre  can  have  of  the  few  we  hold  dear ; 

'Tis  he,  you,  or  I! 

And  oft  even  joy  is  unheeded  and  lost 

Cold,  hot,  wet  or  dry. 

For  want  of  some  heart  that  could  echo  it. 

We  're  always  bound  to  follow,  boys. 

near. 

And  scorn  to  fly. 

Ah,  well  may  we  hope,  when  this  short  life 

is  gone. 

'T  is  but  in  vain — 

To  meet  in  some  world  of  more  permanent 

I  mean  not  to  upbraid  you,  boys — 

bliss ; 

'Tis  but  in  vain 

For  a  smile,  or  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  hast'ning 

For  soldiers  to  complain : 

on, 

Should  next  campaign 

Is  an  we  enjoy  of  each  other  in  this. 

Send  us  to  Him  who  made  us,  boys, 

We  're  free  from  pain ! 

But,  come,  the  more  rare  such  delights  to  the 
heart, 

But  if  we  remain, 
A  bottle  and  a  kind  landlady 

The  more  we  should  welcome,  and  bless  them 
the  more ; 

Cure  all  again. 

Anonymous. 

They're  ours,  when  we  meet — they  are  lost 

♦ 

when  we  part — 

Liko  birds  that  bring  Summer,  and  fly  when 

't  is  o'er. 

COME,  SEND  BOUND  THE  WINE. 

Thus  circling  the  cup,  hand  in  hand,  ere  Ave 

drink. 

Come,  send  round  the  wine,  and  leave  points 

I.et  Sympathy  pledge  us,  through  pleasure. 

of  belief 

through  pain, 

To  simpleton  sages  and  reasoning  fools ; 

That,  fast  as  a  feeling  but  touches  one  link 

This  moment 's  a  flower  too  fair  and  brief 

Her  magic  shall  send  it  direct  through  the 

To  be  withered  and  stained  by  the  dust  of  the 

chain. 

schools. 

Thomas  Mooee. 

Your  glass  may  be  purple,  and  mine  may  be 

A 

blue. 
But' while  they  are  filled  from  the  same  bright 

^~^ 

bowl. 

HOW  STANDS   THE  GLASS  AROUND? 

The  fool  who  would  quarrel  for  difference  of 

hue 

How  stands  the  glass  around? 

Deserves  not  the  comfort  they  shed  o'er  the 

For  shame!  ye  take  no  care,  my  boys ; 

soul. 

How  stands  the  glass  around  ? 

Let  mirth  and  wine  abound. 

The  trumpets  sound ; 
Tlie  colors  they  are  flying,  boys. 

To  flght,  kill,  or  wound, 

'S[(iy  we  still  be  found 
Content  witli  our  hard  fare,  my  boys, 

Shall  I  ask  the  brave  soldier  who  fights  by 

my  side. 
In  the  cause  of  mankind,  if  oar  creeds  may 

agree  ? 
Shall  I  give  up  the  friend  I  have  valued  and 

tried 

On  the  cold  ground. 

If  he  kneel  not  before  the  same  altar  with  mo  ? 

From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  soul  should  I  fly 

"\Thy,  soldiers,  why 

To  seek  somewhere   else  a  more   orthodox 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys? 

kiss? 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

No !  perish  the  hearts  and  the  laws  that  try 

Whose  business  'tis  to  die? 

Truth,  valor,  or  love,  by  a  standard  like  this! 

What,  sighing?  fie! 

Thomas  Moork. 

16S 


rOEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 


FRIEND  OF  MY  SOUL. 

FiuEXD  of  my  soul !  this  goblet  sip — 

'T  will  chase  the  pensive  tear  ; 
'T  is  not  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip, 

But, oh!  'tis  more  sincere. 
Like  her  delusive  beam, 

'T  will  steal  away  the  mind, 
But  unlike  afFoction's  droain, 

It  leaves  no  sting  behind. 

Come,  twine  the  wreath,  thy  brows  to  shade- 

Tliese  flowers  were  culled  at  noon ; 
Like  woman's  love  the  rose  will  fade, 

But  ah !  not  half  so  soon : 
For  though  the  flower's  decayed, 

Its  fragrance  is  not  o'er ; 
But  once  when  love's  betrayed. 

The  heart  can  bloom  no  more. 

Thomas  Moobe, 


TO  THOMAS  MOOEE. 

Mr  boat  is  on  the  shore. 

And  my  bark  is  on  the  sea ; 
But,  before  I  go,  Tom  Moore, 

Here 's  a  double  health  to  thee ! 

Here 's  a  sigh  for  those  that  love  me. 
And  a  smile  for  those  who  hate ; 

And,  whatever  sky 's  above  me. 
Here 's  a  heart  for  every  fate. 

Though  the  ocean  roar  around  me, 
Yet  it  still  shall  bear  me  on  ; 

Though  a  desert  should  surround  me. 
It  hath  springs  that  may  be  won. 

AVere  't  the  last  drop  in  the  Avell, 

As  I  gasped  upon  the  brink. 
Ere  my  fainting  spirit  fell 

'T  is  to  thee  that  I  would  drink. 

With  that  water,  as  this  wine, 

The  libation  I  would  pour 
Should  be — Peace  Avith  tliine  and  mine. 

And  a  health  to  thee,  Tom  Moore  ! 

LosD  Byeon. 


FAEEWELL!     BUT    WHENEVEE    YOU 
WELCOME  THE  HOUR. 

Farewell  !  but  whenever  you  welcome  the 

hour 
That  awakens  the  night-song  of  mirth  in  your 

bower, 
Then  think  of  tlie  friend  who  once  welcomed 

it  too. 
And  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with 

you. 
His  griefs  may  return — not  a  hope  may  remain 
Of  the  few  that  have  brightened  his  pathway 

of  pain — 
But  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision  that 

threw 
Its  enchantment  around  him  while  lingering 

with  you ! 

And  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure 

fills  up 
To  the  highest  top-sparkle    each  heart  and 

each  cup. 
Where'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
My  soul,  happy  friends !  shall  be  with  you 

that  night — 
Shall  join  in  your  revels,  your  sports,  and 

your  wiles, 
And  return  to  me  beaming  all  o'er  with  your 

smiles ; 
Too  blest  if  it  tells  me  that,  mid  the  gay 

cheer, 
Some  kind  voice  had  murmured,  ''  I  wish  he 

were  here ! " 

Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy. 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot 

destroy ! 
Which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and 

care. 
And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to 

wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories 

filled! 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been 

distilled ; 
You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase  if  you 

will. 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it 


still. 


Thomas  Moore. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    BOUILLABAISSE. 


1S9 


THE  BALLAD  OF  BOUILLABAISSE. 

A  STEEET  there  is  in  Paris  famous, 

For  which  no  rhyme  our  language  yields, 
Rue  Xeuve  des  petits  Champs  its  name  is — 

The  iSTew  Street  of  the  Little  Fields ; 
And  there 's  an  inn,  not  rich  and  splendid, 

But  stiU  in  comfortable  case — 
The  which  in  youth  I  oft  attended, 

To  eat  a  bowl  of  Bouillabaisse. 

This  Bouillabaisse  a  noble  dish  is^ 

A  sort  of  soup,  or  broth,  or  brew, 
Or  hotchpotch  of  all  sorts  of  fishes, 

That  Greenwich  never  could  outdo ; 
Green  herbs,  red  peppers,  muscles,  saffern, 

Soles,  onions,  garlic,  roach,  and  dace ; 
All  these  you  eat  at  Terre's  tavern, 

la  that  one  dish  of  Bouillabaisse. 

Indeed,  a  rich  and  savory  stew  't  is ; 

And  true  philosophers,  methinks. 
Who  love  all  sorts  of  natural  beauties, 

Should  love  good  victuals  and  good  drinks. 
And  Cordelier  or  Benedictine 

Might  gladly,  sure,  his  lot  embrace, 
K^or  find  a  fast-day  too  afflicting, 

Which  served  him  up  a  Bouillabaisse. 

1  wonder  if  the  house  still  there  is  ? 

Yes,  here  the  lamp  is  as  before  ; 
TJie  smiling,  red-cheeked  ecaillere  is 

Still  opening  oysters  at  the  door. 
Is  Terre  still  alive  and  able  ? 

I  recollect  his  droll  grimace ; 
He  'd  come  and  smile  before  your  table. 

And  hoped  you  liked  your  Bouillabaisse. 

We  enter ;  nothing 's  changed  or  older. 

"How's  Monsieur  Terre,  waiter,  pray?" 
The  waiter  stares  and  shrugs  his  shoulder ; — 

"  Monsieur  is  dead  this  many  a  day." 
"  It  is  tlie  lot  of  saint  and  sinner. 

So  lionest  Terre 's  run  his  race  I  " 
''  What  will  Monsieur  require  for  dhmer?" 

"Say,  do  you  still  cook  Bouillabaisse?" 

"Oil,  oui.  Monsieur,"  '3  the  waiter's  answer; 

"  Quel  vin  Monsieur  desire-t-il  2 " 
"  Tell  me  a  good  one."     "  That  I  can,  sir ; 

The  ChamberLin  with  yellow  seal." 


'  "  So  Terre's  gone,"  I  say,  and  sink  in 
My  old  accustomed  corner-place ; 
"  He 's  done  with  feasting  and  with  drinking. 
With  Burgundy  and  Bouillabaisse." 

My  old  accustomed  corner  here  is — 

The  table  still  is  in  the  nook ; 
Ah !  vanished  many  a  busy  year  is, 

This  well-known  chair  since  last  I  took. 
When  first  I  saw  ye,  Cari  luoghi, 

1  'd  scarce  a  beard  upon  my  face. 
And  now  a  grizzled,  grim  old  fogy, 

I  sit  and  wait  for  Bouillabaisse. 

Where  are  you,  old  companions  trusty 

Of  early  days,  here  met  to  dine  ? 
Come,  waiter !  quick,  a  flagon  crusty — 

I  '11  pledge  them  in  the  good  old  wine. 
The  kind  old  voices  and  old  faces 

My  memory  can  quick  retrace ; 
Around  the  board  they  take  their  places, 

And  share  the  wine  and  Bouillabaisse. 

There 's  Jack  has  made  a  wondrous  marriage ; 

There 's  laughing  Tom  is  laughing  yet ; 
There 's  brave  Augustus  drives  his  carriage ; 

There 's  poor  old  Fred  in  the  Gazette ; 
On  James's  head  the  grass  is  growing : 

Good  Lord  !  the  world  has  wagged  apace 
Since  here  we  set  the  Claret  flowing. 

And  drank,  and  ate  the  Bouillabaisse. 

Ah  me !  how  quick  the  days  are  flitting ! 

I  mind  me  of  a  time  that 's  gone, 
When  here  I  'd  sit,  as  now  I  'm  sitting, 

In  this  same  place — but  not  alone 
A  fair  young  form  was  nestled  near  me, 

A  dear,  dear  face  looked  fondly  up, 
And  sweetly  spoke  and  smiled  to  cheer  me. 

— There 's  no  one  now  to  share  my  cup. 
*  *  *  * 

I  drink  it  as  the  Fates  ordain  it. 

Come,  fill  it,  and  have  done  with  rhymes; 
Fill  up  the  lonely  glass,  and  drain  it 

In  memory  of  dear  old  times. 
Welcome  the  wine,  whate'er  the  seal  is ; 

And  sit  you  down  and  say  your  grace 
With  thankful  heart,  whate'er  the  meal  is. 

— Here  comes  the  smoking  Bouillabaisse ! 
William  Makepeace  Tuackeeay. 


190 


I'OEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 


Oil  FILL  THE  WmE-CUP  HIGH  I 

On  fill  tlio  wine-cup  higb  ! 

The  sparkling  liquor  pour ; 
For  wo  will  care  and  grief  defy, 

They  ne'er  shall  plague  us  more. 
And  ere  the  snowy  foam 

From  off  the  wine  departs, 
The  precious  draught  shall  find  a  home, 

A  dwelling  in  our  hearts. 

Though  bright  may  be  the  beams 

That  woman's  eyes  display : 
They  are  not  like  the  ruby  gleams 

That  in  our  goblets  plaj\ 
For  though  surpassing  bright 

Their  brilliancy  may  be. 
Age  dims  the  lustre  of  their  light 

But  adds  more  worth  to  thee. 

Give  me  another  draught. 

The  sparkling,  and  the  strong ; 
He  who  would  learn  the  poet  craft — 

lie  who  would  shine  in  song — 
Should  pledge  the  flowing  bowl 

With  warm  and  generous  wine ; 
'Twas  wine  that  warmed  Anacreon's  soul, 

And  made  his  songs  divine. 

And  e'en  in  tragedy, 

AYho  lives  that  never  knew 
The  honey  of  the  Attic  Bee 

Was  gathered  from  thy  dew  ? 
He  of  the  tragic  muse, 

"Whose  praises  bai'ds  rehearse ; 
What  power  but  thine  could  e'er  diffuse 

Such  sweetness  o'er  his  verse  ? 

Oh  would  tliat  I  could  raise 

The  magic  of  that  tongue; 
The  spirit  of  those  deathless  lays, 

The  Swan  of  Teios  sung ! 
Each  song  the  bard  has  given 

Its  beauty  and  its  worth, 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a  voice  from  heaven 

Was  echoed  upon  the  earth. 

How  mighty — how  divine, 

Thy  spirit  seemeth  when 
The  rich  draught  of  the  purple  vine 

Dwelt  in  these  godlike  men. 


It  made  each  glowing  page, 

Its  eloquence,  and  truth, 
In  the  glory  of  their  golden  age, 

Outshine  the  fire  of  youth. 

Joy  to  the  lone  heart — joy 

To  the  desolate — oppressed ; 
For  wine  can  every  grief  destroy 

That  gathers  in  the  breast. 
The  sorrows  and  the  care. 

That  in  our  hearts  abide, 
'T  will  chase  them  from  their  dweUiugs 
there, 

To  drown  them  in  its  tide. 

And  now  the  heart  grows  warm 

With  feelings  undefined, 
Throwing  their  deep  diffusive  charm 

O'er  all  the  realms  of  mind. 
The  loveliness  of  truth 

Flings  out  its  brightest  rays. 
Clothed  in  the  songs  of  early  youth. 

Or  joys  of  other  days. 

We  think  of  her,  the  young. 

The  beautiful,  the  bright, 
We  hear  the  music  of  her  tongue, 

Breathing  its  deep  delight. 
We  see  again  each  glance. 

Each  bright  and  dazzling  beam, 
We  feel  our  throbbing  hearts  still  dance, 

We  live  but  in  a  dream. 

From  darkness,  and  from  woe, 

A  power  like  lightning  darts; 
A  glory  cometh  down  to  throw 

Its  shadows  o'er  our  hearts ; 
And  dimmed  by  falling  tears, 

A  spirit  seems  to  rise. 
That  shows  the  friend  of  other  years 

Is  mirrored  in  our  eyes. 

But  sorrow,  grief,  and  care. 

Had  dimmed  his  setting  star ; 
And  we  think  with  tears  of  those  that 
were, 

To  smile  on  those  that  are. 
Yet  though  the  grassy  mound 

Sits  lightly,  on  his  head. 
We'll  pledge,  in  solemn  silence  round. 

The  memory  of  the  dead ! 


SAINT    PERAY. 


191 


The  sparkling  juice  now  pour, 

With  fond  and  liberal  band ; 
Ob  raise  the  laughing  riia  once  more, 

Here 's  to  our  Fatherland ! 
Up,  every  soul  that  hears, 

Hurrah !  with  three  times  three ; 
And  shout  aloud,  with  deafening  cheers, 

The  "Island  of  the  Free!" 

Then  fill  the  wine-cup  high. 

The  sparkling  liquor  pour ; 
For  we  will  care  and  grief  defy. 

They  ne'er  shall  plague  us  more. 
And  ere  the  snowy  foam 

From  off  the  wine  departs, 
The  precious  draught  shall  find  a  home — 

A  dwelling  in  our  hearts. 

EoBEKT  Folkestone  Williams. 


SAINT  PERAY. 

ADDRESSED   TO   H.   T.   P.     • 

Whex  to  any  saint  I  pray, 
It  shall  be  to  Saint  Peray. 
He  alone,  of  all  the  brood, 
Ever  did  me  any  good : 
Many  I  have  tried  that  are 
Humbugs  in  the  calendar. 

On  the  Atlantic,  faint  and  sick. 
Once  I  prayed  Saint  Dominick  : 
He  was  holy,  sure,  and  wise ; — 
Was't  not  he  that  did  devise 
Auto  da  Fes  and  rosaries  ? — 
But  for  one  in  my  condition 
This  good  saint  was  no  physician. 

Next,  in  pleasant  Normandie, 
I  made  a  prayer  to  Saint  Denis, 
In  the  great  cathedral,  where 

All  the  ancient  kings  repose; 
But,  how  I  was  swindled  there 

At  the  "  Golden  Fleece,"— he  knows ! 

In  my  wanderings,  vague  and  various, 
Reaching  Naples — as  I  lay 
Watching  Vesuvius  from  the  bay, 

I  besought  Saint  Januarius ; 


But  I  was  a  fool  to  try  him ; 
Naught  I  said  could  liquefy  him ; 
And  I  swear  he  did  me  wrong:. 
Keeping  me  shut  up  so  long 
In  that  pest-house,  with  obscene 
Jews  and  Greeks  and  things  imclean— 
What  need  had  I  of  quarantine  ? 

In  Sicily  at  least  a  score — 
In  Spain  about  as  many  more — 
And  in  Rome  almost  as  many 
As  the  loves  of  Don  Giovanni, 
Did  I  pray  to — sans  reply ; 
Devil  take  the  tribe ! — said  I. 

Worn  with  travel,  tired  and  lame, 

To  Assisi's  walls  I  came ; 

Sad  and  full  of  homesick  fancies, 

I  addressed  me  to  Saint  Francis ; 

But  the  beggar  never  did 

Any  thing  as  he  was  bid. 

Never  gave  me  aught — but  fleas — 

Plenty  had  I  at  Assise. 

But  in  Provence,  near  Vaucluse, 

Hard  by  the  Rhone,  I  found  a  Saint 
Gifted  with  a  wondrous  juice, 

Potent  for  the  worst  complaint. 
'Twas  at  Avignon  that  first — 
In  the  witching  time  of  thirst — 
To  my  brain  the  knowledge  came 
Of  this  blessed  Catholic's  name ; 
Forty  miles  of  dust  that  day 
Made  me  welcome  Saint  Peray. 

Though  till  then  I  had  not  heard 
Aught  about  him,  ere  a  third 
Of  a  litre  passed  my  lips. 
All  saints  else  were  in  eclipse. 
For  his  gentle  spirit  glided 

With  such  magic  into  mine, 
That  methought  such  bliss  as  I  did 

Poet  never  drew  from  wine. 

Rest  he  gave  me,  and  refection — 
Chastened  hopes,  calm  retrospection- 
Softened  images  of  sorrow, 
Bright  forebodings  for  the  morrow — 
Charity  for  what  is  past — 
Faith  in  something  good  at  last. 

Now,  why  should  any  almanack 
The  name  of  this  good  creature  lack  ? 


l'.»2 


rOEMS     OF     FRIENDSnir. 


Or  Avlicroforo  should  tlie  breviary 
Oiuit  a  Siiiiit  so  sago  aud  merry  ? 
The  Pope  himself  should  grant  a  day 
Especially  to  Saint  Peray. 
But,  since  no  day  hath  been  appointed, 
On  purpose,  by  the  Lord's  anointed. 
Let  us  not  wait — we  '11  do  him  right ; 
Send  round  your  bottles,  Ilal — and  set 
your  night. 

T1I0MA3  AViLLIAM   PaKSONS. 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

I. 

Should  auld  acq^uaintance  be  forgot, 

Aud  never  brought  to  min'  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  days  o'  lang  syne  ? 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear. 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
"We  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne  ! 

II. 
We  tv.'a  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine  ; 
But  we've  wandered  mony  a  weary  foot 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 

III. 
We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  tlie  burn 

Frae  mornin'  sun  till  dine  ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roared 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 

IT. 

And  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  flerc. 

And  gie  's  a  hand  o'  thine ; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  right  guid  willie-w aught 

For  auld  lang  syne ! 

V. 

And  surely  ye  '11  be  your  pint-stowp. 

And  surely  I  '11  be  mine ; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 

"We  'U  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne ! 

Egbert  Burns. 


NIGHT  AT  SEA. 

The  lovely  purple  of  the  noon's  bestowing 
Has  vanished  from  the  waters,  where  it 
flung 
A  royal  color,  such  as  gems  are  throwing 

Tyrian  or  regal  garniture  among. 
'T  is  night,  and  overhead  the  sky  is  gleaming. 
Through  the  slight  vapor  trembles  each  dim 
star; 
I  turn  away — my  heart  is  sadly  dreaming 
Of  scenes  they  do  not  light,  of  scenes  afar. 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 
Do  you  think  of  me,  as  I  think  of  you? 

By  each  dark  wave  around  the  vessel  sweep- 
ing. 
Farther   am  I  from  old  dear  friends  re- 
moved ; 
Till  the  lone  vigil  that  I  now  am  keeping, 
I  did  not  know  how  much  you  were  be- 
loved. 
How  many  acts  of  kindness  little  heeded. 
Kind  looks,  kind  words,  rise  half  reproach- 
ful now ! 
Hurried    and    anxious,   my  vexed    life    has 
speeded. 
And  memory  wears  a  soft  accusing  brow. 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 

Do  you  think  of  me,  as  I  think  of  you? 

The  very  stars  are  strangers,  as  I  catch  them 
Athwart    the    shadowy  sails    that    swell 
above ; 
I  cannot  hope  tliat  other  eyes  will  watch  them 

At  the  same  moment  with  a  mutual  love. 
They  shine  not  there,  as  here  they  now  are 
shining ; 
The  very  hours  are  changed. — All,  do  ye 
sleep  ? 
O'er  each  home  pillow  midnight  is  dechning — 
May  some  kind  dream  at  least  my  image 
keep! 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends! 

Do  you  think  of  me,  as  I  think  of  yon? 

Yesterday  has  a  charm,  To-day  could  never 
Fling  o'er  the  mind,  which  knows  not  till 
it  parts 


NIGHT    AT     SEA. 


193 


How  it  turns  back  witli  tenderest  endeavor 
To  fix  the  past  witMn  the  heart  of  hearts. 
Absence  is  full  of  memory ;   it  teaches 
The  value  of  all  old  familiar  things ; 
The     strengthencr    of    affection,    while    it 
reaches 
O'er  the  dai'k    parting,   with   an  angel's 
wings. 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 
Do  you  think  of  me,  as  I  think  of  you  ? 

The  world,  with  one  vast  element  omitted — 

Man's  own  especial  element,  the  earth ; 
Yet,  o'er  the  waters  is  his  rule  transmitted 
By  that  great  knowledge  whence  has  power 
its  birth. 
How  oft  on  some   strange   loveliness  while 
gazing 
Have  I  wished  for  you — beautiful  as  new. 
The  purple  waves  like  some  wild  army  rais- 
ing 
Their   snowy   banners    as   the    ship    cuts 
through, 
ily  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 
Do  you  think  of  me,  as  I  think  of  you ! 

Bearing  upon  its  wings  the  hues  of  morn- 
ing, 
Up  springs  the  flying  fish  like  life's  false 

joy, 

Which  of  the  sunshine  asks  that  frail  adorn- 
ing 
Whose  very  light  is  fated  to  destroy. 
Ah,  so  doth  genius  on  its  rainbow  pinion 
Spring   from    the  depths  of  an   unkindly 
world ; 
So  si)ring  sweet    fancies  from    the  heart's 
dominion — 
Too  soon  in  death  the  scorched-up  wing  is 
furled. 
]My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 

AVhate'er  I  see  is  linked  with  thoughts 
of  you. 

No  life  is  in  the  aii",  but  in  the  waters 

Are  creatures,    huge,     and    terrible,  and 
strong; 
The  sword-fish  and  the  shark  pursue  their 
slaughters. 
War  uuiversal  reigns  these  depths  along. 
29 


Like  some  new  island  on  the  ocean  spring- 

Floats  on  the  surface  some  gigantic  whale, 
From  its  vast  head  a  silver  fountain  flinging. 
Bright  as  the  fountain  in  a  fairy  tale. 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 
I  read  such  fairy  legends  wliile  with 
you. 

Light  is  amid  the  gloomy  canvas  spreading. 

The  moon  is  whitening  the  dusky  sails. 
From  the  thick  bank  of  clouds  she  masters, 
shedding 
The  softest  influence  that   o'er  night  pre- 
vails. 
Pale  is  she    like  a  young   queen  pale  with 
splendor. 
Haunted  with  passionate  thoughts  too  fond 
too  deep ; 
The  very  glory  that  she  wears  is  tender. 
The  eyes  that  watch  her  beauty  fain  would 
weep. 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 

Do  you  think  of  me,  as  I  think  of  you  ? 


Sunshine  is  ever  cheerful,  when  the  morning 
Wakens    the  world   with    cloud-dispelling 
eyes ; 
The  spirits  mount  to  glad  endeavor,  scorning 

What  toil  upon  a  path  so  sunny  lies. 
Sunshine  and  hope  are  comrades,  and  their 
weather 
Calls  into  life  an  energy  like  Spring's ; 
But  memory  and  moonlight  go  together, 
Eeflected  in  the  light  that  either  brings. 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 

Do  you  think  of  me,  then  ?     I  think 
of  you. 


The  busy  deck  is  hushed,  no  sounds  are  wak- 
ing 
But  the  watch  pacing  silently  and  slow ; 
The  waves  against  the  sides  incessant  break- 

And  rope  and  canvas  swaying  to  and  fro. 
The  topmast  sail,  it  seems  like  some  dim  pua- 
nacle 
Cresting  a  shadowy  tower  amid  the  air  ; 


194 


POEMS     OF     FRIENDSHIP. 


"While  rod  and  fitful  gleams  come  from  the 
bimiaclc. 
The  ouly  light  on  board  to  guide  ns— 
Avliere  ? 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends  ! 

Far  from  ray  native  land,  and  far  from 
you. 

On  one  side  of  the  ship,  the  moonbeam's 
shimmer 
In  luminous  vibrations  sweeps  the  sea, 
But  wlicre  the  shadow  falls,  a  strange,  pale 
glinnner 
Seems,  glow-worm  like,  amid  the  waves 
to  be. 
All  that  the  spirit  thinks  of  thought  and  feel- 
in  o* 

Takes  visionary  lines  from  sucli  an  hour ; 
But  while  some  phantasy  is  o'er  me  stealing, 
I  start — remembrance  has  a  keener  power : 
My  friends,  my  absent  friends ! 

From  the  fair  dream  I  start  to  think 
of  you. 

A  dusk  line  in  the  moonlight— I  discover 

What  all  day  long  vainly  I  sought  to  catch ; 
Or  is  it  but  the  varying  clouds  tliat  hover 
Thick  in  the  air,  to  mock  the  eyes  that 
watch  ? 
Xo;  well  the  sailor  knows  each  speck,  ap- 
pearing, 
Upon  the  tossing  waves,  the  far-off  strand ; 
To  that  dark  line  our  eager  ship  is  steering. 
Tier    voyage    done — to-morrow  we    sliall 
land. 

L-ETiTiA  Elizabeth  Landon. 


THE  JODRXEY  ONWARDS. 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 

Against  the  wind  was  cleaving, 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  looked  back 

To  that  dear  isle  't  was  leaving. 
So  loth  we  part  from  all  we  love, 

From  all  the  links  tliat  bind  us ; 
So  turn  our  hearts,  as  on  we  rove, 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us ! 


When,  round  the  bowl,  of  vanished  years 

We  talk  with  joyous  seeming — 
With  smiles  that  might  as  well  be  tears, 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  beaming ; 
While  memory  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us, 
Oh  sweet 's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us ! 

And  when,  in  other  climes,  we  meet 

Some  isle  or  vale  enchanting, 
Wliere  all  looks  flowery,  wild,  and  sweet, 

And  naught  but  love  is  wanting ; 
We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss 

If  Heaven  had  but  assigned  us 
To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this, 

With  some  we  've  left  behind  us ! 

As  travellers  oft  look  back  at  eve 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 
To  gaze  upon  that  light  they  leave 

Still  faint  behind  them  glowing, — 
So,  when  the  close  of  pleasure's  day 

To  gloom  hath  near  consigned  us, 
We  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Of  joy  that 's  left  behind 'us. 

Thomas  Moobb. 


THE  MAHOGANY  TREE. 

Chkistmas  is  here ; 
Winds  whistle  shrill, 
Icy  and  chill. 
Little  care  we ; 
Little  we  fear 
Weather  without, 
Sheltered  about 
The  Mahogany  Tree. 

Once  on  the  boughs 
Birds  of  rare  plume 
Sang,  in  its  bloom ; 
Night  birds  are  we ; 
Here  we  carouse, 
Singing,  hke  them, 
Perched  round  the  stem 
Of  the  jolly  old  tree. 

Here  let  us  sport. 
Boys,  as  w*e  sit — 
Laughter  and  wit 
Flashing  so  free. 


■ 

J 


CHRISTMAS. 


195 


Life  is  but  short — 
When  we  are  gone, 
Let  them  sing  on, 
Round  the  old  tree. 

Evenings  we  knew, 
Happy  as  this; 
Faces  we  miss, 
Pleasant  to  see. 
Kind  hearts  and  true, 
Gentle  and  just. 
Peace  to  your  dust ! 
We  sing  round  the  tree. 

Care,  like  a  dun,  • 
Lurks  at  the  gate : 
Let  the  dog  wait ; 
Happy  we  'U  be ! 
Drink,  every  one ; 
Pile  up  the  coals ; 
FOl  the  red  bowls. 
Round  the  old  tree ! 

Drain  we  the  cup. — 
Friend,  art  afraid? 
Spirits  are  laid 
In  the  Red  Sea. 
Mantle  it  up  ; 
Empty  it  yet ; 
Let  us  forget. 
Round  the  old  tree  I 

Sorrows  begone ! 
Life  and  its  ihs, 
Duns  and  their  bills, 
Bid  we  to  flee* 
Come  with  the  dawn. 
Blue-devil  sprite ; 
Leave  us  to-night. 
Round  the  old  tree ! 

"William  Makepeace  Thackeeat. 


CHRISTMAS. 

oo  now  is  come  our  joyful'st  feast; 

Let  every  man  be  jolly ; 
Each  room  with  ivy  loaves  is  drest, 

And  every  post  with  holly. 
Thougli  some  churls  at  our  mirth  repine, 
Round  your  foreheads  garlands  twine. 


Drown  sorrow  in  a  cup  of  wine, 
And  let  us  all  be  merry. 

ITow  all  our  neighbors'  chimneys  smoke, 
And  Christmas  blocks  are  burning; 

Their  ovens  they  with  baked  meat  choke, 
And  all  theu*  spits  ai-e  turning. 

Without  the  door  let  sorrow  lie ; 

And  if  for  cold  it  hap  to  die, 

We  '11  bury 't  in  a  Christmas  pie, 
And  evermore  be  merry. 

Now  every  lad  is  wond'rons  trim, 

And  no  man  minds  his  labor ; 
Our  lasses  have  provided  them 

A  bagpipe  and  a  tabor ; 
Young  men  and  maids,  and  girls  and  boys, 
Give  life  to  one  another's  joys ; 
And  you  anon  shall  by  their  noise 

Perceive  that  they  are  merry. 

Rank  misers  now  do  sparing  shun — 

Their  hall  of  music  soundeth; 
And  dogs  thence  with  whole  shoulders  run, 

So  all  things  there  aboundeth. 
The  country  folks  themselves  advance. 
With  crowdy-muttons  out  of  France ; 
And  Jack  shall  pipe,  and  Gill  shall  dance, 

And  aU  the  town  be  merry. 

N'ed  Squash  has  fetched  his  bands  from  pawn, 

And  all  his  best  apparel ; 
Brisk  Nell  hath  bought  a  ruff'  of  lawn 

With  dropping  of  the  barrel. 
And  those  that  hardly  all  the  year 
Had  bread  to  eat,  or  rags  to  wear. 
Will  have  both  clothes  and  dainty  fare. 

And  all  the  day  be  meri-y. 

Now  poor  men  to  the  justices 
With  capons  make  their  errauts ; 

And  if  they  hap  to  fail  of  these. 

They  plague  them  with  their  warrants  : 

But  now  they  feed  them  with  good  cheer, 

And  what  tiiey  want  they  take  in  beer ; 

For  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 
And  then  they  shall  be  merry. 

Good  farmers  in  the  country  nurse 
The  poor,  that  else  were  undone ; 

Some  landlords  spend  their  money  worse, 
On  lust  and  pride  at  London. 


19o 


POEMS    OF    FIIIENDSHIP. 


There  tlic  roysters  they  do  play, 
Drab  aud  dice  their  lauds  away, 
Which  may  be  ours  another  day, 
Aud  therefore  let 's  be  merry. 

The  clieut  now  his  suit  forbears ; 

The  prisoner's  heai't  is  eased ; 
The  debtor  drinks  away  his  cares, 

And  for  the  time  is  pleased. 
Though  others'  purses  be  more  fat, 
T\'hy  should  we  pine  or  grieve  at  that  ? 
Hang  sorrow!  Care  will  kill  a  cat — 

^Vnd  therefore  let's  be  merry. 

Hark!  now  the  wags  abroad  do  call 

Each  other  forth  to  rambling ; 
Anon  you'll  see  them  in  the  hall. 

For  nuts  and  apples  scrambling. 
Hark!  how  the  roofs  with  laughter  sound! 
Anon  they'll  think  the  house  goes  roimd. 
For  they  the  cellar's  depth  have  found. 

And  there  they  will  be  merry. 

The  wenches  with  their  wassail  bowls 

About  the  streets  are  singing; 
The  boys  are  come  to  catch  the  owls 

The  wild  mare  in  is  bringing. 
Our  kitchen  boy  hath  broke  his  box  ; 
Aud  to  the  dealing  of  the  ox 
Our  honest  neighbors  come  by  flocks, 

And  here  they  "w  iH  be  merry. 

Xow  kings  and  queens  poor  sheepcotes  have, 

And  mate  with  everybody ; 
The  honest  now  may  play  the  knave, 

And  wise  men  play  the  noddy. 
Some  youths  will  now  a  mumming  go, 
Some  others  play  at  Rowland-bo, 
And  twenty  other  game  boys  mo. 

Because  they  will  be  merry 


Tlien  wherefore,  in  these  merry  days, 

Sliould  we,  I  pray,  be  duller  ? 
No,  let  us  sing  some  roundelays. 

To  make  our  mirth  the  fuller ; 
And,  while  we  thus  inspired  sing, 
Let  all  the  streets  with  echoes  ring ; 
"Woods  and  hiUs,  and  every  thing, 

Bear  witness  we  are  merry ! 

George  'Wituer. 


WHAT  MIGHT  BE  DONE. 

What  might  be  done  if  men  were  wise — 
"What  glorious  deeds,  my  suffering  brother, 

"Would  they  unite 

In  love  and  right, 
And  cease  their  scorn  of  one  another  ? 

Oppression's  heart  might  be  imbued 
"With  kindling  drops  of  loving-kindness ; 
And  knowledge  pour. 
From  shore  to  shore, 
Light  on  the  eyes  of  mental  blindness. 

AU  slavery,  warfare,  lies,  and  wrongs, 
AU  rice  and  crime,  might  die  together ; 
And  wine  and  corn, 
To  each  man  born, 
Be  free  as  warmth  in  summer  weather. 

The  meanest  wretch  that  ever  trod, 
The  deepest  sunk  in  guilt  and  sorrow, 

Might  stand  erect 

In  self-respect, 
And  share  the  teeming  world  to-morrow. 

"What  might  be  done  ?     This  might  be  done. 
And  more  than  this,  my  suffering  brother — 
More  than  the  tongue 
E'er  said  or  sung. 
If  men  were  wise  and  loved  each  other. 

Charles  Mackat. 


PAET    lY. 
POEMS       OF       L  0  Y  E  . 


Love  ?  I  will  tell  thee  what  it  is  to  love  ! 

It  is  to  build  with  human  thoughts  a  shrine, 

Where  Hope  sits  brooding  like  a  beauteous  dove ; 

Where  Time  seems  young,  and  Life  a  thing  divine. 

All  tastes,  all  pleasures,  all  desires  combine 

To  consecrate  this  sanctuary  of  bliss. 

Above,  the  stars  in  cloudless  beauty  shine  ; 

Around,  the  streams  their  flowery  margins  kiss  ; 

And  if  there 's  heaven  on  earth,  that  heaven  is  surely  this. 

Yes,  this  is  Love,  the  steadfast  and  the  true. 

The  immortal  glory  which  hath  never  set ; 

The  best,  the  brightest  boon  the  heart  e'er  knew  : 

Of  all  life's  sweets  the  very  sweetest  yet ! 

0 !  who  but  can  recall  the  eve  they  met 

To  breathe,  in  some  green  walk,  their  first  young  vow  ? 

While  summer  flowers  with  moonlight  dews  were  wet, 

And  winds  sighed  soft  around  the  mountain's  brow. 

And  nil  was  rapture  then  which  is  but  memory  now ! 

Cbaeles  SWAZIf. 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

SIR  OAULINE. 

"  Fetche  me  downe  my  daughter  deere. 

She  is  a  leeche  fuUo  fine ; 

THE   FIRST   PAET. 

Goe  take  him  doughe  and  the  baken  bread, 

Ix  Ireland,  ferr  over  the  sea, 

And  serve  him  with  the  wyne  soe  red : 

There  dwelletli  a  bonnye  kinge  ; 

Lothe  I  were  him  to  tine." 

And  with  him  a  yong  and  comlye  knighte, 

Men  call  him  Syr  Cauline. 

Fair  Christabelle  to  his  chaumber  goes. 

Her  maydens  foUowyng  nye : 

The  kinge 'had.  a  ladye  to  his  daughter, 

"  Oh  well,"  she  sayth,  "  how  doth  my  lord  ?" 

In  fashyon  she  hath  no  peere ; 

"  Oh  sicke,  thou  fayr  ladye." 

And  princely  wightes  that  ladye  "wooed 

To  be  theyr  wedded  fere. 

"  Nowe  ryse  up  wightlye,  man,  for  shame  ; 

Svr  Cauline  loveth  her  best  of  all. 

Never  lye  soe  cowardice ; 

-v-^                       •••                ill*                                                 l^ll                      41               11 

•                                                                                                                                  7 

h  or  it  is  told  in  my  father  s  halle 

But  nothing  durst  he  saye, 

You  dye  for  love  of  mee." 

Ne  descreeve  his  counsayl  to  "no  man, 

•/ 

But  deerlye  he  lovde  this  may. 

"Fayre  ladye,  it  is  for  your  love 

Till  on  a  daye  it  so  befFell 

That  all  this  dill  I  drye : 
For  if  you  wold  comfort  me  witb  a  kisse. 

Great  dill  to  him  was  dight; 

Then  were  I  brought  from  bale  to  blisse, 

The  mayden's  love  removde  his  mind, 
To  care-bed  went  the  knighte. 

No  lenger  wold  I  lye." 

One  while  he  spred  his  armes  him  fro, 

"  Syr  knighte,  my  father  is  a  kinge, 

One  while  he  spred  them  nye : 

I  am  his  onlye  heire ; 

"And  aye !  but  I  winne  that  ladye's  love, 

Alas !  and  well  you  knowe,  syr  knighte, 

For  dole  now  I  mun  dye." 

I  never  can  be  youre  fere." 

And  whan  our  parish-masse  was  done, 

"  0  ladye,  thou  art  a  kinge's  daughter, 

Our  kinge  was  bowne  to  dyne: 

And  I  am  not  thy  peere ; 

He  sayes,  "  Where  is  Syr  Cauline, 

But  let  me  doe  some  dcedes  of  armes, 

That  is  wont  to  serve  the  wyne  ?  " 

To  be  your  bacheleere." 

Tlien  aunswerdo  him  a  courteous  knighte. 

"Some  deedes  of  armes  if  thou  wilt  doe, 

And  fast  his  handes  gan  wringe : 

My  bacheleere  to  bee 

"  Syr  Cauline  is  sicke,  and  like  to  dye, 

(But  ever  and  aye  my  heart  wold  rue, 

Without  a  good  leechinge." 

G iff  harm  should  happe  to  thee,) 

200 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"  Upon  Eklrklgo  liill  there  growetli  a  tliornc, 

Upon  the  mores  brodiuge ; 
And  dare  ye,  syr  kuiglito,  -wako  there   all 
niglite, 

rntill  the  fayre  morninge? 

"For  the   Eldridge  knighte,  so   micklo   of 
niighte, 

Will  examine  you  beforne ; 
And  never  man  bare  life  awaye, 

But  he  did  liira  scath  and  scorne. 

"That  knighte  he  is  a  foul  paynim, 

And  large  of  limb  and  bone  ; 
And  but  if  heaven  may  be  thy  speede, 

Thy  life  it  is  but  gone." 

"  Nowe  on  the  Eldridge  hilles  lie  walke, 

For  thy  sake,  fair  ladie ; 
And  He  either  bring  you  a  ready  token. 

Or  He  never  more  you  see." 

The  lady  is  gone  to  her  own  chaumbere, 

Iler  maydens  following  bright ; 
Syr  Cauline  lope  from  care-bed  soone, 
And  to  the  Eldridge  hills  is  gone. 

For  to  wake  there  all  night. 

Unto  midnight,  that  the  moone  did  rise. 

He  walked  up  and  downe; 
Then  a  lightsome  bugle  heard  he  blowe 

Over  the  bents  soe  browne ; 
Quoth  hee,  "  If  cryance  come  till  my  heart, 

I  am  farrc  from  any  good  towne." 

And  soone  he  spyde  on  the  mores  so  broad 

A  furyous  wight  and  fell ; 
A  ladye  bright  his  brydle  led, 

Clad  in  a  fayre  kyrtell : 

And  soe  fast  he  called  on  Syr  Cauline, 

"  0  man,  I  rede  thee  flye. 
For  but  if  cryance  come  till  thy  heart, 

I  weene  but  thou  mun  dye." 

He  sayth,  "  No  cryance  comes  till  my  heart, 

Xor,  in  faith,  I  wyll  not  flee  ; 
For,  cause  thou  minged  not  Christ  before, 

The  less  me  dreadeth  thee." 


The  Eldridge  knighte,  he  pricked  his  steed ; 

Syr  Cauline  bold  abode : 
Then  either  shooke  his  trustye  speare, 
And  the  timber  these  two  children  bare 

Soe  soone  in  sunder  slode. 

Then  tooke  they  out  theyr  two  good  swordes, 

And  layden  on  full  faste, 
Till  helme  and  hawberke,  mail  and  sheelde. 

They  all  were  well-nighe  brast. 

The  Eldridge  knight  was  mickle  of  might. 
And  stiffe  in  stower  did  stande ; 

But  Syr  Cauline  with  an  aukeward  stroke 
He  smote  off  his  right-hand ; 

That  soone  he,  with  paine,  and  lacke  of  bloud, 
Fell  downe  on  that  lay-land. 

Then  up  Syr  Cauline  lift  his  brando 

All  over  his  head  so  hye : 
"And  here  I  sweare  by  the  holy  roode, 

Nowe,  caytiffe,  thou  shalt  dye." 

Then  up  and  came  that  ladye  brighte, 

Faste  wringing  of  her  hande : 
"  For  the  mayden's  love,  that  most  you  love, 

Withold  that  deadlye  brande : 

"For  the  mayden's  love,  that  most  you  love, 

Now  smyte  no  more  I  praye ; 
And  aye  whatever  thou  wilt,  my  lord. 

He  shall  thy  bests  obaye." 

"  Now  sweare  to  mee,  thou  Eldridge  knighte, 

And  here  on  this  lay-land. 
That  thou  wilt  believe  on  Christ  his  laye, 

And  therto  plight  thy  hand : 

"And  that  thou  never  on  Eldridge  hill  come 

To  sporte,  gamon,  or  playe ; 
And  that  thou  here  give  up  thy  armes 

Until  thy  dying  daye." 

The  Eldridge  knighte  gave  up  his  armes, 
"With  many  a  sorrowfuUe  sighe  ; 

And  sware  to  obey  Syr  Cauline's  best, 
Till  the  tyme  that  he  shold  dye. 

And  he  then  up,  and  the  Eldi'idge  knighte 

Sett  him  in  his  saddle  anone ; 
And  the  Eldridge  knighte  and  his  ladye, 

To  theyr  castle  are  they  gone. 


SIR    CAULIXE, 


201 


Then  lie  tooke  up  the  bloudy  hand, 

That  Tras  so  large  of  bone, 
And  on  it  he  founde  five  ringes  of  gold. 

Of  knightes  that  had  be  slone. 

Then  he  tooke  up  the  Eldridge  sworde, 

As  hard  as  any  flint ; 
And  he  tooke  off  those  ringes  five, 

As  bright  as  fyre  and  brent. 

Home  then  pricked  Syr  Cauline, 

As  light  as  leafe  on  tree ; 
I-wys  he  neither  stint  ne  blanne. 

Till  he  his  ladye  see. 

Then  downe  he  knelt  upon  his  knee 

Before  that  lady  gay : 
"  O  ladye,  I  have  bin  on  the  Eldridge  hills ; 

These  tokens  I  bring  away." 

"Xow  welcome,  welcome,  Syr  Cauline, 

Thrice  welcome  unto  mee, 
For  now  I  perceive  thou  art  a  true  knighte. 

Of  valour  bolde  and  free." 

"  0  ladye,  I  am  thy  own  true  knighte, 

Thy  bests  for  to  obaye ; 
And  mought  I  hope  to  winne  thy  love !  " — 

No  more  his  tonge  colde  say. 

The  ladye  blushed  scarlette  redde. 

And  fette  a  gentill  sighe : 
"Alas !  syr  knight,  how  may  this  bee. 

For  my  degree 's  soe  highe  ? 

"  But  sith  thou  hast  hight,  thou  comely  youth. 

To  be  my  bachclere, 
lie  promise,  if  thee  I  may  not  wedde, 

I  will  have  none  other  fere." 

Tlien  shee  held  fortho  her  liley-white  hand 

Towards  that  knighte  so  free ; 
He  gave  to  it  one  gentill  kisse, 
His  heart  was  brought  from  bale  to  blisse, 

The  teares  sterte  from  his  ee. 

'  But  keep  my  counsayl,  Syr  Cauline, 

Ne  let  no  man  it  knowe ; 
For,  and  ever  my  father  sholde  it  ken, 

I  wot  ho  wolde  us  sloe." 
30 


From  that  daye  forthe,  that  ladye  fayre 
Lovde  Syr  Cauline  the  knighte ; 

From  that  daye  forthe,  he  only  joyde 
Whan  shee  was  in  hi&  sight. 

Yea,  and  oftentimes  they  mette 

Within  a  fayre  arboure. 
Where  they,  in  love  and  sweet  daliaunce, 

Past  manye  a  pleasaunt  hourc. 


THE   SECOND   PAET. 

EvERTE  white  will  have  its  blacke, 

And  everye  sweete  its  sowre : 
This  fouude  the  ladye  Christabelle 

In  an  untimely  howre. 

For  so  it  befelle,  as  Syr  Cauline 

Was  with  that  ladye  faire. 
The  kinge,  her  father,  walked  forthe 

To  take  the  evenyng  aire : 

And  into  the  arboure  as  he  went 

To  rest  his  wearye  feet. 
He  found  his  daughter  and  Syr  Cauline 

There  sette  in  daliaunce  sweet. 

The  kinge  hee  sterted  forthe,  i-wys. 

And  an  angrye  man  was  hee : 
"Nowe,  traytoure,  thou  shalt  hange  or  drawe. 

And  rewe  shaU  thy  ladie." 

Then  forthe  Syr  Cauline  he  was  leddo. 
And  throwne  in  dungeon  deepe ; 

And  the  ladye  into  a  towre  so  hye, 
There  left  to  wayle  and  waepe. 

The  queene  she  was  Syr  Cauline's  friend, 

And  to  the  kinge  sayd  shee : 
"  I  pray  you  save  Syr  Cauline's  life, 

And  let  him  banisht  bee." 

"  Now,  dame,  that  traytoure  sliall  be  sent 

Across  the  salt-sea  fome ; 
But  here  I  will  make  thee  a  band. 
If  ever  he  come  within  this  land, 

A  foulo  deathe  is  his  doome." 


202 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


All  woe-begouo  was  that  gentil  kuiglit 

To  parte  from  his  ladye ; 
And  many  a  time  he  sighed  sore, 

And  oast  a  ^vistfll^le  eye  : 
''  Fairo  Christabello,  from  thee  to  parte, 

Farre  lever  had  I  dye." 

Faire  Christabelle,  that  ladye  bright, 

"Was  had  forthe  of  the  towre  ; 
But  ever  shee  droopeth  in  her  minde, 
As  nipt  by  an  ungentle  winde 

Doth  some  faire  liley  flowre. 

And  ever  shee  doth  lament  and  weepe, 

To  tint  her  lover  soe: 
"  Syr  Cauline,  thou  little  think'st  on  mee, 

But  I  will  still  be  true." 

Manye  a  kinge,  and  manye  a  duke, 

And  lorde  of  high  degree, 
Did  sue  to  that  fayre  ladye  of  love ; 

But  never  siice  wolde  them  nee. 

When  manye  a  daye  was  past  and  gone, 

Xe  comforte  shee  colde  finde. 
The  kynge  proclaimed  a  tourneament. 

To  cheere  his  daughter's  mind. 

And  tliere  came  lords,  and  there  came  knights 

Fro  manye  a  farre  countrye, 
To  break  a  spere  for  theyr  ladye's  love, 

Before  that  faire  ladye. 

And  many  a  ladye  there  was  sette. 

In  purple  and  in  palle  ; 
But  faire  Christabelle,  soe  woe-begone, 

Was  the  fayrest  of  them  all. 

Then  manye  a  knighte  was  mickle  of  might. 

Before  his  ladye  gaye  ; 
But  a  stranger  wight,  whom  no  man  knewe, 

He  wan  the  prize  eche  daye. 

Ilis  acton  it  was  all  of  blacke. 

His  hewberke  and  his  sheelde ; 
Xe  noe  man  wist  whence  he  did  come, 
Ne  noe  man  knewe  where  he  did  gone, 

"When  they  came  out  the  feelde. 


And  now  three  days  were  prestlye  past 

In  feates  of  chivalrye, 
When  lo !  upon  the  fourth  morninge, 

A  sorrowfuUe  sight  they  see  : 

A  hugye  giaunt  stiffe  and  starke, 

All  foule  of  limbe  and  lere. 
Two  goggling  eyen,  like  fire  farden, 

A  mouthe  from  eare  to  eare. 

Before  him  came  a  dwarffe  fuU  lowe. 

That  waited  on  his  knee  ; 
And  at  his  backe  five  heads  he  bare, 

All  wan  and  pale  of  blee. 

"Sir,"  quoth  the  dwarffe,  and  louted  lowe, 

"Behold  that  hend  soldain! 
Behold  these  heads  I  beare  with  me ! 

They  are  kings  which  he  hath  slain. 

"The  Eldridge  knight  is  his  own  cousine. 

Whom  a  knight  of  thine  hath  shent ; 
And  hee  is  come  to  avenge  his  wrong : 
And  to  thee,  all  thy  knightes  among. 
Defiance  here  hath  sent. 

"  But  yette  he  will  appease  his  wrath, 

Thy  daughter's  love  to  winne ; 
And,  but  thou  yeelde  him  that  fayre  maid. 

Thy  halls  and  towers  must  brenne. 

"  Thy  head,  syr  king,  must  goe  with  mee, 

Or  else  thy  daughter  dere  ; 
Or  else  within  these  lists  soe  broad, 

Thou  must  finde  him  a  peere." 

The  kinge  he  turned  him  round  aboute, 

And  in  his  heart  was  woe  : 
"Is  there  never  a  knighte  of  my  round  table 

This  matter  will  undergoe  ? 

"  Is  there  never  a  knighte  amongst  yee  all 
Will  fight  for  my  daughter  and  mee  ? 

Whoever  will  fight  yon  grimme  soldan. 
Eight  fair  his  meede  shall  bee. 

"For  hee  shall  have  my  broad  lay -lands, 

And  of  my  crowne  be  heyre  ; 
And  he  shall  winne  fayre  Christabelle 

To  be  his  wedded  fere." 


SIR    CAULINE. 


203 


But  every  kniglite  of  his  round  table 

Did  stand  both  still  and  pale  ; 
For,  whenever  they  lookt  on  the  grim  soldan, 

It  made  their  hearts  to  quail. 

All  woe-begone  was  that  fayre  ladye, 
"When  she  sawe  no  helpe  was  nye : 

She  cast  her  thought  on  her  owne  true-love, 
And  the  teares  gusht  from  her  eye. 

Up  then  sterte  the  stranger  knighte, 

Sard,  "  Ladye,  be  not  affrayd ; 
He  fight  for  thee  with  this  grimme  soldan, 

Thoughe  he  he  unmacklye  made. 

"And  if  thou  wilt  lend  me   the  Eldridge 
sworde, 

That  lyeth  within  thy  bowre, 
I  truste  in  Christe  for  to  slay  this  fiende, 

Thoughe  ho  be  stifle  in  stowre." 

"  Goe  fetch  him  downe  the  Eldridge  sworde," 
The  kinge  he  cryde,  "  with  speede : 

IvTowe,  heaven  assist  thee,  courteous  knighte ; 
My  daughter  is  thy  nieede." 

The  gyaunt  he  stepped  into  the  lists, 

And  sayd,  "  Awaye,  awaye  ! 
I  sweare,  as  I  am  the  hend  soldan. 

Thou  lettest  me  here  all  daye." 

Then  forthe  the  stranger  knight  he  came. 

In  his  blacke  armoure  dight ; 
The  ladye  sighed  a  gentle  sighe, 

"That  this  were  my  true  knighte  !  " 

And  nowe  the  gyaunt  and  knight  bo  mett 

Within  the  lists  soe  broad  ; 
And  now,  with  swordes  soe  sharpe  of  Steele, 

They  gan  to  lay  on  load. 

The  soldan  strucke  the  knighte  a  stroke 

That  made  hiin  reele  asyde  ; 
Then  woe-begone  was  that  fayre  ladye, 

And  thrice  she  deeply  sighde. 

The  soldan  strucke  a  second  stroke, 
And  made  the  bloude  to  flowe  ; 

All  pale  and  wan  was  that  ladye  fayre, 
And  thrice  she  Avept  for  woe. 


The  soldan  strucke  a  third  fell  stroke, 
"Which  brought  the  knighte  on  his  knee ; 

Sad  sorrow  pierced  that  ladyes  heart. 
And  she  shriekt  loud  shriekings  three. 

The  knighte  he  leapt  upon  his  feete, 

All  recklesse  of  the  pain  ; 
Quoth  hee,  "  But  heaven  be  now  my  speede, 

Or  else  I  shall  be  slaine." 

He  grasped  his  sworde  with  mayne  and  mighte, 

And  spying  a  secrette  part. 
He  drave  it  into  the  soldan 's  syde. 

And  pierced  him  to  the  heart. 

Then  all  the  people  gave  a  shoute. 
Whan  they  sawe  the  soldan  falle  ; 

The  ladye  wept,  and  thanked  Christ 
That  had  reskewed  her  from  thrall. 

And  nowe  the  kinge,  with  all  his  barons, 

Kose  uppe  from  oife  his  seate. 
And  downe  he  stepped  into  the  listes 

That  curteous  knighte  to  greete. 

But  he,  for  payne  and  lacke  of  bloude. 

Was  fallen  into  a  swounde, 
And  there,  all  walteringe  in  his  gore, 

Lay  lifelesse  on  the  grounde. 

"Come  downe,  come  downe,  my  daiightei 
deare. 

Thou  art  a  leeche  of  skille ; 
Farre  lever  had  I  lose  halfe  my  landes 

Than  this  good  knighte  sholde  spille." 

Downe  then  steppeth  that  fayre  ladye. 

To  helpe  him  if  she  maye ; 
But  when  she  did  his  beavere  raise, 
"It  is  my  life,  my  lord !  "  she  sayes, 

And  shriekte  and  swound  awaye. 


Sir  Cauline  juste  lifte  up  his  eyes, 
When  he  heard  his  ladye  crye  : 

"  O  ladye,  I  am  thine  owne  true  love  ; 
For  thee  I  wisht  to  dye." 

Then  giving  her  one  partinge  looke, 
He  closed  his  eyes  in  death, 

Ere  Christabelle,  that  ladye  milde, 
Begane  to  drawc  her  breathe. 


204                                                          rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 

liut  Avbou  she  found  her  comelye  knighte 

That  she  was  in.     Now  I  begin, 

Iiulood  was  dead  and  gone, 

So  that  ye  me  answcre ; 

She  laydo  her  pale,  cold  cheeke  to  his, 

Wherefore,  all  ye  that  present  be. 

And  thus  she  made  her  moane  : 

I  pray  yon,  give  an  ear. 

I  am  the  knight ;  I  come  by  night, 

"  Oh  stayo.  my  doaro  and  onlye  lord, 

As  secret  as  I  can  ; 

For  mee,  thy  faithfulle  fere  ; 

Saying,  "  Alas !  thus  standoth  the  case, 

'T  is  meet  that  I  shold  followe  thoe. 

I  am  a  banished  man." 

"V\'ho  hast  bought  my  love  so  dearc." 

snE. 
And  I  your  will  for  to  fulfil 

Tlien  fayntinge  in  a  deadlye  swoune, 

And  with  a  deep-fette  sighe 

In  this  will  not  refuse ; 

That  burst  her  gentle  heart  in  twayne, 

Trusting  to  shew,  in  wordes  few. 

Fay  re  Cliristabelle  did  dye. 

That  men  have  an  ill  use 

Anonymous. 

(To  their  own  shame)  women  to  blame, 

And  causeless  them  accuse : 
Therefore  to  you  I  answer  now. 

All  women  to  excuse — 

THE  NUT-BROWN  MAID. 

Mine  own  heart  dear,  with  you  ■what  chere? 

I  pray  you,  tell  anone ; 

Be  it  right,  or  wrong,  these  men  among 

For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind     ' 

On  women  do  complain  ; 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

Aflirming  this,  how  that  it  is 

A  labour  spent  in  vain 

HE. 

To  love  them  wele;  for  never  a  dele 

It  standeth  so ;  a  dede  is  do 

They  love  a  man  again : 

Whereof  great  harm  shall  grow : 

For  let  a  man  do  what  he  can. 

My  destiny  is  for  to  die 

Their  favour  to  attain. 

A  shameful  death,  I  trowe ; 

Yet,  if  a  new  do  them  pursue, 

Or  else  to  flee ;  the  one  must  be. 

Their  first  true  lover  then 

None  other  way  I  know. 

Laboureth  for  nought,  for  from  her  thought 

But  to  withdraw  as  an  outlaw. 

lie  is  a  banished  man. 

7 

And  take  me  to  my  bow. 

Wherefore,  adieu,  my  own  heart  true ! 

I  say  not  nay,  but  that  all  day 

None  other  rede  I  can ; 

It  is  both  writ  and  said 

For  I  must  to  the  green  wood  go. 

That  woman's  faith  is,  as  -who  saith, 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

All  utterly  decayed ; 

But,  nevertheless,  right  good  witness 

SHE. 

In  this  case  might  be  laid. 

0  Lord,  what  is  this  worldys  bliss, 

That  they  love  true,  and  continiie, 

1                                                                *j                      J 

That  changeth  as  the  moon ! 

Record  the  nut-brown  maid : 

My  summer's  day  in  lusty  May 

"Which,  when  her  love  came,  her  to  prove, 

Is  darked  before  the  noon. 

To  her  to  make  his  moan, 

I  hear  you  say  farewell :    nay,  nay, 

Would  not  depart ;   for  in  her  heart 

We  depart  not  so  soon. 

She  loved  but  him  alone. 

Why  say  ye  so  ?     Wheder  will  ye  go  ? 

Alas !  what  have  ye  done  ? 

Then  between  us  let  us  discuss 

All  my  welfare  to  sorrow  and  care 

"What  was  all  the  manere 

Should  change,  if  ye  were  gone; 

Between  them  too :  we  will  also 

For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

Tell  all  the  pain  and  fere 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

THE    NUT-BROWX    MAID. 


205 


HE. 

I  can  believe,  it  shall  you  grieve, 

And  somewhat  you  distrain ; 
But  afterward  your  paines  hard 

Within  a  day  or  twain 
Shall  soon  aslake ;  and  ye  shall  take 

Comfort  to  you  again. 
Why  should  ye  ought?  for  to  make  thought. 

Your  labour  were  in  vain. 
And  thus  I  do  ;  and  pray  you  too. 

As  heartily  as  I  can  ; 
For  I  must  to  the  green  wood  go, 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

Now,  sith  that  ye  have  shewed  to  me 

The  secret  of  your  mind, 
I  shall  be  plain  to  you  again. 

Like  as  ye  shall  me  find. 
Sith  it  is  so,  that  ye  will  go, 

I  wolle  not  leave  behind ; 
Shall  never  be  said,  the  nut-brown  maid 

Was  to  her  love  unkind  : 
Make  you  ready,  for  so  am  I, 

Although  it  were  anone  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

Yet  I  you  rede  to  take  good  heed 

What  men  will  think  and  say  : 
Of  young  and  old  it  shall  be  told. 

That  ye  be  gone  away. 
Your  wanton  will  for  to  fulfil, 

In  green  wood  you  to  play ; 
And  that  ye  might  from  your  delight 

Xo  longer  make  delay. 
Rather  than  ye  should  thus  for  me 

Be  called  an  ill  woman. 
Yet  would  I  to  the  green  wood  go, 

iVlone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

Though  it  be  sung  of  old  and  young 

That  I  should  be  to  blame, 
Theirs  be  the  charge,  that  speak  so  large 

In  hurting  of  my  name  ; 
For  I  will  prove  that  faithful  love 

It  is  devoid  of  shame  ,- 
(n  your  distress  and  heaviness 

To  part  with  you,  the  same ; 


And  sure  all  tho  that  do  not  so. 

True  lovers  are  they  none ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

KE. 

I  counsel  you,  remember  how 

It  i§  no  maiden's  law, 
Nothing  to  doubt,  but  to  renne  out 

To  wood  with  an  outlaw  : 
For  ye  must  there  in  your  hand  bear 

A  bow,  ready  to  draw ; 
And,  as  a  thief,  thus  must  you  live. 

Ever  in  dread  and  awe ; 
Whereby  to  you  great  harm  might  grow : 

Yet  had  I  lever  than. 
That  I  had  to  the  green  wood  go. 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

I  think  not  nay,  but  as  ye  say. 

It  is  no  maiden's  lore ; 
But  love  may  make  me  for  your  sake, 

As  I  have  said  before. 
To  come  on  foot,  to  hunt,  and  shoot 

To  get  us  meat  in  store  ; 
For  so  that  I  your  company 

May  have,  I  ask  no  more : 
From  which  to  part,  it  maketh  my  heart 

As  cold  as  any  stone ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

For  an  outlaw  this  is  the  law, 

That  men  him  take  and  bind ; 
Without  pity  hanged  to  be. 

And  waver  with  the  wind. 
If  I  had  nede,  (as  God  forbede !} 

What  rescue  could  ye  find  ? 
Forsooth,  I  trow,  ye  and  your  bow 

For  fear  would  draw  behind  ; 
And  no  mervayle :  for  little  avail 

Were  in  your  counsel  then ; 
Wherefore  I  will  to  the  green  wood  go, 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

Eight  well  know  ye  that  women  be 

But  feeble  for  to  fight ; 
No  womanhede  it  is  indeed 

To  be  bold  as  a  knight ; 


206 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Yot  in  such  fear  if  that  ye  were 

"With  enemies  day  or  night, 
I  would  withstand,  with  bow  in  hand. 

To  greve  them  as  I  might. 
And  you  to  save;  as  women  have 

From  death  men  many  a  one ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  hut  you  alone. 

HE. 

Yet  take  good  hede ;  for  ever  I  drede 

That  ye  could  not  sustain 
The  thorny  ways,  the  deep  valleys. 

The  snow,  the  frost,  the  rain, 
The  cold,  the  heat :  for,  dry  or  wet, 

We  must  lodge  on  the  plain ; 
And,  us  above,  none  other  roof 

But  a  brake  bush,  or  twain ; 
Which  soon  should  grieve  you,  I  believe ; 

And  ye  would  gladly  then 
That  I  had  to  the  green  wood  go, 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

Sith  I  have  here  been  partynere 

With  you  of  joy  and  bliss, 
I  must  also  part  of  your  woe 

Endure,  as  reason  is  ; 
Yet  am  I  sure  of  one  pleasure ; 

And,  shortly,  it  is  this : 
That,  where  ye  be,  me  seemeth,  parde, 

I  coidd  not  fare  amiss. 
Without  more  speech,  I  you  beseech    " 

That  we  were  soon  agone  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

If  ye  go  thyder,  ye  must  consider, 

When  ye  have  lust  to  dine. 
There  shall  no  meat  be  for  you  gete, 

Nor  drink,  beer,  ale,  nor  wine. 
Xo  shetes  clean,  to  lie  between. 

Made  of  thread  and  twine ; 
None  other  house  but  leaves  and  boughs. 

To  cover  your  head  and  mine ; 
O  mine  heart  sweet,  this  evil  diete 

Should  make  you  pale  and  wan ; 
Wherefore  I  will  to  the  green  wood  go. 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 


SlIK. 

Among  the  wild  dere,  such  an  archero 

As  men  say  that  ye  be, 
ISTe  may  not  fail  of  good  vitayle. 

Where  is  so  great  plenty  : 
And  water  clear  of  the  ryvere 

Shall  be  full  sweet  to  me ; 
With  which  in  hele  I  shall  right  wele 

Endure,  as  ye  shall  see ; 
And,  or  we  go,  a  bed  or  two 

I  can  provide  anone  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

Lo !  yet,  before,  ye  must  do  more. 

If  ye  will  go  with  me: 
As  cut  your  hair  up  by  your  ear, 

Your  kirtle  by  the  knee  ; 
With  bow  in  hand  for  to  withstand 

Your  enemies,  if  need  be  ; 
And  this  same  night  before  day-light, 

To  wood-ward  will  I  flee. 
If  that  ye  will  all  this  fulfil, 

Do  it  shortly  as  ye  can ; 
Else  will  I  to  the  green  wood  go. 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

I  shall  as  now  do  more  for  you 

Than  'longeth  to  womanhede ; 
To  shorte  my  hair,  a  bow  to  bear, 

To  shoot  in  time  of  need. 
O  my  sweet  mother,  before  all  other 

For  you  I  have  most  drede  ; 
But  now,  adieu  !  I  must  ensue,    ' 

Where  fortune  doth  me  lead. 
All  this  make  ye :    now  let  us  flee ; 

The  day  cometh  fast  upon ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

Nay,  nay,  not  so  ;  ye  shall  not  go 

And  I  shall  tell  ye  why, • 

Your  appetite  is  to  be  light 

Of  love,  I  wele  aspy : 
For,  like  as  ye  have  said  to  me. 

In  like  wise  hardely 
Ye  would  answere  whosoever  it  were. 

In  way  of  company. 


THE    XUT-BROWN    MAID. 


201 


It  is  said  of  old,  Soon  iiot,  soon  cold ; 

And  so  is  a  woman  ; 
"Wherefore  I  to  the  wood  will  go 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

If  ye  take  heed,  it  is  no  need 

Such  words  to  say  by  me ; 
For  oft  ye  prayed,  and  long  assayed, 

Or  I  you  loved,  parde  ; 
And  though  that  I  of  ancestry 

A  baron's  daughter  be. 
Yet  have  you  proved  how  I  you  loved 

A  squire  of  low  degree  ; 
And  ever  shall,  whatso  befall ; 

To  die  therefore  anone  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

A  baron's  child  to  be  beguiled  ! 

It  were  a  cursed  dede  ; 
To  be  felawe  with  an  outlawe  ! 

Almighty  God  forbede ! 
Yet  better  were,  the  poor  squyere 

Alone  to  forest  yede. 
Than  ye  should  say  another  day. 

That,  by  my  cursed  dede, 
Ye  were  betrayed  ;  wherefore,  good  maid, 

The  best  rede  that  I  can, 
Is,  that  I  to  the  green  wood  go, 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

Whatever  befall,  I  never  shall 

Of  this  thing  you  upbraid  ; 
But  if  ye  go,  and  leave  me  so. 

Then  have  ye  me  betrayed. 
Eemember  you  wele,  how  that  ye  dele ; 

For  if  ye,  as  ye  said. 
Be  so  unkind,  to  leave  behind. 

Your  love,  the  nut-brown  maid, 
Trust  me  truly,  that  I  shall  die 

Soon  after  ye  be  gone  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

If  that  ye  went,  ye  should  repent ; 

For  in  the  forest  now 
I  have  purvayed  me  of  a  maid, 

"Whom  I  love  more  than  you ; 


Another, fayrere  than  ever  ye  were, 

I  dare  it  wele  avow  ; 
And  of  you  both  each  should  be  wroth 

"With  other,  as  I  trow : 
It  were  mine  ease  to  live  in  peace ; 

So  will  I,  if  I  can ; 
"Wherefore  I  to  the  wood  will  go, 

Alone,  a  banished  man. 

SHE. 

Though  in  the  wood  I  understood 

Ye  had  a  paramour. 
All  this  may  nought  remove  my  1  bought, 

But  that  I  win  be  your  : 
And  she  shall  finde  me  soft  and  kind, 

And  courteys  every  hour ; 
Glad  to  fulfil  all  that  she  will 

Command  me  to  my  power : 
For  had  ye,  lo !  an  hundred  mo, 

Of  them  I  would  be  one  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

HE. 

Mine  own  dear  love,  I  see  the  proof 

That  ye  be  kind  and  true  ; 
Of  maid,  and  wife,  in  all  my  life, 

The  best  that  ever  I  knew. 
Be  merry  and  glad,  be  no  more  sad. 

The  case  is  changed  new ; 
For  it  were  ruth,  that,  for  your  truth, 

Ye  should  have  cause  to  rue. 
Be  not  dismayed,  Avhatsoever  I  said 

To  you,  when  I  began ; 
I  will  not  to  the  green  wood  go, 

I  am  no  banished  man. 

SHE. 

These  tidings  be  more  glad  to  me. 

Than  to  be  made  a  queen. 
If  I  were  sure  they  should  endure  : 

But  it  is  often  seen, 
"When  men  will  break  promise,  they  speals 

The  wordes  on  the  splene. 
Ye  shape  some  wile  me  to  beguile, 

And  steal  from  me,  I  ween  ; 
Then  were  the  case  worse  than  it  was, 

And  I  more  wo-begonc  ; 
For,  in  my  mind,  of  all  mankind 

I  love  but  you  alone. 


208 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


HE. 

Ye  shall  not  iiede  further  to  drcde  ; 

I  will  not  disparage 
You,  (God  defend!)  sith  ye  descend 

Of  so  great  a  lineage. 
Kow  \inderstaiid ;  to  Westmoreland, 

"Which  is  mine  heritage, 
I  will  you  bring;  and  with  a  ring, 

By  way  of  marriage 
I  will  you  take,  and  lady  make, 

As  shortly  as  I  can  : 
Thus  have  you  won  an  erly's  son, 

And  not  a  banished  man. 

AUTnOE, 

Here  may  ye  see,  that  women  be 

In  love,  meek,  kind,  and  stable  ; 
Let  never  man  reprove  them  then. 

Or  call  them  variable  ; 
But  rather  pray  God  that  we  may 

To  them  be  comfortable  ; 
\Yliich  sometime  proveth  such,  as  he  loveth. 

If  they  be  charitable. 
For  sith  men  would  that  women  should 

Be  meek  to  them  each  one; 
Much  more  ouglit  they  to  God  obey, 

And  serve  but  him  alone. 

Anonymous. 


YOUXG  BEICHAN  AK^D  SUSIE  PYE. 

Ix  London  was  young  Beichan  born. 
He  longed  strange  countries  for  to  see  ; 

But  he  was  taen  by  a  savage  Moor, 
"Who  handled  him  right  cruellie ; 

For  he  viewed  the  fashions  of  that  land : 
Their  way  of  worship  viewed  he  ; 

But  to  Mahound,  or  Termagant, 
"^'ould  Beichan  never  bend  a  knee. 

So  in  every  shoulder  they've  putten  a  bore ; 

In  every  bore  they  've  putten  a  tree  ; 
And  they  have  made  him  trail  the  wine 

And  spices  on  his  fair  bodie. 

They  've  casten  him  in  a  dungeon  deep, 
"Where  he  could  neither  hear  nor  see ; 

For  seven  years  they  kept  him  there, 
Till  he  for  liunger's  like  to  die. 


This  Moor  he  had  but  ae  daughter, 
Her  name  was  called  Susie  Pye; 

And  every  day  as  she  took  the  air, 
Near  Beichan's  prison  she  passed  by. 

Oh  so  it  fell,  upon  a  day 

She  heard  young  Beichan  sadly  sing  ; 
"My  hounds  they  all  go  masterless  ; 

My  hawks  they  flee  from  tree  to  tree ; 
My  younger  brother  will  heir  my  land ; 

Fair  England  again  I  '11  never  see ! " 

All  night  long  no  rest  she  got, 
Young  Beichan's  song  for  thinking  on  ; 

She's  stown  the  keys  from  her  father's  head, 
And  to  the  prison  strong  is  gone. 

And  she  has  opened  the  prison  doors, 

I  w^ot  she  opened  two  or  three. 
Ere  she  could  come  young  Beichan  at, 

He  w^as  locked  up  so  curiouslie. 

But  when  she  came  young  Beichan  before, 
Sore  wondered  he  that  may  to  see  ; 

He  took  her  for  some  fair  captive  ; — 
"Fair  Lady,  I  pray,  of  what  countrie?" 

"  Oh  have  ye  any  lands,"  she  said, 
"  Or  castles  in  your  own  countrie, 

That  ye  could  give  to  a  lady  fair, 

From  prison  strong  to  set  you  free  ? " 

"!N"ear  London  town  I  have  a  hall. 
With  other  castles  two  or  three  ; 
r  11  give  them  all  to  the  lady  fair 
■  That  out  of  prison  will  set  me  free." 

"  Give  me  the  truth  of  your  right  hand. 

The  truth  of  it  give  unto  me, 
That  for  seven  years  ye  '11  no  lady  wed, 

Unless  it  be  along  with  me." 

"  I  '11  give  thee  the  truth  of  my  right  hand. 

The  truth  of  it  I  '11  freely  gie, 
That  for  seven  years  I  '11  stay  unwed. 

For  the  kindness  thou  dost  show  to  me." 

And  she  has  bribed  the  proud  warder 
Wi'  mickle  gold  and  white  monie  ; 

She 's  gotten  the  keys  of  the  prison  strong. 
And  she  has  set  young  Beichan  free. 


YOUNG    BEICHAX    AXD    SUSIE    PYE. 


-202 


She 's  gi'en  him  to  eat  the  good  spice-cake, 
She 's  gi'en  him  to  drink  the  blood-red  wine ; 

She 's  bidden  him  sometimes  think  on  her 
That  sae  kindly  freed  him  out  of  pine. 

She 's  broken  a  ring  from  her  finger, 
And  to  Beichan  half  of  it  gave  she  : 

"  Keep  it,  to  mind  you  of  that  love 
The  lady  borr  that  set  you  free. 

"  And  set  your  foot  on  good  ship-board. 
And  haste  ye  back  to  your  own  countrie ; 

And  before  that  seven  years  have  an  end, 
Come  back  again,  love,  and  marry  me." 

But  long  ere  seven  years  had  an  end, 
She  longed  full  sore  her  love  to  see  ; 

For  ever  a  voice  within  her  breast 

Said,  "  Beichan  has  broke  his  vow  to  tliee." 

So  she 's  set  her  foot  on  good  ship-board. 
And  turned  her  back  on  her  own  countrie. 

She  sailed  east,  she  sailed  west, 

TUl  to  fair  England's  shore  she  came ; 

Where  a  bonny  shepherd  she  espied. 
Feeding  his  sheep  upon  the  plain. 

"  What  news,  what  news,  thou  bonny  shep- 
herd? 

What  news  has  thou  to  tell  to  me  ? " 
"Such  news  I  hear,  ladie,"  he  says, 

"The  like  was  never  in  this  countrie. 

"  Tliere  is  a  wedding  in  yonder  hall. 
Has  lasted  these  thirty  days  and  three ; 

Young  Beichan  will  not  bed  with  his  bride, 
For  love  of  one  that 's  yond  the  sea." 

She 's  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket, 
Gi'en  him  the  gold  and  white  monie  ; 

"  Ilere,  take  ye  that,  my  bonny  boy. 
For  the  good  news  thou  tell'st  to  me." 

When  she  came  to  young  Beichan's  gate. 

She  tirled  softly  at  the  pin ; 
So  ready  was  the  proud  porter 

To  open  and  let  this  lady  in. 

"Is  this  young  Beichan's  liall,"  she  said, 
"  Or  is  that  noble  lord  within  ? " 

"Yea,  he's  in  the  hall  among  them  all. 
And  this  is  the  dav  o'  liis  weddin." 
"31 


"  And  has  he  wed  anither  love  ? 

And  has  he  clean  forgotten  me  ? " 
And,  sighin',  said  that  gay  ladle, 

"I  wish  I  were  in  my  own  countrie." 

And  she  has  taen  her  gay  gold  ring. 
That  with  her  love  she  brake  so  free  ; 

Says,  "Gie  him  that,  ye  proud  porter. 
And  bid  the  bridegroom  speak  to  me." 

W^hen  the  porter  came  his  lord  before, 
He  kneeled  down  low  on  his  knee — 

""What  aileth  thee,  my  proud  porter. 
Thou  art  so  full  of  courtesie  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  poi'ter  at  your  gates. 
It 's  thii-ty  long  years  now  and  three ; 

But  there  stands  a  hxdy  at  thena  now. 
The  like  o'  her  did  I  never  see  ; 

"  For  on  every  finger  she  has  a  ring. 
And  on  her  mid  finger  she  has  three  ; 

And  as  meickle  gold  aboon  her  brow 
As  would  buy  an  eaiddom  to  me." 

Its  out  then  spak  the  bride's  mother, 
Aye  and  an  angry  woman  was  shee ; 

"Ye  might  have  excepted  our  bonny  bride, 
And  twa  or  three  of  our  companie." 

"Oh  hold  your  tongue,  thou  bride's  mother; 

Of  all  your  folly  let  me  be  ; 
She's  ten  times  fairer  nor  the  bride, 

And  all  that 's  in  your  companie. 

"  She  begs  one  sheave  of  your  wliite  bread, 
But  and  a  cup  of  your  red  wine  ; 

And  to  remember  the  lady's  love. 
That  last  relieved  you  out  of  pine." 

"  Oh  well-a-day  !  "  said  Beichan  then, 
"  That  I  so  soon  have  married  thee  !     ^ 

For  it  can  be  none  but  Susie  Pye, 
That  sailed  the  sea  for  love  of  me." 

And  quickly  hied  he  down  tlie  stair ; 

Of  fifteen  steps  he  made  but  three  ; 
He's  ta'en  his  bonny  love  in  his  arms, 

And  kist,  and  kist  lier  tenderlie. 


210 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"Oh  hao  yo  ta'oii  aiiithor  bride? 

And  liae  ye  quite  forgotten  me  ? 
And  hae  ye  quite  forgotten  her, 

That  gave  you  life  and  libertie  ? " 

She  looked  o'er  her  left  shoulder, 
To  hide  the  tears  stood  in  her  e'e  : 

'^Xow  fare  thee  well,  young  Beichan,"  she 
says, 
"I'll  try  to  think  no  more  on  thee." 

"  O  never,  never,  Susie  Pye, 

For  surely  this  can  never  be ; 
Kor  ever  shall  I  wed  but  her 

That's  done  and  dree'd  so  much  for  me." 

Then  out  and  spak  the  forenoon  bride — 
"  My  lord,  your  love  it  changeth  soon  ; 

This  morning  I  was  made  your  bride. 
And  another  chose  ere  it  be  noon." 

"  Oh  hold  thy  tongue,  thou  forenoon  bride  ; 

Ye 're  ne'er  a  whit  the  worse  for  me  ; 
And  whan  ye  return  to  your  own  countrie, 

A  double  dower  I'll  send  with  thee." 

!Ie"s  taen  Susie  Pye  by  the  white  hand. 
And  gently  led  her  up  and  down ; 

And  ay,  as  he  kist  her  red  rosy  lips, 
"Ye 're  welcome,  jewel,  to  your  own." 

He 's  taen  her  by  the  milk-white  hand. 
And  led  her  to  yon  fountain  stane  ; 

lie 's  changed  her  name  from  Susie  Pye, 

And  he 's  called  her  his  bonny  love.  Lady 

Jane. 

Anonymous. 


LOED  LOVEL. 

1.0  RD  Lovel  he  stood  at  his  castle  gate, 

Combing  his  milk-white  steed ; 
When  up  came  Lady  ISTancy  Belle, 

To  wish  her  lover  good  speed,  speed. 

To  wish  her  lover  good  speed. 

•'Where  are  you  going.  Lord  Lovel?"  she 
said, 

'■  Oh  !  where  are  you  going  ? "  said  she  ; 
"  I  'ni  going  my  Lady  Nancy  Belle, 

Strange  countries  for  to  see,  to  see. 

Strange  coimtries  for  to  see." 


"  When  will  you  be  back.  Lord  Lovel? "  said 
she ; 

"  O !  when  will  you  come  back  ? "  said  she ; 
"  In  a  year  or  two — or  three,  at  the  most, 

I  '11  return  to  my  fair  Nancy-cy, 

I  '11  return  to  my  fair  Nancy." 

Bat  he  had  not  been  gone  a  year  and  a  day, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see, 

When  languishing  thoughts   came   into  lils 
head. 
Lady  Nancy  Belle  he  would  go  see,  see. 
Lady  Nancy  Belle  he  would  go  see. 

So  he  rode,  and  he  rode  on  his  milk-white 
steed. 
Till  he  came  to  London  town. 

And  there  he  heard  St.  Pancras'  bells, 

And  the  people  all  mourning,  round,  round. 
And  the  people  all  mourning  round. 

"  Oh,  what  is  the  matter,"  Lord  Lovel  he  said, 
"  Oh !  what  is  the  matter  ? "  said  he ; 

"A  lord's  lady  is  dead,"  a  woman  replied, 
"  And  some  call  her  Lady  Nancy-cy, 
And  some  call  her  Lady  Nancy." 

So  he  ordered  the  grave  to  be  opened  wide, 
And  the  shroud  he  turned  down. 

And  there  he  kissed  her  clay-cold  lips, 
Till  the  tears  came  trickling  down,  down, 
Till  the  tears  came  trickling  down. 

Lady  Nancy  she  died  as  it  might  be  to-day. 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  as  to-morrow  ; 

Lady  Nancy  she  died  out  of  pure,  pure  grief, 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  out  of  sorrow,  sorrow, 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  out  of  sorrow. 

Lady  Nancy  was  laid  in  St.  Pancras'  church, 
Lord  Lovel  was  laid  in  the  choir  ; 

And  out  of  her  bosom  there  grew  a  red  rose. 
And  out  of  her  lover's  a  brier,  brier. 
And  out  of  her  lover's  a  brier. 

They  grew,   and  they  grew,  to  the  church 
steeple  top, 

And  then  they  could  grow  no  higher : 
So  there  they  entwined  in  a  true-lover's  knot. 

For  all  lovers  true  to  adraire-mire. 

For  all  lovers  true  to  admire. 

Ajjontmous. 


KOBIX    HOOD    AND    ALLEX-A-D ALE. 


211 


EOBm  HOOD  A¥D  ALLEI^-A-DALE. 

Come  listen  to  me,  you  gallants  so  free, 
All  you  that  love  mirtli  for  to  hear, 

And  I  will  tell  you  of  a  bold  outlaw, 
That  lived  in  Nottinghamshire. 

As  Eobin  ITood  in  the  forest  stood. 
All  under  the  greenwood  tree, 

There  he  was  aware  of  a  brave  young  man. 
As  fine  as  fine  might  be. 

The  youngster  was  clad  in  scarlet  red, 

In  scarlet  fine  and  gay ; 
And  he  did  frisk  it  over  the  plain. 

And  chaunted  a  roundelay. 

As  Eobin  Hood  next  morning  stood 

Amongst  the  leaves  so  gay. 
There  did  he  espy  the  same  young  man 

Come  drooping  along  the  way. 

The  scarlet  he  wore  the  day  before 

It  was  clean  cast  away ; 
And  at  every  step  he  fetched  a  sigh, 

"Alas !  and  a  well-a-day ! " 

Tlien  stepped  forth  brave  Little  John, 

And  Midge,  the  miller's  son ; 
Which  made  the  young  man  bend  his  bow, 

When  as  he  see  them  come. 

"  Stand  off !  stand  off!  "  the  young  man  said, 
"  What  is  your  will  with  me  ? " 

"  You  must  come  before  our  master  straight. 
Under  yon  greenwood  tree." 

And  when  he  came  bold  Eobin  before, 
Eobin  asked  him  courteously, 

"O,  hast  thou  any  money  to  spare, 
For  my  merry  men  and  me  ? " 

"I  have  no  money,"  the  young  man  said, 
"  But  five  shillings  and  a  ring ; 

And  that  I  have  kept  this  seven  long  years, 
To  have  at  my  wedding. 


"Yesterday  I  should  have  married  a  maid, 

But  she  was  from  me  ta'en, 
And  chosen  to  be  an  old  knight's  delight. 

Whereby  my  poor  heart  is  slain." 

"  What  is  thy  name  ? "  then  said  Eobin  Hood, 
"  Come  tell  me,  without  any  fail." 

"  By  the  faith  of  my  body,"  then  said  the 
young  man, 
"My  name  it  is  AIlen-a-Dale." 

"What  wilt  thou  give  me,"  said  Eobin  Hood, 

"  In  ready  gold  or  fee. 
To  help  thee  to  thy  true  love  again. 

And  deliver  her  unto  thee?  " 

"I  have  no  money,"  then  quoth  the  young 
man, 

No  ready  gold  nor  fee. 
But  I  wiU  swear  upon  a  book 

Thy  true  servant  for  to  be." 

"How  many  miles  is  it  to  thy  ti'ue  love? 

Come  tell  me  without  guile." 
"  By  the  faith  of  my  body,"  then  said  the 
young  man, 

"  It  is  but  five  little  mile." 

Then  Eobin  he  hasted  over  the  plain; 

He  did  neither  stint  nor  lin. 
Until  he  came  unto  the  church 

Where  Allen  should  keep  his  weddin'. 

"What  hast  thou  here? "  the  bishop  then  said; 

"  I  prithee  now  tell  unto  me." 
"  I  am  a  bold  harper,"  quoth  Eobin  Hood, 

"And  the  best  in  the  north  country," 

"  Oil  welcome,  oh  welcome,"  the  bishop  he 
said  ; 

"  That  music  best  pleaseth  me." 
"  You  shall  have  no  music,"  quoth  Eobin  Hood, 

"  Till  the  bride  and  bridegroom  I  see." 

With  that  came  in  a  wealthy  knight. 
Which  was  both  grave  and  old ; 

And  after  him  a  finikin  lass. 

Did  shine  like  the  glistering  gold. 


212 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"This  is  uot  a  fit  match,"  quoth  Eobiu  IIooil, 
"  That  you  do  seem  to  make  liere  ; 

For  since  Ave  are  couio  into  the  church, 
The  bride  shall  chuse  her  own  dear." 

Tlien  Robin  Hood  put  his  horn  to  his  mouth, 
And  blew  blasts  two  or  three  ; 

AVhen  four-aud-twenty  yeomen  bold 
Came  leaping  over  the  lea. 

And  when  they  came  into  the  chureli-yard, 

Marching  all  in  a  row, 
The  first  man  was  iUlen-a-Dale, 

To  give  bold  Robin  his  bow. 

"  This  is  thy  true  love,"  Robin  he  said, 
"  Young  Allen,  as  I  hear  say ; 

And  you  shall  be  married  this  same  time, 
Before  we  depart  away." 

"  That  shall  not  be,"  the  bishop  he  cried, 
"  For  thy  word  shall  not  stand ; 

They  shall  be  three  times  asked  in  the  church, 
As  the  law  is  of  our  land." 

Robin  Hood  pulled  off  the  bishop's  coat. 

And  put  it  upon  Little  John  ; 
'■  By  the  faith  of  my  body,"  then  Robin  said, 

"  This  cloth  doth  make  thee  a  man." 

When  Little  John  went  into  the  quire. 

The  people  began  to  laugh  ; 
He  asked  them  seven  times  into  church. 

Lest  three  times  should  not  be  enough. 

"  Who  gives  me  this  maid? "  said  Little  John, 
Quoth  Robin  Hood,  "  Tliat  do  I ; 

And  he  that  takes  her  from  Allen-a-Dale, 
Full  dearly  he  shall  her  buy." 

And  then  having  ended  this  merry  wedding. 

The  bride  looked  like  a  queen  ; 
And  so  they  returned  to  the  merry  green 
wood. 
Amongst  the  leaves  so  green. 

Anonymous. 


TRUTH'S  INTEGRITY. 

FIRST   PAET. 

Over  the  mountains 

And  under  the  Avaves, 
Over  the  fountains 

And  under  the  graves. 
Under  floods  which  are  deepest, 

Which  do  jSTeptune  obey. 
Over  rocks  which  are  steepest, 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Where  there  is  no  place 

For  the  glow-worm  to  lie. 
Where  there  is  no  place 

For  receipt  of  a  fly. 
Where  the  gnat  dares  not  venture, 

Lest  herself  fast  she  lay. 
But  if  Love  come  he  will  enter, 

And  find  out  the  way. 

You  may  esteem  him 

A  child  of  his  force, 
Or  you  may  deem  him 

A  coward,  which  is  worse  ; 
But  if  he  whom  Love  doth  honor 

Be  concealed  from  the  day. 
Set  a  thousand  guards  upon  him — 

Love  will  find  out  the  Avay. 

Some  think  to  lose  him, 

Which  is  too  unkind ; 
And  some  do  suppose  him. 

Poor  heart,  to  be  blind ; 
But  if  he  were  hidden. 

Do  the  best  you  may, 
Blind  Love,  if  you  so  call  him, 

Will  find  out  the  way. 

Well  may  the  eagle 

Stoop  down  to  the  fist. 
Or  you  may  inveigle 

The  phcenix  of  the  east ; 
With  fear  tlie  tiger 's  moved 

To  give  over  their  prey  ; 
But  never  stop  a  lover — 

He  will  find  out  the  wav. 


THE  FRIAR  OF  ORDERS  GRAY. 


213 


From  Dover  to  Berwick, 

And  nations  thereabout, 
Brave  Guy,  earl  of  Warwick, 

That  champion  so  stout, 
With  his  warlike  behavior, 

Through  the  world  he  did  stray, 
To  win  his  Phillis's  favor — ■ 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

In  order  next  enters 

Bevis  so  brave. 
After  adventures 

And  policy  brave. 
To  see  whom  he  desired, 

His  Josian  so  gay, 
For  whom  his  heart  was  fired — 

Love  "svill  find  out  the  way. 


SECO^^)   PART. 

The  Gordian  knot 

Which  true  lovers  knit, 
Undo  it  you  cannot, 

Nor  yet  break  it ; 
Make  use  of  your  inventions, 

Their  fancies  to  betray, 
To  frustrate  their  intentions — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

From  court  to  the  cottage, 

In  bower  and  in  hall. 
From  the  king  unto  the  beggar. 

Love  conquers  all. 
Though  ne'er  so  stout  and  lordly. 

Strive  or  do  what  you  may, 
Yet  be  you  ne'er  so  hardy, 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Love  hath  poAver  over  princes. 

And  greatest  emperors ; 
In  any  provinces. 

Such  is  Love's  power 
There  is  no  resisting, 

But  him  to  obey  ; 
In  spite  of  all  contesting, 

Love  will  find  out  the  w\ay. 

If  that  he  were  hidden. 

And  all  men  that  are 
Were  strictly  forbidden 

That  place  to  declare, 


Winds  that  have  no  abidings. 

Pitying  their  delay. 
Would  come  and  bring  him  tidings. 

And  direct  him  the  way. 

If  the  earth  should  part  him, 

He  would  gallop  it  o'er  ; 
If  the  seas  should  o'erthwart  him, 

He  would  swim  to  the  shore. 
Should  his  love  become  a  swallow, 

Through  the  air  to  stray, 
Love  will  lend  wings  to  follow. 

And  will  find  out  the  way. 

There  is  no  striving 

To  cross  his  intent, 
There  is  no  contriving 

His  plots  to  prevent ; 
But  if  once  the  message  greet  him, 

That  his  true  love  doth  stay, 
If  death  should  come  and  meet  him, 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

AiJONTMOirs. 


THE  FEIAR  OF  ORDERS  GRAY. 

It  was  a  friar  of  orders  gray 
Walked  forth  to  tell  his  beads ; 

And  he  met  with  a  lady  fair 
Clad  in  a  pilgrim's  weeds. 

"  Now  Christ  thee  save,  thou  reverend  friar ; 

I  pray  thee  tell  to  me. 
If  ever  at  yon  holy  shrine 

My  true-love  thou  didst  see." 

"  And  how  should  I  know  your  true-love 

From  many  another  one  ? " 
"  O,  by  his  cockle  hat,  and  stafi", 

And  by  his  sandal  shoon. 

"  But  chiefly  by  his  face  and  mien. 

That  were  so  fair  to  view ; 
His  flaxen  locks  that  sweetly  curled. 

And  eyes  of  lovely  blue." 

"  0  lady,  he 's  dead  and  gone ! 

La-dy,  he 's  dead  and  gone ! 
And  at  his  head  a  green  grass  turf, 

And  at  liis  heels  a  stone. 


214 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"  WitluQ  tliese  holy  cloisters  long 

lie  Iftiiguislied,  aud  lie  died, 
Lamenting  of  a  lady's  love, 

And  'jilaining  of  licr  pride. 

"Here  bore  liim  barefaced  on  his  bier 

Six  proper  youths  and  tall, 
Aud  many  a  tear  bedewed  his  grave 

'Within  yon  kirk -yard  wall." 

''And  art  thou  dead,  thou  gentle  youth? 

And  art  thou  dead  and  gone  ? 
And  didst  thou  die  for  love  of  me  ? 

Break,  cruel  heart  of  stone  !  " 

"Oh  weep  not,  lady,  weep  not  so ; 

Some  ghostly  comfort  seek : 
Let  not  vain  sorrow  rive  thy  heart, 

Xor  tears  bedew  thy  cheek." 

"  Oh  do  not,  do  not,  holy  friar, 

My  sorrow  now  reprove ; 
For  I  have  lost  the  sweetest  youth 

That  e'er  won  lady's  love. 

"  And  now,  alas !  for  thy  sad  loss 
I  '11  evermore  Aveep  and  sigh : 

For  thee  I  only  wished  to  live, 
For  thee  I  wish  to  die." 

"  Weep  no  more,  lady,  weep  no  more, 

Thy  sorrow  is  in  vain  ; 
For  violets  plucked,  the  sweetest  showers 

"Will  ne'er  make  grow  again. 

"  Our  joys  as  winged  dreams  do  fly ; 

"Why  then  should  sorrow  last  ? 
Since  grief  but  aggravates  thy  loss, 

Grieve  not  for  what  is  past." 

*'  Oh  say  not  so,  tliou  holy  friar ; 

I  pray  thee,  say  not  so  ; 
For  since  my  true-love  died  for  me, 

'T  is  meet  my  tears  should  flow. 

"And  will  he  never  come  again? 

"Will  he  ne'er  come  again  ? 
Ah !  no,  he  is  dead  and  laid  in  his  grave  : 

For  ever  to  remain. 


"  His  cheek  was  redder  than  the  rose  ; 

The  comeliest  youth  was  he !    * 
But  he  is  dead  and  laid  in  his  grave : 

Alas,  and  woe  is  me !  " 

"Sigh  no  more,  lady,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever : 
One  foot  on  sea  and  one  on  land, 

To  one  thing  constant  never. 

"  Hadst  thou  been  fond,  he  had  been  false, 

And  left  thee  sad  and  heavy ; 
For  young  men  ever  were  fickle  found, 

Since  summer  trees  were  leafy." 

"Now  say  not  so,  thou  holy  friar, 

I  pray  thee  say  not  so ; 
My  love  he  had  the  truest  heart — 

Oh  he  was  ever  true  ! 

"  And  art  thou  dead,  thou  much-loved  youth 

And  didst  thou  die  for  me  ? 
Then  farewell  home  ;  for  evermore 

A  pilgrim  I  will  be. 

"  But  first  upon  my  true-love's  grave 

My  weary  limbs  I  '11  lay. 
And  thrice  I  *11  kiss  the  green-grass  turf 

That  wraps  his  breathless  clay." 

"  Yet  stay,  fair  lady  :  rest  awhile 

Beneath  this  cloister  wall ; 
See  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  cold 
wind, 

And  drizzly  rain  doth  fall." 

"  Oh  stay  me  not,  thou  holy  friar, 

Oh  stay  me  not,  I  pray ; 
No  drizzly  rain  that  falls  on  me, 

Can  wash  my  fault  away." 

"Yet  stay,  fair  lady,  turn  again. 

And  dry  those  pearly  tears ; 
For  see  beneath  this  gown  of  gray 

Thy  own  true-love  appears. 

"Here  forced  by  grief  and  hopeless  love, 

These  holy  weeds  I  sought ; 
And  here,  amid  these  lonely  walls, 

To  end  mv  davs  I  thou£rht. 


THE    SrAXISII    LADY'S    LOVE. 


>lf 


"  But  haply,  for  my  year  of  grace 

Is  not  yet  passed  away, 
Miglit  I  still  hope  to  win  thy  love, 

"So  longer  would  I  stay." 

"Now  farewell  grief,  and  welcome  joy 

Once  more  unto  my  heart ; 
For  since  I  have  found  thee,  lovely  youth, 

We  never  more  will  part." 

Thomas  Peecy. 


THE  SPANISH  LADY'S  LOA^E. 

Will  you  hear  a  Spanish  lady, 

How  she  wooed  an  English  man? 
Garments  gay,  as  rich  as  may  he, 
Decked  with  jewels,  had  she  on. 
Of    a  comely  countenance   and   grace   was 

she, 
And  by  birth  and  parentage  of  high  degree. 

As  his  prisoner  there  he  kept  her, 

In  his  hands  her  life  did  lye ; 
Cupid's  bands  did  tye  her  faster 
By  the  liking  of  an  ej^e. 
In  his  courteous  company  was  all  her  joy, 
To  favour  him  in  any  thing  she  was  not 
coy. 

At  the  last  there  came  commandment 

For  to  set  tlie  ladies  free. 
With  their  jewels  still  adorned, 
None  to  do  them  injury. 
"Alas! "  then  said  this  lady  gay,  "full  woe  is 

me; 
Oh  let  me  still  sustain  this  kind  captivity  1 

"O  gallant  captain,  shew  some  pity 

To  a  ladye  in  distresse ; 
Leave  me  not  Avithin  this  city. 
For  to  dye  in  heavinesse. 
Thou  hast  set  this  present  day  my  body 

free. 
But  my  heart  in  prison  strong  remains  with 
thee." 


"How  should 'st  thou,  fair  lady,  love  u)e. 
Whom  thou  know'st  thy  country's  foe? 
Thy  fair  wordes  make  me  suspect  thee: 
Serpents  are  where  flowers  grow." 
"  All  the  evil  I  think  to  thee,  most  gracious 

knight, 
God  grant  unto  myself  the  same  may  fully 
light. 

"Blessed  be  the  time  and  season. 

That  you  came  on  Spanish  ground ; 
If  you  may  our  foes  be  termed, 
Gentle  foes  we  have  you  found  : 
With  our  city,  you  have  won  our  hearts  each 

one; 
Then  to  your  country  bear  away  that  is  your 
own." 

"  Rest  you  still,  most  gallant  lady ; 

Rest  you  still,  and  weep  no  more ; 
Of  fair  lovers  there  are  plenty, 

Spain  doth  yield  a  wondrous  store." 
"Spaniards  fraught  with  jealousy  we  often 

find. 
But  Englishmen  throughout  the   world  arc 
counted  kind. 

"  Leave  me  not  unto  a  Spaniard, 

You  alone  enjoy  my  heart ; 
I  am  lovely,  young,  and  tender. 
And  so  love  is  my  desert. 
Still  to  serve  thee  day  and  night  my  mind  is 

prest; 
The  wife  of  every  Englishman  is  counted 
blest." 

"  It  would  be  a  shame,  fair  lady, 

For  to  bear  a  woman  hence  ; 
English  soldiers  never  carry 
Any  such  without  offence." 
"I  will  quickly  change  myself,  if  it  be  so. 
And  like  a  page  I'll  follow  thee,  where'er 
thou  go." 

"  I  have  neither  gold  nor  silver 
To  maintain  thee  in  this  case, 
And  to  travel,  'tis  great  charges. 
As  you  know,  in  every  place." 
"My  chains  and  jewels  everyone  shall  be 

thine  own, 
And  eke  ten  thousand  pounds  in   gold  that 
lies  unknown." 


21G 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"  Oa  the  seas  aro  many  clangers ; 

Many  storms  do  there  arise, 
Which  will  he  to  ladies  dreadful, 
And  force  tears  from  Avat'ry  eyes." 
•■  ^^'oll  iu  ■n'orth  I  could  eiuhire  extremity, 
For  I  could  liiul  in  heart  to  lose  my  life  for 
thee." 

"  Courteous  lad}',  he  contented ; 

Here  comes  all  that  hreeds  the  strife ; 
I  in  England  have  already 
A  sweet  woman  to  my  wife : 
I  will  not  falsitie  my  vow  for  gold  or  gain, 
Xor  yet  for  all  the  fairest  dames  that  live  in 
Si)ain." 

"  Oh  how  ]iappy  is  that  woman 
That  enjoys  so  true  a  friend! 
^fany  days  of  joy  God  send  you ! 
Of  ray  suit  I  '11  make  an  end : 
On  my  knees  I  pardon  crave  for  this  offence. 
Which  love  and  true  aflection  did  first  com- 
mence. 

''  Commend  me  to  thy  loving  lady ; 

Bear  to  her  this  chain  of  gold, 
And  these  hracelcts  for  a  token; 
Grieving  that  I  was  so  bold. 
All  my  jewels  in  like  sort  bear  thou  with  thee. 
For  these  are  fitting  for  thy  wife,  and  not  for 
me. 

"  I  will  spend  my  days  in  prayer, 

Love  and  all  her  laws  defie ; 
In  a  nunnery  will  I  shroud  me. 
Far  from  other  company  : 
But  ere  my  prayers  have  end,  be  sure  of  this, 
To  pray  for  thee  and  for  thy  love  I  will  not 
miss. 

"  Thus  farewell,  most  gentle  captain. 
And  farewell  my  heart's  content ! 
Count  not  Spanish  ladies  Avanton, 
Tliough  to  thee  my  love  was  bent : 
Joy  and  true  prosperity  goe  still  with  thee !  " 
"The  like  fall  ever  to  thy  share,  most  fair 
lady." 

ANONTMOtrs. 


THE  IIEEMIT. 

"  TuKX,  gentle  hermit  of  the  dale, 

And  guide  my  lonely  way 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 

AYith  hospitable  ray. 

•'For  here  forlorn  and  lost  I  tread, 
With  fainting  steps  and  slow ; 

Where  wilds,  immeasurably  spread. 
Seem  lengthening  as  I  go." 

"Forbear,  my  son,"  the  hermit  cries, 
"  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom ; 

For  yonder  faithless  phantom  flies 
To  lure  thee  to  thy  doom. 

"  Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 

My  door  is  open  stiU ; 
And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant, 

I  give  it  with  good  will. 

"  Tlien  turn  to-night,  and  freely  share 

Whate'er  my  cell  bestows ; 
My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare, 

My  blessing  and  repose. 

"  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free 

To  slaughter  I  condemn ; 
Taught  by  that  power  that  pities  me, 

I  learn  to  pity  them; 

"  But  from  tlie  mountain's  grassy  side 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring ; 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied. 

And  water  from  the  spring. 

"Then,  pilgrim,  turn;  thy  cares  forego; 

All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong : 
Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 

Nur  wants  that  little  long." 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends, 

His  gentle  accents  fell ; 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends, 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  in  a  wilderness  obscure 

The  lonely  mansion  lay ; 
A  refuge  to  the  neigliboring  poor, 

And  strangers  led  astray. 


THE    HERMIT. 


217 


"tfo  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 

Required  a  master's  care : 
The  wicket,  opening  with  a  latch, 

Eeceived  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  ci'owds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest, 
The  hermit  trimmed  his  little  fire, 

And  cheered  his  pensive  guest ; 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store. 

And  gaylj  prest  and  smiled ; 
And,  skilled  in  legendary  lore. 

The  lingering  hours  beguiled. 

Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth. 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries ; 
The  cricket  chirrups  on  the  hearth  ; 

The  crackling  fagot  flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 
To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe  : 

For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  hermit  spied, 
With  answering  care  opprest : 

"And  whence,  unhappy  youth,"  he  cried, 
"  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

"  From  better  habitations  spurned, 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  unreturned, 

Or  unregarded  love  ? 

"  Alas !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings 

Are  trifling,  and  decay ; 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things, 

More  trifling  still  than  they. 

"And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep ; 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame. 

And  leaves  the  o'retch  to  Aveep  ? 

"And  love  is  still  an  emptier  sound. 

The  modern  fair  one's  jest ; 
On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 

To  warm  the  turtle's  nest. 
32 


"  For  shame,  fond  youth !  thy  Sorrows  hush, 

And  spurn  the  sex,"  he  said; 
But,  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 

His  lovelorn  guest  betrayed. 

Surprised,  he  sees  new  beauties  rise, 

Swift  mantling  to  the  view : 
Like  colors  o'er  the  morning  skies, 

As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast, 

Alternate  spread  alarms : 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  confest 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 

"  And,  ah !  forgive  a  stranger  rude, 
A  wretch  forlorn,"  she  cried; 

"Whose  feet  unhallowed  thus  intrude 
Where  heaven  and  you  reside. 

"  But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share. 
Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray ; 

Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 

"My  father  lived  beside  the  Tyne, 

A  wealthy  lord  was  he ; 
And  all  his  wealth  was  marked  as  mine, 

He  had  but  only  me. 

"  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms. 

Unnumbered  suitors  came ; 
Who  praised  me  for  imputed  charms, 

And  felt,  or  feigned,  a  flame. 

"  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 

With  richest  proflers  strove  : 
Among  the  rest  young  Edwin  bowed, 

But  never  talked  of  love. 

"  In  humble,  simplest  habit  clad, 

No  wealth  or  power  had  he  ; 
Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had, 

But  these  were  all  to  me. 

"  And  wlicn  beside  iiio  in  the  dale 

He  carolled  lays  of  love, 
11  is  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale, 

And  music  to  the  grove. 


ns 


POEMS    OF    LOVE, 


"The  blDssoin  opening  to  the  day, 

The  (lews  of  heaven  refined, 
Could  nought  of  purity  dispUiy 

To  emulate  his  mind. 

"  The  dew,  the  blossoms  of  the  tree, 
With  charms  inconstant  shine  ; 

Their  charms  were  his,  but,  woe  to  me! 
Their  constancy  was  mine. 

•'  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art. 

Importunate  and  vain ; 
And  while  his  passion  touched  my  heai't, 

I  triumphed  in  his  jjain : 

"Till,  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 

He  left  me  to  my  pride ; 
And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn, 

In  secret,  where  he  died. 

"  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault, 

And  well  my  life  shall  pay ; 
I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought. 

And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

"  And  there  forlorn,  despairing,  hid, 

I'U  lay  me  down  and  die  ; 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did, 

And  so  for  him  will  I." 

"Forbid  it,  Jieaven!  "  the  hermit  cried, 
And  clasped  her  to  his  breast ; 

The  wondering  fair  one  turned  to  chide, - 
'Twas  Edwin's  self  that  prest. 

"  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear, 

My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long-lost  Edwin  here, 

llestored  to  love  and  thee. 

"  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

And  every  care  resign ; 
And  shall  we  never,  never  part, 

My  life — my  all  that's  mine  ? 

"  No,  never  from  this  hour  to  part, 

We'll  live  and  love  so  true ; 
Tlie  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  heart 

Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too." 

OuvEE  Goldsmith. 


SWEET  WILLIAM'S  FAEEWELL  TO 
BLACK-EYED  SUSAN". 

All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moored. 
The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind. 

When  black-eyed  Susan  came  aboard. 
Oh  !  where  shall  I  my  true-love  find  ? 

Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors,  tell  me  true, 

If  my  sweet  William  sails  among  your  crew 

William,  who  high  upon  the  yard 

Eocked  with  the  billows  to  and  fro. 
Soon  as  her  Avell-known  voice  he  heard. 

He  sighed  and  cast  his  eyes  below  : 
The  cord  slides  swiftly  through  his  glowing 

hands. 
And,   quick   as  lightning,    on  the  deck  he 
stands. 

So  the  sweet  lark,  high  poised  in  air. 
Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast 

If  chance  his  mate's  shrill  call  he  hear, 
And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest. 

The  noblest  captain  in  the  British  fleet 

Might  envy  William's  lip  those  kisses  sweet. 

O  Susan,  Susan,  lovely  dear. 
My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain ; 

Let  me  kiss  olf  that  falling  tear ; 
We  only  part  to  meet  again. 

Change,  as  ye  list,  ye  winds ;  my  heart  shall 
be 

The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee. 

Believe  not  what  the  landmen  say. 

Who  tempt  with  doubts  thy  constant  mind : 

They  '11  tell  thee,  sailors,  when  away. 
In  every  port  a  mistress  find : 

Yes,  yes,  believe  them  when  they  tell  thee  so, 

For  thou  art  present  whereso'er  I  go. 

If  to  fair  India's  coast  we  sail. 

Thy  eyes  are  seen  in  diamonds  bright, 

Thy  breath  is  Afric's  spicy  gale, 
Thy  skin  is  ivory  so  white. 

Thus  every  beauteous  object  that  I  view. 

Wakes  in  my  soul  some  charm  of  lovely  Sue. 


THE    SEAMAN'S    HAPPY    RETURX, 


219 


Tliougli  battle  call  me  from  thy  arms, 
Let  not  my  pretty  Susan  mourn ; 

Though  cannons  roar,  yet  safe  from  harms, 
"William  shall  to  his  dear  return. 

Love  turns  aside  the  balls  that  round  me  fly, 

liest  precious  tears  should  drop  from  Susan's 
eye. 

The  boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word, 
The  sails  their  swelling  bosom  spread  ; 

Xo  longer  must  she  stay  aboard  ; 

They  kissed,  she  sighed,  he  hung  his  head. 

Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land  : 

Adieu !  she  cries  ;  and  waved  her  lily  hand. 

John  Gay. 


THE  SEAMAN'S  HAPPY  PvETUEN". 


Whex  Sol  did  cast  no  light;  being  darkened 

over. 
And  the  dark  time   of  night  did  the  skies 


cover, 


Running  a  river  by,  there  were  ships  sail- 

inf 
A  maid  most  fair  I  spied,  crying  and  wailing. 

Unto  this  maid  I  stept,  asking  what  grieved 
her  ; 

She  answered  me  and  wept,  fates  had  de- 
ceived her : 

My  love  is  prest,  quoth  she,  to  cross  the 
ocean — 

Proud  waves  to  make  the  ship  ever  in  motion. 

We  loved  seven  years  and  more,  both  being 
sure, 

Rut  I  am  left  on  shore,  grief  to  endure. 

He  promised  back  to  turn,  if  life  was  spared 
him; 

With  grief  I  daily  mourn  death  hath  de- 
barred him. 

Straight  a  brisk  lad  she  spied,  made  her  ad- 
mire, 

A  present  she  received  pleased  her  desire. 

Is  my  love  safe,  quoth  she,  will  he  come  near 
me? 

The  young  man  answer  made.  Virgin,  pray 
hear  me. 


Under  one  banner  bright,  for  England's  glory, 
Your  love  and  I  did  fight — mark  well  my 

story ; 
By  an  unhappy  shot  we  two  were  parted  ; 
His    death's    wound  then  he    got,   though 

valiant-hearted. 

All  this  I  witness  can,  for  I  stood  by  him, 
For   courage,  I  must  say,  none  did  outvie 

him ; 
He    still    would    foremost   be,    striving  for 

honor ; 
But  fortune  is  a  cheat, — vengeance  upon  her ! 

But  ere  he  was  quite   dead,  or  his  heart 

broken. 
To  me  these  words  he  said.  Pray  give  this 

token 
To  my  love,  for  there  is  than  she  no  fairer ; 
Tell   her   she   must   be   kind   and  love  the 

bearer. 

Intombed  he  now  doth  lye  in  stately  manner, 
'Cause  he  fought  valiantly  for  love  and  hon- 
or. 
That  right  he  had  in  you,  to  me  he  gave  it ; 
Now  since  it  is  my  due,  pray  let  me  have  it. 

She,  raging,  flung  away  like  one  distracted, 
Not  knowing  what  to  say,  nor  what   she 

acted. 
So  last  she  cursed  her  fate,  and  showed  her 

anger. 
Saying,  Friend,  you  come  too  late,  I  '11  have 

no  stranger. 

To  your  own  house  return,  I  am  best  pleased 

Here  for  my  love  to  mourn,  since  he 's  de- 
ceased. 

In  sable  weeds  I  '11  go,  let  who  will  jeer  me ; 

Since  death  has  served  me  so,  none  shall 
come  near  me. 

The  chaste  Penelope  mourned  for  Ulysses ; 
I  have  more  grief  than  she,  robbed  of  my 

blisses. 
I  '11  ne'er  love  man  again,  therefore  jn-ay  hear 

me ; 
I  '11  slight  you  with  disdain  if  you  come  near 

me. 


220 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


I  know  he  loved  nio  woll,  for  whoa  wc 
parted, 

None  did  in  grief  excel, — both  were  true- 
hearted. 

TIioso  promises  we  made  ne'er  shall  be 
broken ; 

Thoj^e  words  that  then  he  said  ne'er  shall  be 
spoken. 

He  hearing  wluit  she  said,  made  his  love 
stronger ; 

Off  his  disguise  he  laid,  and  staid  no  longer. 

When  her  dear  love  she  knew,  in  wanton 
fashion 

Into  his  arms  she  flew, — such  is  love's  pas- 
sion! 

He  asked  her  how  she  liked  his  counter- 
feiting, 

Whether  she  was  well  pleased  with  such  like 
greeting  ? 

You  are  well  versed,  quoth  she,  in  several 
speeches. 

Could  you  coin  money  so,  you  might  get 
riches. 

O  happy  gale  of  wind  that  waft  thee  over! 
May  heaven  preserve  that  ship  that  brought 

my  lover ! 
Come  kiss  me  now,  my  sweet,  true  love's  no 

slander ; 
Thou  shalt  my  Hero  be,  I  thy  Leander. 

Dido  of  Carthage  queen  loved  stout  iEneas, 
But  my  true  love  is  found  more  true  than  he 

was. 
Venus  ne'er  fonder  was  of  younger  Adonis, 
Than  I  will  be  of  thee,  since  thy  love  her 

own  is. 

t 

Then  hand  in  hand  they  walk  with  mirth 

and  pleasure, 
Tliey  laugli,  they  kiss,  they  talk — love  knows 

no  measure. 
N'ow  both  do  sit  and  sing — but  she  sings 

clearest ; 
Like  nightingale  in    spring,    Welcome    my 

dearest ! 

Akonyuol's. 


THE  EVE  or  ST.  AGNES. 

I, 
St.  Agnes'  Eve — Ah,  bitter  chill  it  was ! 
The  owl,  for  all  his  feathers,  was  a-cold ; 
The  hare  limped  trembling  through  the  frozen 

grass, 
And  silent  was  the  flock  in  woolly  fold  : 
Numb  were  the  headman's  fingers  while  he 

told 
His  rosary,  and  while  his  frosted  breath. 
Like  pious  incense  from  a  censer  old, 
Seemed  taking  flight  for  heaven  without  a 

death. 
Past  the  sweet    virgin's  picture,  while  hi' 

prayer  he  saith. 

II. 

His  prayer  he  saith,  this  patient,  holy  man  ; 
Then  takes  his    lamp,   and  riseth  from  his 

knees. 
And  back  returneth,  meagre,  barefoot,  wan, 
Along  the  chapel  aisle  by  slow  degrees  ; 
The  sculptured  dead,  on  each  side  seem  to 

freeze, 
Emprisoned  in  black,  purgatorial  rails  ; 
Knights,  ladies,  praying  in  dumb  orat'ries. 
He  passed  by  ;  and  his  weak  spirit  fails 
To  think  how  they  may  ache  in  icy  hoods 

and  mails. 

III. 

Northward  he  turneth  through  a  little  door. 
And  scarce  three  steps,  ere   music's  golden 

tongue 
Flattered  to  tears  this  aged  man  and  poor ; 
But  no — already  had  his  death-bell  rung ; 
The  joys  of  all  his  life  were  said  and  sung ; 
His  was  harsh  penance  on  St.  Agnes'  Eve ; 
Another  way  he  went,  and  soon  among 
Rough  ashes  sat  he  for  his  soul's  reprieve, 
And  all  night  kept  awake,  for  sinners'  sake 

to  grieve. 

IV. 

That  ancient  beadsman  heard  the  prelude  soft; 
And  so  it  chanced,  for  many  a  door  was  wide. 
From  hurry  to  and  fro.     Soon,  up  aloft, 
The  silver,  snarling  trumpets  'gan  to  chide  ; 


THE    EVE    OF    ST.   AGNES. 


221 


The  level  chambers,  ready  with  their  pride, 
Were  glowing  to  receive  a  thousand  guests  ; 
The  carved  angels,  ever  eager-eyed, 
Stared,  where  upon  their  heads  the  cornice 

rests. 
With  hair  blown  back,  and  wings  put  cross- 
wise on  their  breasts. 

V. 

At  length  burst  in  the  argent  revelry. 
With  plume,  tiara,  and  all  rich  array, 
Numerous  as  shadows  haunting  fairily 
The    brain,     new-stufied,    in    youth,    with 

triumphs  gay 
Of  old  romance.     These  let  us  wish  away ; 
And  turn,  sole-thoughted,  to  one  lady  there. 
Whose  heart  had  brooded,  all  that  wintry 

day, 
On  love,  and  winged  St.  Agues'  saintly  care. 
As  she  had  heard  old  dames  full  many  times 

declare. 

VI. 

They  told  her  how,  upon  St.  Agnes'  Eve, 
Young  virgins  might  have  visions  of  delight. 
And  soft  adorings  from  their  loves  receive 
Upon  the  honeyed  middle  of  the  night. 
If  ceremonies  due  they  did  aright ; 
As,  supperless  to  bed  they  must  retire. 
And  couch  supine  their  beauties,  lily  white  ; 
Nor  look  behind,  nor  sideways,  but  require 
Of  heaven  with  upward  eyes  for  all  that 
they  desire. 

VII. 

Full  of  this  whim  was  tlioughtful  [Madeline  ; 
The  music,  yearning  like  a  god  in  pain. 
She  scarcely  heard ;  her  maiden  eyes  divine. 
Fixed  on  the  floor,  saw  many  a  sweeping 

train 
Pass  by — she  heeded  not  at  all ;  in  vain 
Came  many  a  tiptoe,  amorous  cavalier, 
And  back  retired ;  not  cooled  by  high  dis- 
dain, 
But  she  saw  not ;  her  heart  was  otherwliere ; 

She  sighed  for  Agnes'  dreams,  the  sweetest 
of  the  year. 

VIII. 

She  danced  along  with  vague,  regardless  eyes, 
Anxious  her  lips,  her  breathing  quick  and 
sliort ; 


The  hallowed  hour  was  near  at  hand ;  she 

sighs 
Amid  the  timbrels,  and  the  thronged  resort 
Of  whisperers  in  anger,  or  in  sport ; 
'Mid  looks  of  love,  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn, 
Hoodwinked  with  fairy  fancy  ;  all  amort 
Save  to  St.  Agnes  and  her  lambs  unshorn. 
And  all  the  bliss  to  be  before  to-morrow 

morn. 

IX. 

So,  purposing  each  moment  to  retire. 

She    lingered    still.     Meantime,    across  the 

moors. 
Had  come  young  Porphyro,  with  heart  on  fire 
For  Madeline.     Beside  the  portal  doors, 
Buttressed  from  moonlight,  stands  he,  and 

implores 
All  saints  to  give  him  sight  of  Madeline  ; 
But  for  one  moment  in  the  tedious  hours. 
That  he  might  gaze  and  worship  all  unseen ; 
Perchance  speak,  kneel,  touch,  kiss — in  sooth 

such  things  have  been. 

X. 

He  ventures  in  ;  let  no  buzzed  whisper  tell ; 
All  eyes  be  muffled,  or  a  hundred  swords 
Will  storm  his  heart,  love's  feverous  citadel ; 
For  him,   those    chambers    held    barbarian 

hordes. 
Hyena  foemen,  and  hot-blooded  lords. 
Whose  very  dogs  would  execrations  howl 
Against  his  lineage  ;  not  one  breast  affords 
Him  any  mercy,  in  that  mansion  foul. 
Save  one  old  beldame,  weak  in  body  and  in 

soul. 

XI. 

Ah,  happy  chance  !  the  aged  creature  came, 
Sliuffling  along  with  ivory-headed  wand, 
To  where  he   stood,  hid   from  the  torch's 

flame. 
Behind  a  broad  hall-pillar,  far  beyond 
The  sound  of  merriment  and  chorus  bland. 
He  startled  her  ;  but  soon  she  knew  his  face. 
And  grasped  his  fingers  in  her  palsied  liand. 
Saying,    "  Mercy,  Porphyro !   hie  tlice  from 

this  place ; 
They  are  all  here  to-night,  the  whole  blood- 
thirsty race ! 


22'2 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


XII. 

''Get  lieiice !    get  hence!    there's  dwarfish 

Ilildebraud ; 
He  had  a  fever  late,  and  in  the  fit 
lie  cursed  thee  and  tliine,  both  house  and 

hind ; 
Then  there's  that  old  Lord  Maurice,  not  a 

wlxit 
More  tame  for  his  gray  hairs — Alas  me !  flit ! 
Flit  like  a  ghost  away  I  " — "Ah,  gossip  dear, 
"We  're  safe  enough ;  here  in  this  arm-chair 

sit. 
And  tell  me  how" — "Good  saints,  not  here, 

not  here ; 
Follow  me,  child,  or  else  these  stones  will  be 

thy  bier." 

XIII. 

He  followed  through  a  lowly  arched  way, 
Brushing  the  cobwebs  with  his  lofty  plume  ; 
And  as  she  muttered  "  Well-a — well-a-day ! " 
Ho  found  him  in  a  little  moonlight  room, 
Pale,  latticed,  chill,  and  silent  as  a  tomb. 
"  ]Srow  tell  me  where  is  Madeline,"  said  he, 
"  Oh  tell  me,  Angela,  by  the  holy  loom 
Which  none  but  secret  sisterhood  may  see, 
Wlien  they  St.  Agnes'   wool  ai'e   weaving 
piously." 

XIV. 

"  St.  Agnes !  Ah  !  it  is  St.  Agnes'  Eve- 
Yet  men  will  murder  upon  holy  days ; 
Thou  must  hold  water  in  a  witch's  sieve. 
And  be  liege-lord  of  all  the  elves  and  fays. 
To  venture  so.    It  fills  me  with  amaze 
To  see  thee  Porphyro ! — St.  Agnes'  Eve  ! 
God's  help  !  my  lady  fair  the  conjurer  plays 
This  very  night ;  good  angels  her  deceive  ! 
But  let  me  laugh  awhile,  I  've  mickle  time 
to  grieve." 

XT. 

Feebly  she  laugheth  in  the  languid  moon, 
While  Porphyro  upon  her  face  doth  look, 
Like  puzzled  urchin  on  an  aged  crone 
"Who  keepeth  closed  a  wondrous  riddle-book. 
As  spectacled  she  sits  in  chimney  nook. 
But  soon  his  eyes  grew  brilliant,  when  she 
told 


His  lady's   purpose  ;    and   ho   scarce  could 

brook 
Tears,  at  the  thought  of  those  enchantments 

cold, 
And  Madeline  asleep  in  lap  of  legends  old. 


XVI. 

Sudden  a  thought  came  like   a  full-blown 

rose, 
Flushing  his  brow,  and  in  his  pained  heart 
Made  purple  riot ;  then  doth  he  propose 
A  stratagem,  that  makes  the  beldame  start ; 
"  A  cruel  man  and  impious  thou  art ! 
Sweet  lady,  let  her  pray,  and  sleep  and  dream 
Alone  with  her  good  angels,  far  apart 
From  wicked  men  like  thee.  Go,  go !  I  deem 
Thou  canst  not  surely  be  the  same  that  thou 

didst  seem." 


XVII. 

"  I  will  not  harm  her,  by  all  saints  I  swear !" 
Quoth  Porphyro  ;  "Oh may  I  ne'er  find  grace 
"When  my  weak  voice  shall  whisper  its  last 

prayer, 
If  one  of  her  soft  ringlets  I  displace, 
Or  look  with  ruffian  passion  in  her  face  ; 
Good  Angela,  believe  me  by  these  tears ; 
Or  I  will,  even  in  a  moment's  space. 
Awake,  with  horrid  shout,  my  foemen's  ears, 
And  beard  them,  though  they  be  more  fanged 

than  wolves  and  bears." 


XVIII. 

"Ah  !  why  wilt  thou  affright  a  feeble  soul  ? 
A  poor,  weak,   palsy-stricken,   church-yard 

thing, 
Whose  passing-bell  may  ere  the  midnig'ht 

toll; 
Whose   prayers    for   thee,    each    morn    and 

evening. 
Were  never  missed."     Thus  plaining,  doth 

she  bring 
A  gentler  speech  from  burning  Porphyro  ; 
So  woful,  and  of  such  deep  sorrowing, 
Tliat  Angela  gives  promise  she  will  do 
Whatever  he  shall  wish,  betide  her  weal  oi 

woe. 


THE    EVE    OF    ST.    AGXES. 


223 


XIX. 


"Which  was,  to  lead  him,  in  close  secrecy, 
Even  to  Madeline's  chamber,  and  there  hide 
Him  in  a  closet,  of  such  privacy 
That  he  might  see  her  beauty  unespied, 
And  win  perhaps  that  night  a  peerless  bride ; 
While  legioned  fairies  paced  the  coverlet, 
And  pale  enchantment  held  her  sleepy-eyed. 
Never  on  such  a  night  have  lovers  met, 
Since  Merlin  paid  his  demon   all  the  mon- 
strous debt. 

sx. 

"  It  shall  be  as  thou  wishest,"  said  the  dame ; 
"All  cates  and  dainties  shall  be  stored  there 
Quickly  on  this  feast-night ;  by  the  tambour 

frame 
Her  own  lute  thou  wilt  see  ;  no  time  to  spare, 
For  I  am  slow  and  feeble,  and  scarce  dare 
On  such  a  catering  trust  my  dizzy  head. 
Wait  here,  my  child,  with  patience  kneel  in 

prayer 
The  while.    Ah!  thou  must  needs  the  lady 

wed, 
Or  may  I  never  leave  my  grave  among  the 

dead." 

XXI. 

So  saying  she  hobbled  off  with  busy  fear. 
Tlie  lover's  endless  minutes  slowly  pass'd ; 
Tlie  dame  return'd,  and  whisper'd  in  his  ear 
To  follow  her ;  with  aged  eyes  aghast 
From  fright  of  dim  espial.     Safe  at  last. 
Through  many  a  dusky  gallery,  they  gain 
The  maiden's  chamber,  silken,  hush'd  and 

chaste ; 
"Where  Porphyro  took  covert,  pleased  amain. 
His  poor  guide  hurried  back  with  agues  in 

her  brain. 

xxu. 

Her  faltering  hand  upon  the  balustrade, 
Old  Angela  was  feeling  for  the  stair, 
"When  Madeline,  St.  Agnes'  charmed  maid. 
Rose,  like  a  missioned  spirit,  unaware; 
"With  silver  taper's  light,  and  pious  care. 
She  turned,  and  down  the  aged  gossip  led 
To  a  safe  level  matting.     Now  prepare, 
Young  Porphyro,  for  gazing  on  that  bed ! 
She  comes,  she  comes  again,  like  ring-dove 
frayed  and  fled. 


XXIII. 

Out  went  the  taper  as  she  hurried  in ; 
Its  little  smoke,  in  pallid  moonshine,  died ; 
She  closed  the  door,  she  panted,  all  akin 
To  spirits  of  the  air,  and  visions  wide ; 
No  uttered  syllable,  or,  woe  betide ! 
But  to  her  heart,  her  heart  was  voluble. 
Paining  with  eloquence  her  balmy  side ; 
As  though  a  tongueless  nightingale  should 

swell 
Her  throat  in  vain,  and  die,  heart-stifled  in 

her  dell. 

XXIV. 

A  casement  high  and  triple-arched  there  was. 
All  garlanded  with  carven  imageries 
Of  fruits,  and  flowers,  and  bunches  of  knot- 
grass, 
And  diamonded  with  panes  of  quaint  device. 
Innumerable  of  stains  and  splendid  dyes. 
As  are  the  tiger-moth's  deep-damasked  wings; 
And  in  the  midst,  'mong  thousand  heraldries. 
And  twilight  saints,  and  dim  emblazonings, 
A  shielded  scutcheon  blushed  with  blood  of 
queens  and  kings. 

XXV. 

Full  on  this  casement  shone  the  wintry  moon. 
And  threw  warm  gules  on  Madeline's  fair 

breast. 
As  down  she  knelt  for  heaven's  grace  and 

boon; 
Rose-bloom  fell  on  her  hands,  together  prest, 
And  on  her  silver  cross  soft  amethyst. 
And  on  her  hair  a  glory,  like  a  saint ; 
She  seemed  a  splendid  angel,  newly  drest, 
Save  wings,  for  heaven.  Porphyro  grew  faint ; 
She  knelt,  so  pure  a  thing,  so  free  from  mortal 

taint. 

XXVI. 

Anon  his  heart  revives ;  her  vespers  done. 
Of  all  its  wreathed  pearls  her  hair  she  frees; 
Unclasps  her  warmed  jewels  one  by  one; 
Loosens  her  fragrant  bodice ;  by  degrees 
Her  rich  attire  creeps  rustling  to  her  knees ; 
Half-hidden,  like  a  mermaid  in  sea-weed, 
Pensive  awliile  she  dreams  awake,  and  sees, 
In  fancy,  fair  St.  Agnes  in  her  bed, 
But  dares  not  look  behind,  or  all  the  charm 
is  fled. 


'22-i 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


xxvii. 

Soon,  trembling  iu  her  soft  and  chilly  iiest, 
In  sort  of  wakeful  swoon,  perplexed  she  lay, 
Until  the  poppied  warmth  of  sleep  oppressed 
Her  soothed  limbs,  and  soul  fatigued  away; 
Flown  like  a  thought,  until  the  morrow-day ; 
Blissfully  havened  both  from  joy  and  pain ; 
Clasped  like  a  missal  where  swart  Paynims 

pray ; 
Blinded  alike  from  sunshine  and  from  rain, 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud 

again. 

xsvnr. 

Stolen  to  this  paradise,  and  so  entranced, 
Porphyro  gazed  upon  her  empty  dress, 
And  listened  to  her  breathing,  if  it  chanced 
To  wake  into  a  slumberous  tenderness ; 
Which  when  he  heard,  that  minute  did  he 

bless, 
And  breathed  himself;  then  from  the  closet 

crept, 
Noiseless  as  fear  in  a  wide  wilderness, 
And  over  the  hushed  carpet,  silent,  stept. 
And  'tween  the  curtains  peeped,  where,  lo  I — 

how  fast  she  slept. 

XXIX. 

Then  by  the  bed-side,  where  the  faded  moon 
Made  a  dim,  silver  twilight,  soft  he  set 
A  table,  and,  half  anguished,  threw  thereon 
A  cloth  of  woven  crimson,  gold,  and  jet: — 
Oh  for  some  drowsy  Morphean  amulet! 
The  boisterous,  midnight,  festive  clarion, 
The  kettle-drum,  and  far-heard  clarionet. 
Affray  his  ears,  though  but  in  dying  tone  : — 
The  hall-door  shuts  again,  and  all  the  noise 
is  gone. 

XXX. 

And  still  she  slept  an  azure-lidded  sleep. 
In  blanched  linen,  smooth,  and  lavendered  ; 
While  he  from  forth  the  closet  brought  a 

heap 
Of  candied  apple,    quince,    and   plum,    and 

gourd ; 
With  jellies  soother  than  the  creamy  curd, 
And  lucent  syrops,  tinct  with  cinnamon ; 
Manna  and  dates,  in  argosy  transferred 
From  Fez ;  and  spiced  dainties,  every  one. 
From  silken  Samarcand  to  cedared  Lebanon. 


XXXI, 

These  delicates  he  heaped  with  glowing  hand 
On  golden  dishes  and  in  baskets  bright 
Of  wreathed  silver.     Sumptuous  they  stand 
In  the  retired  quiet  of  the  night. 
Filling  the  chilly  room  with  perfume  light. — 
"And  now,  my  love,  my  seraph  fair  awake! 
Thou  art  my  heaven,  and  I  thine  eremite ; 
Open  thine  eyes,  for  meek  St.  Agnes'  sake, 
Or  I  shall  drowse  beside  thee,  so  my  soul 
doth  ache." 


XXXII. 

Thus  whispering,  his  warm,  unnerved  arm 
Sank  in  her  pillow.     Shaded  was  her  dream 
By  the   dusk  curtains; — 'twas   a  midnight 

charm 
Impossible  to  melt  as  iced  stream : 
The  lustrous  salvers  in  the  moonlight  gleam ; 
Broad  golden  fringe  upon  the  carpet  lies ; 
It  seemed  he  never,  never  could  redeem 
From  such  a  steadfast  spell  his  lady's  eyes ; 
So  mused  awhile,  entoiled  in  woofed  phanta- 
sies. 


XXXIII. 

Awakening  up,  he  took  her  hollow  lute, — 
Tumultuous, — and,  in  chords  that  tenderest 

be, 
He  played  an  ancient  ditty,  long  since  mute, 
In  Provence   called    "La    belle    dame  sans 

mercy ; " 
Close  to  her  ear  touching  the  melody ; — 
Wherewith  disturbed,  she  uttered  asoft  moan ; 
He  ceased—  she  panted  quick — and  suddenly 
Her  blue  affrayed  eyes  wide  open  shone ; 
Upon  his  knees  he  sank,  pale  as  smooth- 
sculptured  stone. 


XXXIV. 

Her  eyes  were  open,  but  she  still  beheld, 

Now  wide  awake,  the  vision  of  her  sleep. 

There  was  a  painful  change,  that  nigh  ex- 
pelled 

Tlie  blisses  of  her  dream  so  pure  and  deep  ; 

At  which  fair  Madeline  began  to  weep, 

And  moan  forth  witless  words  with  many  a 
sigli ; 

While  still  her  gaze  on  Porphyro  would  keep ; 


THE    EVE    OF    ST.    AGNES. 


Who  knelt,  with  joined  hands  and  piteous 

eye, 
Fearing  to  move  or  speak,  she  looked  so  dream- 

ingly. 

XXXV. 

'  Ah,  Porphyro !  "  said  she,  "  but  even  now 
Thy  voice  was  at  sweet  tremble  in  mine  ear, 
Made  tunable  with  every  sweetest  vow ; 
And  those  sad  eyes  were  spiritual  and  clear; 
How  changed   thou  art!    how  pallid,  chill, 

and  drear ! 
Give  nie  that  voice  again,  my  Porphyro, 
Those  looks  immortal,   those  complainings 

dear ! 
Oh  leave  me  not  in  Ijhis  eternal  woe. 
For  if  thou  diest,  my  love,  I  know  not  where 

to  go." 

XXXVI. 

Beyond  a  mortal  man  impassioned  far 
At  these  voluptuous  accents,  he  arose, 
Ethereal,  flushed,  and  like  a  throbbing  star 
Seen  'mid  the  sapphire  heaven's  deep  repose ; 
Into  her  dream  he  melted,  as  the  rose 
Blendeth  its  odor  with  the  violet, — 
Solution    sweet;    meantime  the   frost-wind 

blows 
Like   love's  alarum  pattering  the  sharp  sleet 
Against  the  window-panes ;  St.  Agnes'  moon 

hath  set. 

XXXVII. 

'T  is  dark ;  quick  pattereth  the  flaw-blown 

sleet ; 
"  This  is  no  dream,  my  bride,  my  Madeline !  " 
'T  is  dark ;  the  iced  gusts  still  rave  and  beat : 
"  No  dream,  alas !  alas !  and  woe  is  mine ! 
Porphyro  will  leave  me  here  to  fade  and 

pine. — 
Cruel !  what  traitor  could  thee  hither  bring  ? 
I  curse  not,  for  my  heart  is  lost  in  thine, 
Though  thou  forsakest  a  deceived  thing ; — 
A  dove  forlorn  and  lost, with  sick,  unpruned 

wing." 

XXXVIII. 

"My  Madeline!  sweet  dreamer !  lovely  bride! 

Say,  may  I  be  for  aye  thy  vassal  blest? 

Thy  beauty's  shield,  heart-shaped  and  vermeil 

dyed? 

33 


Ah,  silver  shrine,  here  will  I  take  my  rest 
After  so  many  hours  of  toil  and  quest, 
A  famished  pilgrim, — saved  by  miracle. 
Though  I  have  found,  I  will  not  rob  thy  nest>, 
Saving  of  thy  sweet  self;  if  thou  think'st  well 
To  trust,  fair  Madehne,  to  no  rude  infidel. 

XXXIX. 

"  Hark!  'tis  an  elfin  storm  from  fau-y  land. 
Of  haggard  seeming,  but  a  boon  indeed : 
Arise — arise !  the  morning  is  at  hand ; — 
The  bloated  wassailers  will  never  heed. 
Let  us  away,  my  love,  with  happy  speed ; 
There  are  no  ears  to  hear,  or  eyes  to  see, — 
Drowned  all  in  Rhenish  and  the  sleepy  mead. 
Awake !  arise !  my  love,  and  fearless  be. 
For  o'er  the  southern  moors  I  have  a  home 
for  thee." 

XL. 

She  hurried  at  his  words,  beset  with  fears. 
For  there  were  sleeping  dragons  all  around. 
At  glaring  watch,  perhaps,  with  ready  spears^ 
Down  the  wide  stairs  a  darkling  way  they 

found. 
In  all  the  house  was  heard  no  human  sound. 
A  chain-drooped  lamp  was  flickering  by  each 

door ; 
The  arras,  rich  with  horseman,  hawk,  and 

hound, 
Fluttered  in  the  besieging  wind's  uproar ; 
And  the  long  carpets  rose  along  the  gusty 

floor. 

XLI. 

They  glide,  like  phantoms,  into  the  wide  hall! 
Like  phantoms  to  the  iron  porch  they  glide, 
"Where  lay  the  porter,  in  uneasy  sprawl. 
With  a  huge  empty  flagon  by  his  side  ; 
The  wakeful  bloodhound  rose,  and  shook  his 

hide. 
But  his  sagacious  eye  an  inmate  owns ; 
By  one,  and  one,  the  bolts  full  easy  slide ; 
The  chains  lie  silent  on  the  footworn  stones ; 
The  key  turns,  and  the  door  upon  its  hinges 

groans. 

XLII. 

And  they  are  gone !  ay,  ages  long  ago 
These  lovers  fled  awav  into  the  storm. 


220                                                         POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

That  night  the  baron  dreamt  of  many  a  woe, 

I  've  heard  you  say  on  many  a  day,  and  sure 

Ami  all  lii3  Avarrior-guests,  with  shade  and 

you  said  the  truth, 

form 

Andalla    rides    without  a  peer    among   all 

Of  witoh,  and  demon,  and  large  coffin-worm, 

Granada's  youth : 

Were  long  be-nightmared.     Angela  the  old 

Without  a  peer  he  rideth,  and  yon  milk-white 

Died  palsy-twitched,  with  meagre  face  de- 

horse doth  go 

form  ; 

Beneath  his  stately  master,  with  a  stately 

The  beadsman,  after  thousand  aves  told, 

step  and  slow  : — 

For  aye  imsought-for  slept  among  his  ashes 

Then  rise — Oh !   rise,  Xarifa,  lay  the  golden 

cold. 

cushion  down ; 

John  Keats. 

Unseen  here  through  the  lattice,  you  may 

gaze  with  all  the  town !  " 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  AXDALLA. 

The  Zegri  lady  rose  not,  nor  laid  her  cushion 

"EiSE  np,  rise  up,  Xarifa!    lay  the  golden 

down, 

cushion  down ; 

'Hot  came  she  to  the  window  to  gaze  with  all 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with 

the  town ; 

all  the  town ! 

But  though  her  eyes  dwelt  on  her  knee,  in 

From  gay  guitar  and  violin  the  silver  notes 

vain  her  fingers  strove. 

are  Howing, 

And  though  her  needle  pressed  the  silk,  no 

And  the  lovely  lute  doth  speak  between  the 

flower  Xarifa  wove ; 

trumpets'  lordly  blowing, 

One  bonny  rose-bud  she  had  traced  before 

And  banners  bright  from  lattice  light  are 

the  noise  drew  nigh — 

waving  every  where,  , 

That  bonny  bud  a  tear  elfaced,  slow  drooping 

And  the  tall,  tall  plume  of  our  cousin's  bride- 

from her  §ye — 

groom  floats  proudly  in  the  air. 

"  No — no !  "  she  sighs — "  bid  me  not  rise,  nor 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa !    lay  the  golden 

lay  my  cushion  doAvn, 

cushion  down ; 

To  gaze  upon  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with 

town ! " 

all  the  town ! 

"  Arise,  arise,  Xarifa !  I  see  Andalla's  face — 

"Why  rise  ye  not,   Xarifa — nor  lay  your 

He  bends  him  to  the  people  with  a  calm  and 

cushion  down — 

princely  grace ; 

Why  gaze  ye  not,  Xarifa— with  aU  the  gazing 

Through  all  the  land  of  Xeres  and  banks  of 

town? 

Guadalquiver 

Hear,  hear  the  trumpet  how  it  swells,  and 

Rode  forth  bridegroom  so  brave  as  be,  so 

how  the  people  cry ; 

brave  and  lovely  never. 

He  stops  at  Zara's  palace-gate — why  sit  ye 

Yon  tall  plume  waving  o'er  his  brow,  of  pur- 

still—0,  why?" 

ple  mixed  with  white. 

— "  At  Zara's  gate  stops  Zara's  mate ;  in  him 

I  guess  't  was  wreathed  by  Zara,  whom  he 

shall  I  discover 

will  wed  to-night. 

The  dark-eyed  youth  pledged  me  his  truth 

Rise  up,   rise  up,  Xarifa !    lay  the  golden 

with  tears,  and  was  my  lover  ? 

cushion  down ; 

I  will  not  rise,  with  weary  eyes,  nor  lay  my 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with 

cushion  down. 

all  the  town ! 

To  gaze  on  false  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing 

town ! " 

"What    aileth  thee,    Xarifa— what    makes 

Anonymous.    (Spanisb.) 

thine  eyes  look  down  ? 

Translation  of  John  Gibson  Lockhaet. 

Wliy  stay  ye  from  the  window  far,  nor  gaze 

--♦ 

with  all  the  town  ? 

THE    DAT-DREAM. 


227 


THE  DAY-DREAM. 

THE   SLEEPING   PALACE. 

The  varying  year  Tvitti  blade  and  sheaf 

Clothes  and  re-clothes  the  happy  plains ; 
Here  rests  the  sap  within  the  leaf; 

Here  stays  the  blood  along  the  veins. 
Faint  shadows,  vapors  lightly  curled, 

Faint  murmurs  from  the  meadows  come, 
Like  hints  and  echoes  of  the  world 

To  spirits  folded  in  the  womb. 

Soft  lustre  bathes  the  range  of  urns 

On  every  slanting  terrace-lawn, . 
The  fountain  to  his  place  returns, 

Deep  in  the  garden  lake  withdrawn. 
Here  droops  the  banner  on  the  tower, 

On  the  hall-hearths  the  festal  fires, 
The  peacock  in  his  laurel  bower. 

The  parrot  in  his  gilded  wires. 

Roof-haunting  martins  warm  their  eggs ; 

In  these,  in  those  the  life  is  stayed. 
The  mantles  from  the  golden  pegs 

Droop  sleepily.     No  sound  is  made — 
.Not  even  of  a  gnat  that  sings. 

More  like  a  picture  seemeth  all, 
Than  those  old  portraits  of  old  kings 

That  watch  the  sleepers  from  the  wall. 

Here  sits  the  butler  with  a  flask 

Between  his  knees,  half-drained ;  and  there 
The  wrinkled  steward  at  his  task; 

The  maid-of-honor  blooming  fair. 
The  page  has  caught  her  hand  in  his ; 

Her  lips  are  severed  as  to  speak  ; 
His  own  are  pouted  to  a  kiss ; 

The  blush  is  fixed  upon  her  cheek. 

Till  all  the  hundred  summers  pass. 

The  beams,  that  through  the  oriel  shine, 
Make  prisms  in  every  carvcri  glass. 

And  beaker  brimmed  with  noble  wine. 
Each  baron  at  the  banquet  sleeps ; 

Grave  faces  gathered  in  a  ring. 
His  state  the  king  reposing  keeps : 

He  must  have  been  a  jolly  king. 

All  round  a  hedge  upslioots,  and  shows 

At  distance  like  a  little  wood  ; 
Thorns,  ivies,  woodbine,  mistletoes, 

And  grapes  with  bunches  red  as  blood; 


All  creeping  plants,  a  waU  of  green 

Close-matted,  burr  and  brake  and  briar, 

And  glimpsing  over  these,  just  seen. 
High  up,  the  topmost  palace-spire. 

When  will  the  hundred  summers  die. 

And  thought  and  time  be  born  again, 
And  newer  knowledge,  drawing  nigh. 

Bring  truth  that  sways  the  soul  of  men  ? 
Here  all  things  in  their  place  remain. 

As  all  were  ordered,  ages  since. 
Come  care  and  pleasure,  hope  and  pain. 

And  bring  the  fated  fairy  prince ! 

THE    SLEEPIIsG   BEAUTT. 

Year  after  year  unto  her  feet. 

She  lying  on  her  couch  alone, 
Across  the  purple  coverlet. 

The  maiden's  jet-black  hair  has  grown  ; 
On  either  side  her  tranced  form 

Forth  streaming  from  a  braid  of  pearl ; 
The  slumb'rous  light  is  rich  and  warm. 

And  moves  not  on  the  rounded  curl. 

The  silk  star-broidered  coverlid 

Unto  her  limbs  itself  doth  mould. 
Languidly  ever ;  and,  amid 

Her  full  black  ringlets,  downward  rolled, 
Glows  forth  each  softly-shadowed  arm. 

With  bracelets  of  the  diamond  bright. 
Her  constant  beauty  doth  inform 

Stillness  with  love,  and  day  with  light. 

She  sleeps ;  her  breathings  are  not  heard 

In  palace  chambers  far  apart. 
The  fragrant  tresses  are  not  stirred 

That  lie  upon  her  charmed  heart. 
She  sleeps ;  on  either  hand  upswells 

The  gold-fringed  pillow  lightly  jjrest ; 
She  sleeps,  nor  dreams,  but  ever  dwells 

A  perfect  form  in  perfect  rest. 

THE   AKRIVAL 

All  precious  things,  discovered  late, 

To  those  that  seek  them  issue  forth  ; 
For  love  in  sequel  works  with  fate. 

And  draws  the  veil  from  hidden  worth, 
lie  travels  far  from  other  skies — 

His  mantle  glitters  on  the  rocks — 
A  fairy  prince,  with  joyful  eyes. 

And  lighter-footed  than  the  fox. 


•J-28 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


The  bodies  and  the  bones  of  those 

That  strove  in  other  days  to  pass, 
Are  withered  in  the  thorny  close, 

Or  scattered  blanching  in  the  grass, 
lie  gazes  on  the  silent  dead : 

"They  perislied  in  their  daring  deeds." 
This  proverb  flashes  through  his  head : 

"  The  many  fail ;  the  one  succeeds." 

He  comes,  scarce  knowing  what  he  seeks. 

He  breaks  the  hedge ;  ho  enters  there  ; 
The  color  flies  into  his  cheeks ; 

He  trusts  to  light  on  something  fair ; 
For  all  his  life  the  cliarm  did  talk 

About  his  path,  and  hover  near 
"With  words  of  promise  in  his  walk. 

And  whispered  voices  in  his  ear. 

More  close  and  close  his  footsteps  wind ; 

The  magic  music  in  his  heart 
Beats  quick  and  quicker,  till  he  find 

The  quiet  chamber  far  apart. 
His  spirit  flutters  like  a  lark. 

He  stoops — to  kiss  her — on  his  knee  : 
"  Love,  if  thy  tresses  be  so  dark, 

How  dark  those  hidden  eyes  must  be  !  " 

THE   EEVIVAL. 

A  Toucrr,  a  kiss !  the  charm  was  snapt. 

Tliere  rose  a  noise  of  striking  clocks  ; 
And  feet  that  ran,  and  doors  that  clapt. 

And  barking  dogs,  and  crowing  cocks ; 
A  fuller  liglit  illumined  all ; 

A  breeze  through  all  the  garden  swept ; 
A  sudden  hubbub  shook  the  hall ; 

And  sixty  feet  the  fountain  leapt. 

The  hedge  broke  in,  the  banner  blew, 

The  butler  drank,  the  steward  scrawled, 
The  fire  shot  up,  tlie  martin  flew. 

The  pan-ot  screamed,  the  peacock  squalled; 
The  maid  and  page  renewed  their  strife  ; 

The  palace  banged,  and  buzzed  and  clackt; 
And  all  the  long-pent  stream  of  life 

Dashed  downward  in  a  cataract. 

And  last  of  all  the  king  awoke, 
And  in  his  chair  himself  uprcared, 

cVnd  yawned,  and  rubbed  his  face,  and  spoke ; 
"By  holy  rood,  a  royal  beard  ! 


How  say  you  ?  we  have  slept,  my  lords" 
My  beard  has  grown  into  my  lap." 

The  barons  swore,  with  many  words, 
'T  was  but  an  after-dinner's  nap. 

"Pardy!"  returned  the  king,  "but  still 

My  joints  are  something  stiif  or  so. 
My  lord,  and  shall  we  pass  the  bill 

I  mentioned  half  an  hour  ago  ? " 
The  chancellor,  sedate  and  vain, 

In  courteous  words  returned  reply ; 
But  dallied  with  his  golden  chain, 

And,  smiling,  put  the  question  by. 

THE   DEPAETUEE. 

AxD  on  her  lover's  arm  she  leant. 

And  round  her  waist  she  felt  it  fold  ; 
And  ftir  across  the  hills  they  went 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old. 
Across  the  hills,  and  far  away 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
x\nd  deep  into  the  dying  day. 

The  happy  princess  followed  him. 

"I'd  sleep  another  hundred  years, 

O  love,  for  such  another  kiss ! " 
"  Oh  wake  for  ever,  love,"  she  hears, 

"0  love,  'twas  such  as  this  and  tiiis." 
And  o'er  them  many  a  sliding  star. 

And  many  a  merry  wind  was  borne. 
And,  streamed  through  many  a  golden  bar, 

The  twilight  melted  into  morn. 

"  O  eyes  long  laid  in  happy  sleep ! " 

"  0  happy  sleep,  that  lightly  fled !  " 
"  0  happy  kiss,  that  woke  thy  sleep !  " 

"  0  love,  thy  kiss  would  wake  the  dead  1 " 
And  o'er  them  many  a  flowing  range 

Of  vapor  buoyed  the  crescent  bark ; 
And,  rapt  through  many  a  rosy  change, 

The  twilight  died  into  the  dark. 

"A  hundred  summers !  can  it  be? 

And  whither  goest  thou,  tell  me  where ! " 
"  Oh  seek  my  father's  court  with  me, 

For  there  are  greater  wonders  there." 
And  o'er  the  hills,  and  far  away 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim. 
Beyond  the  night,  across  the  day, 

Through  all  the  world  she  followed  him. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


LOVE.                                                                        229 

LOVE. 

And  that  he  crossed  the  mountain-woods, 
ISTor  rested  day  nor  night ; 

All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame. 

That  sometimes  from  the  savage  den. 
And  sometimes  from  the  darksome  shade. 
And  sometimes  starting  up  at  once 
In  green  and  sunny  glade, — 

Oft  in  my  waking  dreams  do  I 
Live  o'er  again  that  happy  hour. 
When  midway  on  the  mount  I  lay. 
Beside  the  ruined  tower. 

There  came  and  looked  him  in  the  face 
An  angel  beautiful  and  bright; 
And  that  he  knew  it  was  a  fiend, 
This  miserable  knight ! 

The  moonshine  stealing  o'er  the  scene. 
Had  blended  with  the  lights  of  eve  ; 
And  she  was  there,  my  hope,  my  joy, 
M!y  own  dear  Genevieve ! 

And  that,  unknowing  what  he  did. 
He  leaped  amid  a  murderous  band. 
And  saved  from  oittrage  worse  than  death, 
The  lady;-of  the  land ; 

She  leaned  against  the  armed  man, 
The  statue  of  the  armed  knight ; 
She  stood  and  listened  to  my  lay, 
Amid  the  Hngering  light. 

And  how  she  wept  and  clasped  his  knees ; 
And  how  she  tended  him  in  vain — 
And  ever  strove  to  expiate 

The  scorn  that  crazed  his  brain ; — 

Few  sorrows  hath  she  of  her  own, 
My  hope!  my  joy!  my  Genevieve! 
She  loves  me  best  whene'er  I  sing 
The  songs  that  make  her  grieve. 

And  that  she  nursed  him  in  a  cave ; 
And  how  his  madness  went  away, 
When  on  the  yeUow  forest-leaves 
A  dying  man  he  lay ; — 

I  played  a  soft  and  doleful  air ; 
I  sang  an  old  and  moving  story — 
An  old,  rude  song,  that  suited  well 
That  ruin  wild  and  hoary. 

His  dying  words — but  when  I  reached 
That  tenderest  strain  of  all  the  ditty, 
My  faltering  voice  and  pausing  harp 
Disturbed  her  soul  with  pity ! 

She  listened  with  a  flitting  blush. 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace ; 
For  well  she  knew  I  could  not  choose 
But  gaze  upon  her  face. 

All  impulses  of  soul  and  sense 
Had  thrilled  my  guileless  Gene^eve ; 
The  music  and  the  doleful  tale, 
The  rich  and  balmy  eve ; 

I  told  her  of  the  knight  that  wore 
Upon  his  shield  a  burning  brand ; 
And  that  for  ten  long  years  he  wooed 
The  lady  of  the  land. 

And  hopes,  and  fears  that  kindle  hope, 
An  undistinguishable  throng, 
And  gentle  wishes  long  subdued. 
Subdued  and  cherished  long ! 

I  told  her  how  he  pined — and  ah ! 
The  deep,  the  low,  tlie  pleading  tone 
With  which  I  sang  another's  love. 
Interpreted  my  own. 

She  wept  with  pity  and  delight — 
She  blushed  with  love,  and  virgin  shame; 
And  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream, 
I  heard  her  breathe  ray  name. 

She  listened  with  a  flitting  blush, 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace  ; 
And  she  forgave  me  that  I  gazed 
Too  fondly  on  her  face ! 

Her  bosom  heaved ;  she  stepped  aside — 
As  conscious  of  my  look  she  stept — 
Then  suddenly,  with  timorous  eye, 
She  fled  to  me  and  wept. 

But  when  I  told  the  cruel  scorn 

That  crazed  that  bold  and  lovely  knight. 

Slie  half  inclosed  me  with  her  arms ; 
She  pressed  me  with  a  meek  embrace ; 

230 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


And  bending  back  lier  head,  looked  up, 
And  gazed  upon  my  face. 

'T  was  partly  love,  and  partly  fear, 
And  partly  't  was  a  bashful  art. 
That  I  might  rather  feel,  than  see. 
The  swelling  of  her  heart. 

I  calmed  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm, 
And  told  her  love  with  virgin  pride ; 
And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve, 

My  bright  and  beauteous  bride. 

Samuel  Tayloe  Coleridge. 


ZAEA'S  EAR-PJXGS. 

My  ear-rings !  my  ear-rings !  they  've  dropped 

into  the  well, 
And  what  to  say  to  Mu?a,  I  cannot,  cannot 

teU— 
'Twas  thus,  Granada's  fountain  by,  spoke 

Albuharez'  daughter : — 
The  well  is  deep— far  down  they  lie,  beneath 

the  cold  blue  water ; 
To  me  did  Mu^a  give  them,  when  he  spake 

his  sad  farewell. 
And  what  to  say  when  he  comes  back,  alas ! 

I  cannot  tell. 

My    ear-rings!     my    ear-rings! — they  were 

peai-ls  in  silver  set, 
That,  when  my  Moor  was  far  away,  I  ne'er 

should  him  forget ; 
That  I  ne'er  to  other  tongues  should  list,  nor 

smile  on  other's  tale. 
But  remember  he  my  lips  had  kissed,  pure  as 

those  ear-rings  pale. 
When  he  comes  back,  and  hears  that  I  have 

dropped  them  in  the  well. 
Oh !  what  will  Muf  a  think  of  me  ?— I  cannot, 

cannot  tell ! 

My  ear-rings  I  my  ear-rings ! — he  '11  say  they 
should  have  been. 

Not  of  pearl  and  of  silver,  but  of  gold  and 
glittering  sheen, 

Of  jasper  and  of  onyx,  and  of  diamond  shin- 
ing clear. 

Changing  to  the  changing  light,  with  radiance 
insincere;  . 


That  changeful  mind  unchanging   gems  are 

not  befitting  well, 
Thus  will  he  think — and  what  to  say,  alas ' 

I  cannot  tell. 

He  '11  think,  when  I  to  market  went  I  loitered 

by  the  way ; 
He  'U  think  a  willing  ear  I  lent  to  all  the  ladr 

might  say ; 
lie  'U  think  some  other  lover's  hand,  among 

my  tresses  noosed, 
From  the  ears  where  he  had  placed  them  my 

rings  of  pearl  unloosed ; 
He  "U  think  when  I  was-  sporting  so  besidf 

his  marble  well 
My  pearls  fell  in— and  what  to  say,  alas !  1 

cannot  tell. 

He  '11  say,  I  am  a  woman,  and  we  are  all  the 

same ; 
He  '11   say,  I  loved,  when  he  was  here  to 

whisper  of  his  flame — 
But  when  he  went  to  Tunis,  my  virgin  troth 

had  broken. 
And  thought  no  more  of  Muga,  and  cared  not 

for  his  token. 
My  ear-rings !   my  ear-rings  :    oh !   luckless, 

luckless  well, — 
For  what  to  say  to  Mu§a— alas!  I  cannot  teU. 

I'll  tell  the  truth  to  Mu^a — and  I  hope  he 
AvUl  believe — 

That  I  thought  of  him  at  morning  and  thought 
of  him  at  eve ; 

That,  musing  on  my  lover,  when  down  the 
sun  was  gone, 

His  ear-rings  in  my  hand  I  held,  by  the  foun- 
tain all  alone ; 

And  that  my  mind  was  o'er  the  sea,  when 
from  my  hand  they  fell,  . 

And  that  deep  his  love  lies  in  my  heart,  as 

they  he  in  the  well. 

Akonymoits.    (Spanish.) 
Translation  of  John  Gibson  Lockhakt. 


SERRANA. 

I  ne'ee  on  the  border 
Saw  girl  fair  as  Rosa, 

The  charming  milk-maiden 
Of  sweet  Finojosa. 


THE    SPINNIXG- 

WHEEL     SONG.                                         231 

Once  making  a  journey 

"  'Tis  the  sound,  mother  dear,  of  the  summer 

To  Santa  Maria 

wind  dying." 

Of  Calataveno, 

Merrily,  cheerily,  noisily  whirring. 

From  weary  desire 

Swings  the  wheel,  spins  the  reel,  while  the 

Of  sleep,  clown  a  valley 

-  foot 's  stirring ; 

I  strayed,  where  young  Rosa 

Sprightly,  and  lightly,  and  airily  ringing. 

I  saw,  the  milk-maiden 

Thrills  the  sweet  voice  of  the  young  maiden 

Of  lone  Finojosa. 

singing. 

In  a  pleasant  green  meadow. 

'Midst  roses  and  grasses, 

"  W  hat 's  that  noise  that  I  hear  at  the  window, 

Her  herd  she  was  tending. 

I  wonder?" 

With  other  fair  lasses ; 

"  'T  is  the  little  birds  chirping  the  holly-bush 

So  lovely  her  aspect, 

under." 

I  could  not  suppose  her 

"What  makes  you  be   shoving  and  moving 

A  simple  milk-maiden 

your  stool  on. 

Of  rude  Finojosa. 

And  singing  all  wrong  that  old  song  of  '  The 

I  think  not  primroses 

Coolun?'" 

Have  half  her  smile's  sweetness. 

There's  a  form  at  the  casement — the  form  of 

Or  mild,  modest  beauty ; 

her  true-love — 

I  speak  with  discreetness. 

And  he  whispers,  with  face  bent,  "  I  'm  wait- 

Oh, had  I  beforehand 

ing  for  you,  love ; 

But  known  of  this  Rosa, 

Get  up  on  the  stool,  through  the  lattice  step 

The  lovely  milk-maiden 

lightly. 

Of  fair  Finojosa ! 

We'U  rove  in  the  grove  while   the  moon's 

shining  brightly." 

Her  very  great  beauty 

Merrily,  cheerily,  noisily  whirring. 

Had  not  so  subdued. 

Swings  the  wheel,  spins  the  reel,  while  the 

Because  it  had  left  me. 

foot 's  stirring ; 

To  do  as  I  would. 

Sprightly,  and  lightly,  and  airily  ringing. 

I  have  said  more,  0  fair  one, 

Thrills  the  sweet  voice  of  the  young  maiden 

By  learning  't  was  Rosa, 

singing. 

The  charming  milk-maiden 

Of  sweet  Finojosa. 

Lope  de  Mesdoza.    (Spanish.) 

The  maid  shakes  her  head,  on  her  lip  lays 

Translation  of  J.  11.  Wiffex. 

her  fingers, 

Steals  up  from  her  seat — ^longs  to  go,  and  yet 
lingers ; 

THE  SPINNi:S"G-WHEEL  SONG. 

A  frightened  glance  turns   to  her   drowsy 

grandmother,                                            j 

Mellow  the  moonlight  to  shine  is  beginning ; 

Puts  one  foot  on  the  stool,  spins  the  wheel 

Close  by  the  window  young  Eileen  is  spin- 

with the  other. 

ning; 

Lazily,  easily,  swings  now  the  wheel  round ; 

Bent  o'er  the  fire,  her  bhnd  grandmother,  sit- 

Slowly and   lowly  is  heard  now  the  reel's 

ting. 

sound  ; 

Is  croaning,  and  moaning,  and  drowsily  knit- 

Noiseless and  light  to  the  lattice  above  her 

ting— 

Tlie  maid  steps — then  leaps  to  the  arms  of 

"Eileen,  achora,  I  hear  some  one  tapping." 

her  lover. 

"  'T  is  the  '\vy,  dear  mother,  against  the  glass 

Slower — and  slower — and  slower  the  wheel 

flapping." 

swings ; 

"  Eileen,  I  surely  hear  somebody  sighing." 

Lower — and  lower — and  lower  the  reel  rings ; 

232 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Ere  tlie  reel  and  tlie  wheel  stop  tlieir  ringing 

and  moving, 
Through  the  groA'C  the  young  lovers  hv  moon- 


light are  roving. 


John  Feancis  'Wallek. 


WATCn  SOXG. 

Tiis  sun  is  gone  down, 

And  the  moon  njTward  springcth ; 
The  night  creepeth  onward  ; 

The  nightingale  singeth. 
To  himself  said  a  watchman, 

"Is  any  knight  waiting 
In  pain  for  his  lady. 

To  give  her  his  greeting  ? 

Xow,  tlien,  for  their  meeting !  " 

His  words  heard  a  knight, 
In  the  garden  while  roaming : 

"  Ah,  watchman !  "  he  said, 
"  Is  the  daylight  fast  coming? 

And  may  I  not  see  her. 

And  wilt  not  thou  aid  me? " 

"  Go,  wait  m  thy  covert, 
Lest  the  cock  crow  reveille, 
And  the  dawn  should  hetray  thee." 

Then  in  went  that  watchman. 

And  called  for  the  fair ; 
And  gently  he  roused  her: 

"Rise,  lady!  prepare! 
Xew  tidings  I  hring  thee, 

And  strange  to  thine  ear ; 
Come,  rouse  thee  up  quickly — 

Thy  knight  tai-ries  near ; 

Else,  lady !  appear !  " 

"^Ui,  watchman!  though  purely 

The  moon  shines  above. 
Yet  trust  not  securely 

That  feigned  tale  of  love. 
Far,  for  from  my  presence 

]\ry  own  knight  is  straying ; 
And,  sadly  repining, 

I  mourn  his  long  staying, 

And  weep  his  delaying." 

"  Xay,  lady !  yet  trust  me, 

Xo  falsehood  is  there." 
Then  up  sprang  that  lady 

And  braided  her  hair, 


And  donned  her  white  garment. 

Her  purest  of  white ; 
And  her  heart  with  joy  trembling, 
She  rushed  to  the  sight 
Of  her  own  faithful  knight. 

Anonymous.   (German.) 
Translation  of  Edgar  Taylor. 


THE  OLD  STORY. 

He  came  across  the  meadow-pass, 

That  summer  eve  of  eves — 
The  sunlight  streamed  along  the  grass 

And  glanced  amid  the  leaves ; 
And  from  the  shrubbery  below. 

And  from  the  garden  trees, 
He  heard  the  thrushes'  music  flow 

And  humming  of  the  bees ; 
The  garden  gate  was  swung  apart — 

The  space  was  brief  between ; 
But  there,  for  throbbing  of  his  heart, 

He  paused  perforce  to  lean. 

He  leaned  upon  the  garden-gate  ; 

He  looked,  and  scarce  he  breathed ; 
Within  the  little  porch  she  sate. 

With  woodbine  overwreathed ; 
Her  eyes  upon  her  work  were  bent. 

Unconscious  who  was  nigh : 
But  oft  the  needle  slowly  went, 

And  oft  did  idle  lie: 
And  ever  to  her  lips  arose 

Sweet  fragments  sweetly  sung, 
But  ever,  ere  the  notes  could  close, 

She  hushed  them  on  her  tongue. 

Her  fancies  as  they  come  and  go. 

Her  pure  face  speaks  the  while  ; 
For  now  it  is  a  flitting  glow. 

And  now  a  breaking  smile ; 
And  now  it  is  a  graver  shade, 

When  holier  thoughts  are  there — 
An  angel's  pinion  might  be  stayed 

To  see  a  sight  so  fair; 
But  still  they  hid  her  looks  of  light. 

Those  downcast  eyelids  pale — 
Two  lovely  clouds,  so  silken  white, 

Two  lovelier  stars  that  veil. 

The  sun  at  length  his  burning  edge 

Had  rested  on  the  hill. 
And,  save  one  thrush  from  out  the  hedge, 

Both  bower  and  grove  were  still. 


JOCK    OF    HAZELDEAN. 


233 


The  sun  had  almost  bade  farewell ; 

But  one  reluctant  ray 
Still  loved  within  that  porch  to  dwell, 

As  charmed  there  to  stay — 
It  stole  aslant  the  pear-tree  bough, 

And  through  the  woodbine  fringe, 
And  kissed  the  maiden's  neck  and  brow, 

And  bathed  her  in  its  tinge. 

"  O  beauty  of  my  heart !  "  he  said, 

"  0  darling,  darling  mine ! 
Was  ever  light  of  evening  shed 

On  loveliness  like  tliine  ? 
Why  should  I  ever  leave  this  spot, 

But  gaze  until  I  die  ?  " 
A  moment  from  that  bursting  thought 

She  felt  his  footstep  nigh, 
One  sudden,  lifted  glance — but  one — • 

A  tremor  and  a  start — 
So  gently  was  their  greeting  done 

That  who  would  guess  their  heart  ? 

Long,  long  the  sun  had  sunken  down. 

And  all  his  golden  hail 
Had  died  away  to  lines  of  brown, 

In  duskier  hues  that  fail. 
The  grasshopper  was  chirping  shrill — ■ 

No  other  living  sound 
Accompanied  the  tiny  rill 

That  gurgled  under  ground — 
No  other  living  sound,  unless 

Some  spirit  bent  to  hear 
Low  words  of  human  tenderness 

And  mingling  whispers  near. 

The  stars,  like  pallid  gems  at  first, 

Deep  in  the  liquid  sky, 
Now  forth  upon  the  darkness  burst. 

Sole  kings  and  hghts  on  high ; 
For  splendor,  myriad-fold,  supreme. 

No  rival  moonlight  strove; 
Nor  lovelier  e'er  was  Hesper's  beam. 

Nor  more  majestic  Jove. 
But  what  if  hearts  there  beat  that  night 

That  recked  not  of  the  skies, 
Or  only  felt  their  imaged  light 

In  one  another's  eyes  ? 

And  if  tv/o  worlds  of  hidden  thought 

And  longing  passion  met, 
Which,  passing  human  language,  sought 

AikI  found  an  utterance  yet ; 
34 


And  if  they  trembled  as  the  flowers 

That  droop  across  the  stream. 
And  muse  the  while  the  starry  hours 

Wait  o'er  them  like  a  dream; 
And  if,  when  came  the  parting  time, 

They  faltered  still  and  clung ; 
What  is  it  aU  ? — an  ancient  rhyme 

Ten  thousand  times  besung — 
That  part  of  Paradise  which  man 

Without  the  portal  knows, — 
Which  hath  been  since  the  world  began, 

And  shall  be  till  its  close. 

Anontmoub. 


JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN. 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladye — 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
I'U  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  shall  be  his  bride ; 
And  ye  shall  be  his  bride,  ladye 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen." — 
But  ay  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Ilazeldean. 

"  Now  let  this  wilful  grief  be  done. 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale ; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley  dale : 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen." — 
But  ay  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  A  chain  of  gold  ye  shall  not  lack, 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair. 
Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair ; 
And  you  the  foremost  of  them  a' 

Shall  ride,  our  forest  queen." — 
But  ay  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

The  kirk  was  decked  at  morning  tide ; 

The  tapers  glimmered  fair ; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  knight  and  dame  are  there ; 
They  sought  her  both  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

The  ladye  was  not  seen. — 
She 's  o'er  the  border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Pit-  TTatti'R  proTT. 


234 


POEMS    OF    LOVE, 


LOCIimVAR. 

On,  young  Locliinvar  is  come  out  of  the 
west ; 

Tln-ough  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was 
the  best ; 

And  save  his  good  broad-sword  he  weapons 
had  none ; 

He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 

So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Loch- 
invar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not 

for  stone ; 
He  swam  the  Esko  river  where  ford  there 

was  none ; 
But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came 

late  : 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
"Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochin- 

var. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 

'Mong  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  broth- 
ers, and  all ; 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on 
his  sword, 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never 
a  word,) 

"  Oh  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in 
war. 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochin- 
var  ? " 

"  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you 

denied — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its 

tide — 
And  now  I  an:  come,  with  this  lost  love  of 

mine. 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of 

wine; 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely 

by  far. 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young 

Lochinvar." 


The  bride  kissed  the  goblet — the  knight  took 

it  up  ; 
He  quailed  oft'  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down 

the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up 

to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  hei 

eye. 
lie  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could 

bar, — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure ! "   said  young 

Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace  ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret  and  her  father  did 
fume. 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bon- 
net and  plume ; 

And  the  bride-maidens  whispered, " 'T  were 
better  by  far 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young 
Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her 

ear. 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door  and  the 

charger  stood  near ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush, 

and  scaur ; 
They  '11  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth 

young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graamos  of  the 

Netherby  clan ; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode 

and  they  ran : 
There  was  racing,  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie 

Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they 

see. 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young 

Lochinvar  ? 

SiK  Walter  Scott. 


LOVE     IN    THE    VALLEY. 


235 


LOVE  IX  THE  VALLEY. 

Cndee  yonder  beecli-tree  standing  on  the 
green  sward, 

Couched  with  her  arms  behind  her  little  head, 

Her  knees  folded  up,  and  her  tresses  on  her 
bosom, 

Lies  my  young  love  sleeping  in  the  shade. 

Had  I  the  heart  to  slide  one  arm  beneath  her! 

Press  her  dreaming  lips  as  her  waist  I  folded 
slow, 

taking  on  the  instant  she  could  not  but  em- 
brace me — 

Ah !  would  she  hold  me,  and  never  let  me  go  ? 

Shy  as  the  sqiiirrel,  and  wayward  as  the 
swallow ; 

Swift  as  the  swallow  when,  athwart  the  west- 
ern flood, 

Circleting  the  surface,  he  meets  his  mirrored 
Avinglets — 

Is  that  dear  one  in  her  maiden  bud. 

Shy  as  the  squirrel  whose  nest  is  in  the  pine 
tops ; 

Gentle — ah!  that  she  were  jealous — as  the 
dove ! 

FuU  of  all  the  wildness  of  the  woodland  crea- 
tures, 

Happy  in  herself  is  the  maiden  that  I  love ! 

What  can  have  taught  her  distrust  of  aU  I  teU 
her? 

Can  she  truly  doubt  mo  when  looking  on  my 
brows  ? 

Nature  never  teaches  distrust  of  tender  love- 
tales — 

What  can  have  taught  her  distrust  of  all  my 
vows  ? 

No,  she  does  not  doubt  me !  on  a  dewy  eve- 
tide, 

Whispering  together  beneath  the  listening 
moon, 

I  prayed  till  her  cheek  flushed,  implored  till 
she  faltered — 

Fluttered  to  my  bosom — ah  !  to  fly  away  so 
soon! 


When  her  mother  tends  her  before  the  laugh- 
ing mirror, 
Tying  up  her  laces,  looping  up  her  hair, 


Often  she  thinks — were  tliis  wild  thing 
wedded, 

I  should  have  more  love,  and  much  less  care. 

When  her  mother  tends  her  before  the  bash- 
ful mirror. 

Loosening  her  laces,  combing  down  her  curls, 

Often  she  thinks — were  this  wild  thing 
wedded, 

I  should  lose  but  one  for  so  many  boys  and 
girls. 

Clambei-ing  roses  peep  into  her  chamber ; 

Jasmine  and  woodbine  breathe  sweet,  sweet; 

White-necked  swallows,  twittering  of  sum- 
mer. 

Fill  her  with  balm  and  nested  peace  from 
head  to  feet. 

Ah !  will  the  rose-bough  see  her  lying  lonely. 

When  the  petals  fall  and  fierce  bloom  is  on 
the  leaves  ? 

WiU  the  autumn  garners  see  her  still  un- 
gathered. 

When  the  fickle  swallows  forsake  the  weep- 
ing eaves  ? 

Comes  a  sudden  question — should  a  strange 

hand  pluck  her! 
Oh!  what  an  anguish  smites  me  at  the  thought! 
Should  some  idle  lordling  bribe  her  mind  with 

jewels ! — 
Can  such  beauty  ever  thus  be  bought  ? 
Sometimes  the  huntsmen, prancing  down  tlie 

valley. 
Eye  the  village  lasses,  full  of  sprightly  mirth ; 
Tliey  see,  as  I  see,  mine  is  the  fairest ! 
Would  she  were  older  and  could  read  my 

worth ! 

Are  there  not  sweet  maidens,  if  she  still  deny 

me? 
Show  the  bridal  heavens  but  one  bright  star  ? 
Wherefore  thus  then  do  I  chase  a  shadow, 
Clattering  one  note  like  a  brown  evejar  ? 
So  I  rhyme  and  reason  till  she  darts  before 

me — 
Through  the  milky  meadows  from  flower  to 

flower  she  flies. 
Sunning  her  sweet  palms  to  shade  her  dazzled 

eyelids 
From  the  golden  love  that  looks  too  eager  in 

lier  oyes. 


23o 


POEMS    OF    LOVE, 


Wlicii  at  ilawn  she  wakens,  and  her  fan-  face 

gazes 
Out   on  the  weather  tlirougli   the  window 

panes, 
Beauteous  she  loolvs !  like,  a  white  water-lily 
Bursting  jout  of  bud  on   the   rippled  river 

plains. 
When  from  bed  she  rises,  clothed  from  neck 

to  ankle 
In  her  long  night  gown,  sweet  as  boughs  of 

May, 
Beauteous  she  looks!  like  a  tall  garden  lily, 
Pure  from  the  night  and  perfect  for  the  day ! 

Happy,  happy  time,  when  the  gray  star  twin- 
kles 

Over  the  fields  all  fresh  with  bloomy  dew ; 

When  the  cold-cheeked  dawn  grows  ruddy 
up  the  twilight. 

And  the  gold  sun  wakes  and  weds  her  in  the 
blue. 

Then  when  my  darling  tempts  the  early 
breezes, 

She  the  only  star  that  dies  not  with  the  dark ! 

Powerless  to  speak  all  the  ardor  of  my  pas- 
sion, 

I  catch  her  little  hand  as  we  listen  to  the 
lark. 

Shall  the  birds  in  vain  then  valentine  their 

sweethearts  ? 
Season  after  season  tell  a  fruitless  tale  ? 
Will  not  the  virgin  listen  to  their  voices  ? 
Take  the  honeyed  meaning,  wear  the  bridal 

veil? 
Fears  she  frosts  of  winter,  fears  she  the  bare 

branches? 
Waits  she  the  garlands  of   spring  for  her 

dower  ? 
Is  she  a  nightingale  that  will  not  be  nested 
Till  the  April  woodland  has  built  her  bridal 

bower  ? 

Then  come,  merry  April,  with  all  thy  birds 
and  beauties ! 

With  thy  crescent  brows  and  thy  flowery, 
showery  glee ; 

With  thy  budding  leafage  and  fresh  green 
pastures ; 

And  may  thy  lustrous  crescent  grow  a  hon- 
eymoon for  me ! 


Come,  merry  month  of  the  cuckoo  and  tJie 

violet ! 
Come,  weeping    loveliness  in   all  thy  blue 

delight ! 
Lo!    the  nest  is  ready,  let  me  not  languish 

longer ! 
Bring  her  to  my  arms  on  the  first  May  night. 

Geouge  Mekedith. 


LADY  CLARE. 

Lord  Eoxald  courted  Lady  Clare, 
I  trow  they  did  not  part  in  scorn ; 

Lord  Eonald,  her  cousin,  courted  her, 
And  they  Avill  wed  the  morrow  moi'n. 

"  He  does  not  love  me  for  my  birth, 
Nor  for  my  lands  so  broad  and  fair ; 

lie  loves  me  for  my  own  true  worth. 
And  that  is  well,"  said  Lady  Clare. 

In  there  came  old  Alice  the  nurse. 

Said,  "Who  was  this  that  went  from  thee? '' 

"It  was  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Clare, 
"  To-morrow  he  weds  with  me." 

"  Oh  God  be  thanked!  "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  That  all  comes  round  so  just  and  fair : 

Lord  Ronald  is  heir  of  all  your  lands. 
And  you  are  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"Are  ye  out  of  your  mind,  my  nurse,  my 
nurse  ? " 

Said  Lady  Clare,  "  that  ye  speak  so  wild  ? " 
"As  God's  above,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 

"  I  speak  the  truth :  you  are  my  child. 

"The  old   earl's  daughter  died  at  my  breast; 

I  speak  the  truth  as  I  live  by  bread ! 
I  buried  her  like  my  own  sweet  child. 

And  put  my  child  in  her  stead." 

"Falsely,  falsely  have  ye  done, 
0  mother,"  she  said,  "if  this  be  true, 

To  keep  the  best  man  under  the  sun 
So  many  years  from  his  due." 

"Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"But  keep  the  secret  for  your  life. 

And  all  you  have  will  be  Lord  Ronald's, 
When  you  are  man  and  wife." 


THE    LETTERS. 


iol 


"If  I 'm  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 
"  I  -n-ill  speak  out,  for  I  dare  not  lie. 

Pall  oft',  pull  oft'  tlie  brooch  of  gold, 
And  fling  the  diamond  necklace  by." 

"  Kay  no^v,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  But  keep  the  secret  all  ye  can." 

She  said,  "Not  so;  but  I  will  know 
Tf  there  be  any  faith  in  man." 

"  ISTaj  now,  what  faith  ?  "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  The  man  will  cleave  unto  his  right." 

*'  And  he  shall  have  it,"  the  lady  replied, 
"Though  I  should  die  to-night." 

"  Yet  give  one  kiss  to  your  mother  dear ! 

Alas,  my  child,  I  sinned  for  thee." 
"0  mother,  mother,  mother!  "  she  said, 

"  So  strange  it  seems  to  me. 

"  Yet  here 's  a  kiss  for  my  mother  dear, 

!My  mother  dear,  if  this  be  so ; 
And  lay  your  hand  upon  my  head. 

And  bless  me  mother,  ere  I  go." 

She  clad  herself  in  russet  gown, 

She  was  no  longer  Lady  Clare ; 
She  went  by  dale,  and  she  went  by  down, 

"With  a  single  rose  in  her  hair. 

A  lily-white  doe  Lord  Ronald  had  brought 

Leapt  up  from  where  she  lay, 
Dropt  her  head  in  the  maiden's  hand, 

And  followed  her  all  the  way. 

L>ov,'u  stept  Lord  Eonald  from  his  tower : 
"0  Lady  Clare,  you  shame  your  worth! 

"Why  come  you  drest  like  a  village  maid, 
That  are  the  flower  of  the  earth?  " 


"  If  I  come  drest  like  a  village  maid, 
I  am  but  as  my  fortunes  are  : 

I  am  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 
"  And  not  the  lady  Clare." 

"  Play  mc  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  For  I  am  yours  in  word  and  deed ; 

Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  Your  riddle  is  hard  to  read." 


Oh  and  proudly  stood  she  up ! 

Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail ; 
She  looked  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes. 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 

lie  laughed  a  laugh  of  merry  scorn  ; 

He  turned  and  kissed  her  where  she  stood ; 
"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born. 

And  I,"  said  he,  "  the  next  in  blood — 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born, 
And  I,"  said  he,  "  the  lawful  heir, 

We  two  will  wed  to-morrow  morn. 
And  you  shall  still  be  Lady  Clare." 

Alfked  Tenxtson. 


THE  LETTERS. 


Still  on  the  tower  stood  the  vane ; 

A  black  yew  gloomed  the  stagnant  air ; 
I  peered  athwart  the  chancel  pane 

And  saw  the  altar  cold  and  bare. 
A  clog  of  lead  was  round  my  feet, 

A  band  of  pain  across  my. brow ; 
"  Cold  altar,  heaven  and  earth  shall  meet 

Before  you  hear  my  marriage  vow." 

n. 

I  turned  and  hummed  a  bitter  song 

That  mocked  the  wholesome  human  heart; 
And  then  we  met  in  wrath  and  wrong, 

TTe  met,  but  only  meant  to  part. 
Full  cold  my  greeting  was  and  dry  ; 

She  faintly  smiled,  she  hardly  moved  ; 
I  saw,  -nyith  half-unconscious  eye, 

She  wore  the  colors  I  approved. 

III. 

She  took  the  little  ivory  chcst- 

With  half  a  sigh  she  turned  the  key ; 
Then  raised  her  head  with  lips  comprest, 

And  gave  my  letters  back  to  mc. 
And  gave  the  trinkets  and  the  rings, 

My  gifts,  when  gifts  of  mine  could  please ; 
As  looks  a  father  on  the  things 

Of  his  dead  son,  I  looked  on  these. 


23S 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


IV. 

'She  told  mo  all  her  fricuds  had  said; 

I  raged  against  the  puhlic  liar. 
She  talked  as  if  her  love  were  dead; 

But  in  my  words  were  seeds  of  fire. 
"  No  more  of  love  ;  your  sex  is  Icnown : 

I  never  will  be  twice  deceived. 
Henceforth  I  trust  the  man  alone — 

The  woman  cannot  be  believed. 


"  Through  slander,  meanest  spawn  of  hell 

(And  woman's  slander  is  the  worst), 
And  you,  whom  once  I  loved  so  well — 

Through  you  my  life  will  be  accurst." 
r  spoke  with  heart,  and  heat  and  force, 

I  shook  her  breast  with  vague  alarms — 
Like  torrents  from  a  mountain  source 

"We  rushed  into  each  other's  arms. 

vr. 

We  parted.     Sweetly  gleamed  the  stars, 

And  sweet  the  vapor-braided  blue ; 
Low  breezes  fanned  the  belfry  bars, 

As  homeward  by  the  church  I  drew. 
The  very  graves  appeared  to  smile, 

So  fresh  they  rose  in  shadowed  swells ; 
"Dark  porch,"  I  said,  "and  silent  aisle. 

There  comes  a  sound  of  marriage  bells." 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


SOXXETS. 

That  thou  art  blamed  shall  not  be  thy  defect. 
For  slander's  mark  was  ever  yet  the  fair ; 
The  ornament  of  beauty  is  suspect, 
A  crow  that  flies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air. 
So  thou  be  good,  slander  doth  but  approve 
Thy  worth  the  gi-eater,  being  wooed  of  time; 
For  canker  vice  the  sweetest  buds  doth  love, 
And  thou  present'st  a  pure  unstained  prime. 
Thou  hast  passed  by  the  ambush  of  young 

days, 
Either  not  assailed,  or  victor  being  charged ; 
Yet  this  thy  praise  cannot  be  so  thy  praise. 
To  tie  up  envy,  evermore  enlarged. 
If  some  suspect  of  ill  masked  not  thy  show. 
Then,    thou    alone    kingdoms    of    hearts 
shoulust  owe. 


So  are  you  to  my  thoughts,  as  food  to  life. 
Or  as  sweet-seasoned    showers  are  to  the 

ground ; 
And  for  the  peace  of  you  I  hold  such  strife 
As  'twixt  a  miser  and  his  wealth  is  found ; 
Now  proud  as  an  enjoyer,  and  anon 
Doubting  the  filching  age  will  steal  his  treas- 

m-e ; 
Now  counting  best  to  be  with  you  alone, 
Then  bettered  that  the  world  may  see  my 

pleasure ; 
Sometime  all  full  with  feasting  on  your  sight. 
And  by  and  by  clean  starved  for  a  look ; 
Possessing  or  pursuing  no  delight, 
Save  what  is  had  or  must  from  you  be  took. 

Thus  do  I  pine  and  suffer  day  by  day ; 

Or  gluttoning  on  all,  or  all  away. 


Farewell!  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possess- 
ing, 

And  like  enough  thou  know'st  thy  estimate ; 

The  charter  of  thy  worth  gives  thee  releasing ; 

My  bonds  in  thee  are  all  determinate. 

For  how  do  I  hold  thee  but  by  thy  granting  ? 

And  for  that  riches  where  is  my  deserving? 

The  cause  of  this  fair  gift  in  me  is  wanting. 

And  so  my  patent  back  again  is  swervmg. 

Thyself  thou  gav'st,  thy  own  worth  then  not 
knowing. 

Or  me,  to  whom  thou  gav'st  it,  else  mistaking ; 

So  thy  great  gift,  upon  misprision  growing. 

Comes  home  again,  on  better  judgment  mak- 
ing. 
Thus  have  I  had  thee,  as  a  dream  doth 
flatter 

In  sleep  a  king ;  but  waking  no  such  matter. 


Some  say  thy  fault  is  youth,  some  wantonness; 
Some  say  thy  grace  is  youth,  and  gentle  sport ; 
Both  grace  and  faults  are  loved  of  more  and 

less ; 
Thou  mak'st  faults  graces  that  to  thee  resort. 
As  on  the  finger  of  a  throned  queen 
The  basest  jewel  will  be  well  esteemed, 
So  are  those  errors  that  in  thee  are  seen, 
To  truths  translated,    and  for  true    things 

deemed. 


SONNETS, 


239 


How  many  lambs  might  the  stern  wolf  betray, 
If  like  a  lamb  he  could  his  looks  translate! 
How  many  gazers  might'st  tliou  lead  away, 
If  thou  wouldst  use  the  strength  of  all  thy 
state ! 
But  do  not  so ;  I  love  thee  in  such  sort 
As  thou  being  mine,  mine  is  thy  good  re- 
port. 


How  like  a  winter  hath  my  absence  been 
From  thee,  the  pleasure  of  the  fleeting  year ! 
What  freezings  have  I  felt,  what  dark  days 

seen. 
What  old  December's  bareness  everywhere ! 
And  yet  this  time  removed  was   summer's 

time; 
rhe  teeming  autumn,  big  with  rich  increase, 
Bearing  the  wanton  burden  of  the  prime. 
Like  widowed  wombs  after  their  lords'  de- 
cease ; 
Yet  this  abundant  issue  seemed  to  me 
But  hope  of  orphans,  and  unfathered  fruit ; 
For  summer  and  his  pleasures  wait  on  thee. 
And,  thou  away,  the  very  bii'ds  are  mute ; 
Or,  if  they  sing,  't  is  with  so  dull  a  cheer. 
That  leaves  look  pale,  di-eading  the  win- 
ter 's  near. 


Feom  you  have  I  been  absent  in  the  spring. 
When  proud-pied    April  dressed,  in    all  his 

trim, 
Ilatli  put  a  spirit  of  youth  in  every  thing, 
That  heavy  Saturn  laughed  and  leaped  with 

him. 
Yet  nor  the  lays  of  birds,  nor  the  sweet  smell 
Of  different  flowers  in  odor  and  in  hue, 
Could  make  me  any  summer's  story  tell, 
Or  from  their  proud  lap  pluck  them  where 

they  grew ; 
Nor  did  I  wonder  at  the  lily's  white, 
Nor  praise  the  deep  vermilion  in  the  rose ; 
They  are  but  sweet,  but  figures  of  delight. 
Drawn  after  you — you  pattern  of  all  those. 
Yet  seemed  it  winter  still,  and,  you  away. 
As  with  your  shadow  I  with  these  did  play. 


The  forward  violet  thus  did  I  chide : — 
Sweet   thief,    whence  didst   thou   steal  thy 

sweet  that  smells, 
If  not  from  my  love's  breath?    the  purple 

pride 
Which   on  thy   soft  cheek  for    complexion 

dwells. 
In  my  love's  veins  thou  hast  too  grossly  dyed. 
The  lily  I  condemned  for  thy  hand. 
And  buds  of  marjoram  had  stolen  thy  hair ; 
The  roses  fearfully  on  thorns  did  stand, 
One  blushing  shame,  another  white  despair ; 
A  third,  nor  red  nor  white,  had  stolen  of  both. 
And  to  this  robbery  had  annexed  thy  breath ; 
But  for  his  theft,  in  pride  of  all  his  growth 
A  vengeful  canker  eat  him  up  to  death. 
More  flowers  I  noted,  yet  I  none  could  see, 
But  sweet  in  color  it  had  stolen  fi'om  thee. 


When  in  the  chronicle  of  wasted  time 
I  see  descriptions  of  the  fairest  wights, 
And  beauty  making  beautiful  old  rhyme, 
In  praise  of  ladies  dead,  and  lovely  knights  ; 
Then,  in  the  blazon  of  sweet  beauty's  best. 
Of  hand,  of  foot,  of  lip,  of  eye,  of  brow, 
I  see  their  antique  pen  would  have  expressed 
Even  such  a  beauty  as  you  master  now. 
So  all  their  praises  are  but  prophecies 
Of  this  our  time,  all  you  prefiguring ; 
And  for  they  looked  but  with  di\'ining  eyes, 
They  had  not  skill  enough  your  worth  to  sing ; 

For  we,  which  now  behold  these  present 
days. 

Have  eyes  to  wonder,  but  lack  tongues  to 
praise. 


Not  mine  own  fears,  nor  the  prophetic  soul 
Of  the  wide  world,  dreaming  on  things  to 

come. 
Can  yet  the  lease  of  my  true  love  control. 
Supposed  as  forfeit  to  a  confined  doom. 
The  mortal  moon  hath  her  eclipse  endured. 
And  the  sad  augurs  mock  their  own  presage ; 
Incertainties  now  crown  themselves  assured. 
And  peace  proclaims  olives  of  endless  age. 
Now,  with  the  drops  of  this  most  balmy  time 


210 


POEMS    OF    LOYE. 


Mv  love  looks  fresh,  and  death  to  me  sub- 
scribes, 
Since,  spito  of  him,  I  '11  live  ia  this  poor  rhyme, 
While  he   iusnlts  o'er  dnll   and    speechless 
tribes : 
And  thou  in  this  shalt  find  thy  monument, 
AMien  tyrants'  crests,  and  tombs  of  brass 
are  spent. 


Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments ;  love  is  not  love, 
"Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds. 
Or  bends  "with  the  remover  to  remove. 
Oh  no !  it  is  an  ever-fixed  mark, 
That  looks  on  tempests,  and  is  never  shaken ; 
It  is  the  star  to  every  wandering  bark, 
Yrhose  worth 's  unknown,  although  his  height 

be  taken. 
Love 's  not  Time's  fool,  though  rosy  lips  and 

cheeks 
"Within  his  bending  sickle's  compass  come  ; 
Love  alters  not  with   his  brief   hours  aud 

weeks 
But  bears  it  out  even  to  the  edge  of  doom. 
If  this  be  error,  and  upon  me  proved, 
I  never  writ,  nor  no  man  ever  loved. 


On !  never  say  that  I  was  false  of  heart. 
Though  absence  seemed  my  flame  to  qualify. 
As  easy  might  I  from  myself  depart. 
As  from  my  soul,  which  in  tliy  breast  doth 

lie. 
That  is  my  home  of  love ;  if  I  have  ranged. 
Like  him  that  travels,  I  return  again — 
Just  to  the  time,  not  with  the  time  exchanged ; 
So  that  myself  bring  water  for  my  stain. 
Never  believe,  though  in  my  natm-e  reigned 
All  frailties  that  besiege  all  kinds  of  blood. 
That  it  could  so  preposterously  be  stained. 
To  leave  for  nothing  all  thy  sum  of  good ; 
For  nothing  this  w'ide  universe  I  call. 
Save  thou,  my  rose ;  in  it  thou  art  my  all. 

Shakespeaee. 


SONNETS. 

Come  sleep,  0  sleep !  the  certain  knot  of 
peace. 

The  baiting-place  of  wit,  the  balm  of  woe; 

The  poor  man's  w^ealth,  the  prisoner's  re- 
lease, 

The  indifferent  judge  between  the  high  and 
low! 

With  shield  of  proof,  shield  me  from  out  the 
prease 

Of  those  fierce  darts  despair  doth  at  me 
throw. 

Oh  make  in  me  those  ci-vil  wars  to  cease ; 

I  will  good  tribute  pay  if  thou  do  so. 

Take  thoii  of  me  smooth  pillows,  sweetest 
bed, 

A  chamber  deaf  to  noise  and  blind  to  light, 

A  rosy  garland  and  a  weary  head ; 

And  if  these  things,  as  being  thine  by  right, 

Move  not  thy  heavy  grace,  thou  shalt  in  me, 

Livelier  than  elsewhere,  Stella's  image  see. 


In  martial  sports  I  had  my  cunning  tried, 
And  yet  to  break  more  staves  did  me  ad- 
dress ; 
While  with  the  people's  shouts  I  must  confess, 
Youth,  luck,  and  praise  e'en  filled  my  veins 

wdth  pride ; 
"When  Cupid  having  me,  his  slave,  descried 
In  Mars's  livery,  prancing  in  the  press, 
"What  now.  Sir  Fool?  "said  he,  "I  would 

no  less ; 
Look  here  I  say." — I  looked  and  Stella  spied, 
Who,  hard  by,  made  a  window  send  forth 

fight; 
My  heart  then  quaked;   then  dazzled  were 

mine  eyes ; 
One  hand  forgot  to  rule,  the  other  to  fight ; 
Nor  trumpet's  sound  I  heard,  nor  friemlly 

cries. 
My  foe  came  on  and  beat  the  air  for  me, 
Till  that  her  blush  taught  me  my  shame  to 

see. 


SONNETS. 


241 


0  HAPPY  Tliames  that  didst  my  Stella  bear; 

1  saw  myself  with  many  a  smiliug  liue 
Upon  thy  cheerful  face,  joy's  livery  wear, 
While  those  fair  planets  on  thy  streams  did 

shine ; 
The  boat  for  joy  could  not  to  dance  forbear; 
TTliile  wanton  winds,  with  beauties  so  divine 
Ravished,  staid  not  till  in  her  golden  hair 
They  did  themselves,   oh  sweetest  prison! 

twine ; 
And  fain  those  EoFs  youth  there  would  their 

stay 
Have  made,  but  forced  by  nature  still  to  flyj 
First  did  with  puffing  kiss  those  locks  display. 
She  so  dishevelled,  blushed:— from  window  I, 
With  sight  thereof,  cried  out,  oh  fair  disgrace ! 
Let  honor's  self  to  thee  grant  highest  place. 


With  how  sad  steps,  0  Moon  thou  climb'st 

the  skies — ■ 
How  silently,  and  with  how  wan  a  face ! 
What  I    may  it  be,   that  even  iu   heavenly 

place 
That  busy  archer  his  sharp  arrows  tries  ? 
Sure,  if  that  long-with-love-acquainted  eyes 
Can  judge  of  love,  thou  feel'st  a  lover's  case ; 
I  read  it  in  thy  looks,  thy  languished  grace  ; 
To  me  that  feel  the  like  thy  state  descries. 
Then  even  of  fellowship,  0  Moon,  tell  me— 
Is  constant  love  deemed  there  but  want  of 

wit? 
Are  beauties  there  as  proud  as  here  they  be  ? 
Do  they  above  love  to  be  loved,  and  yet 
Those  lovers  scorn  whom  that  love    doth 

possess? 
Do  they  call  virtue  there  ungratefulness  ? 

Sib  Phiup  Sidney. 


SONI^T. 

I  Kxow  that  all  beneath  the  moon  decays; 
And  what  by  mortals  in  tliis  world  is  brought. 
In  time's  great  periods  sliall  return  to  nought ; 
That  fairest  states  have  fatal  nights  and  days. 
I  know  that  all  the  muses'  heavenly  lays, 
With  toil  of  sprite  which  are  so  dearly  bought, 
35 


As  idle  sounds,  of  few  or  none  are  sought; 
That  there  is  nothing  lighter  than  vain  praise. 
I  know  frail  beauty 's  like  the  pui'ple  flower 
To  which  one  morn  oft  birth  and  death  af- 
fords. 
That  love  a  jarring  is  of  mind's  accords, 
Where  sense  and  will  bring  under  reason's 

power : 
Know  what  I  list,  this  all  cannot  me  move. 
But  that,  alas !  I  both  must  write  and  love. 

William  Drumjiond. 


SONNET. 

If  it  be  true  that  any  beauteous  thing 

Raises  the  pure  and  just  desire  of  man 

From  earth  to  God,  the  eternal  fount  of  all, 

Such  I  believe  my  love ;  for  as  in  her 

So  fair,  in  whom  I  all  besides  forget, 

I  view  the  gentle  work  of  her  creator, 

I  have  no  care  for  any  other  thing. 

Whilst  thus  I  love.    Nor  is  it  marvellous. 

Since  the  effect  is  not  of  my  own  power, 

If  the  soul  doth,  by  nature  tempted  forth. 

Enamored  through  the  eyes. 

Repose  upon  the  eyes  which  it  resembleth. 

And  through  them  riseth  to  the  Primal  Love, 

As  to  its  end,  and  honors  in  admiring ; 

For  who  adores  the  Maker  needs  must  love 

His  work. 

Michael  Angelo.   (Italian.) 

Translation  of  J.  E.  Taylor. 


TO  VITTORIA  COLOXNA. 

Yes  !  hope  may  with  my  strong  desire  keep 

pace. 
And  I  be  undeluded,  unbetrayed ; 
For  if  of  our  affections  none  find  grace 
In  sight  of  heaven,  then  wherefore  hath  God 

made 
The  world  which  Ave  inhabit  ?  Better  plea 
Love  cannot  have,  than  that  in  loving  thee 
Glory  to  that  Eternal  Peace  is  paid, 
Who  such  divinity  to  thee  imparts 


212 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


As    hallows    and    makes    pure    all     gentle 

hearts. 
His  liopo  is  treacherous  only  Avhose  love  dies 
With  beauty,  •which  is  varying  every  liour  : 
But  in  chaste  hearts,   uninfluenced  by  the 

power 
Of  outward  change,  there  blooms  a  deathless 

flower, 
That  breathes  on  earth  the  air  of  paradise. 

Michael  Angelo.    (Italian.) 
Translation  of  'William  "Wordsworth. 


SOKNETS  FEOM  THE  POETUGUESE. 

If  thou  must  love  me,  let  it  be  for  nought 
Except  for  love's  sake  only.    Do  not  say 
"I  love  her  for   her  smile,  her  look,  her 

•way 
Of  speaking  gently,— for  a  trick  of  thought 
Tliat  falls  in  well  with    mine,   and  certes 

brought 
A  sense  of  pleasant  ease  on  such  a  day." 
For  these  things  in  themselves,  beloved,  may 
Be  changed,  or  change  for  thee, — and  love  so 

■wrought, 
May  be  unwrought  so.     Neither  love  me  for 
Tliine  own  dear  pity's  wiping  my  cheeks 

dry,— 
A  creature  might  forget  to  weep,  -who  bore 
Thy  comfort  long,  and  lose  thy  love  thereby. 
But  love  me  for  love's  sake,  that  evermore 
Thou  mayst  love  on,  through  love's  eternity. 


I  NEVEE  gave  a  lock  of  hair  away 
To  a  man  dearest,  except  this  to  thee. 
Which  no-w  upon  my  fingers  thoughtfully 
I  ring  out  to  tlie  full  brown  length,  and  say, 
'•  Take  it !  "  My  day  of  youth  went  yesterday ; 
My  hair  no  longer  bounds  to  my  foot's  glee, 
Nor  plant  I  it  from  rose  or  myrtle-tree, 
As  girls  do,  any  more.     It  only  may 
Now  shade  on  two  pale  cheeks  the  mark  of 

tears. 
Taught  drooping  fifom  the  head  that  hangs 

aside 


Through  sorrow's  trick.  I  thought  the  fu- 
neral shears 

Would  take  this  first,  but  love  is  justified, — 

Take  it  thou, — finding  pure,  from  aU  those 
years. 

The  kiss  my  mother  left  there  when  she  died. 


Say  over  again,  and  yet  once  over  again, 
That  thou  dost  love  me.    Though  the  word 

repeated 
Should  seem  "a  cuckoo-song,"  as  thou  dost 

treat  it, 
Eemember,  never  to  the  hill  or  plain, 
Valley  and  wood,  without  her  cuckoo-strain, 
Comes  the  fresh  spring  in  all  her  green  com- 
pleted. 
Beloved,  I,  amid  the  darkness  greeted 
By  a  doubtful  spirit-voice,  in  that  doubt's 

pain 
Cry:     "Speak    once    more — thou   lovest!" 

Who  can  fear 
Too  many  stars,  though  each  in  heaven  shall 

roll- 
Too  many  flowers,  though  each  shall  crown 

the  year  ? 
Say  thou  dost  love  me,  love  me,  love  me — 

toll 
The  silver  iterance ! — only  minding,  dear, 
To  love  me  also  in  silence,  with  thy  soul. 


If  I  leave  all  for  thee,  wilt  thou  exchange 
And  be  aU  to  me  ?    Shall  I  never  miss 
Home-talk  and  blessing,  and  the  common  kiss 
That  comes  to  each  in  turn,  nor  count  it 

strange, 
Wlien  I  took  up,  to  drop  on  a  new  range 
Of   walls    and  floors — another   home    than 

this? 
Nay,  Avilt  thou  flU  that  place  by  me  which  is 
Filled  by   dead  eyes  too   tender  to  know 

change? 
That 's  hardest.   If  to  conquer  love  has  tried. 
To  conquer   grief  tries  more,  as   all  things 

prove ; 
For  grief  indeed  is  love  and  grief  beside. 
Alas,  I  have  grieved  so,  I  am  hard  to  love. 


PHILLIDA    AND     CORYDON. 


243 


Yet  love  me — wilt  thou  ?     Open  thine  heart 

wide, 
And  fold  within  the  wet  wings  of  thy  dove. 


FiEST  time  he  kissed  me,  he  but  only  kissed 
The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  I  write ; 
And,   ever  since,   it  grew  more  clean   and 

white, 
Slow    to    world-greetings,    quick    with    its 

"  0  list  !  " 
When  the  angels  speak.    A  ring  of  amethyst 
I  could  not  wear  hero,  plainer  to  my  sight, 
Than  that  first  kiss.     The  second  passed  in 

height 
The  first,  and  sought  the  forehead,  and  half 

missed, 
Half  falling  on  the  hair.     Oh,  beyond  meed ! 
That  was  the  chrism  of  love,  which  love's 

own  crown. 
With  sanctifying  sweetness,  did  precede. 
The  third  upon  my  lips  was  folded  down 
In  perfect,  pui-ple  state ;  since  when,  indeed, 
I  have  been  proud,  and  said,  "My  love,  my 

own ! " 


How  do  I  love  thee  ?  Let  me  count  the  ways : 
I  love  thee  to  the  depth,  and  breadth,  and 

height 
My  soul  can  reach,  when  feeling,  out  of  sight, 
For  the  ends  of  being  and  ideal  grace. 
I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  every  day's 
Most  quiet  need,  by  sun  and  candlelight. 
I  love  thee  freely,  as  men  strive  for  right ; 
I  love  thee  purely,  as  they  turn  from  praise. 
I  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 
In  my  old  griefs,  and  with  my  childhood's 

faith. 
I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 
With  my  lost  saints.    I  love  thee  with  the 

breath. 
Smiles,  tears,  of  all  my  life! — and,  if  God 

choose, 
I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death. 

Elizabeth  Bareett  Browning. 


PHILLIDA  AIS^D  COEYDOIs^. 

In  the  merrie  moneth  of  Maye, 
In  a  morne  by  break  of  daye. 
With  a  troupe  of  damsells  playing, 
Forth  I  yode  forsooth  a-maying ; 

Where  anon  by  a  wood  side, 
Where  as  May  was  in  his  pride, 
I  espied  aU  alone 
PhiUida  and  Corydon. 

Much  adoe  there  was,  God  wot ; 
He  wold  love,  and  she  wold  not. 
She  sayd  never  man  was  trewe  ; 
He  sayes  none  was  false  to  you. 

He  sayde  hee  had  lovde  her  longe ; 
She  sayes  love  should  have  no  wronge. 
Corydon  wold  kisse  her  then ; 
She  sayes  maids  must  kisse  no  men, 

Tyll  they  doe  for  good  and  all. 
When  she  made  the  shopperde  call 
AU  the  heavens  to  wytnes  truthe, 
Never  loved  a  truer  youthe. 

Then  with  many  a  prettie  othe. 
Yea,  and  naye,  and  faithe  and  trothe — 
Such  as  seelie  shepp^rd'es  use 
When  they  will  not  love  abuse — 

Love,  that  had  bene  long  deluded, 
Was  with  kisses  sweete  concluded ; 
And  PhiUida  with  garlands  gaye 
Was  made  the  ladye  of  the  Maye. 

NicHoiAS  Beeton. 


LOVE  IS  A  SICKNESS. 

Love  is  a  sickness  full  of  woes, 

All  remedies  refusing ; 
A  plant  that  most  with  cutting  grows, 
Most  barren  with  best  using. 
Why  so  ? 
More  we  enjoy  it,  more  it  dies ; 
If  not  enjoyed,  it  sighing  cries 
Ileigli-ho ! 


•:u 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


LoTO  is  a  torment  of  the  miiul, 
A  tempest  everlasting ; 

And  Jove  liatli  made  it  of  a  kind, 
Not  well,  nor  full,  nor  fasting. 
Why  so  ? 

More  we  enjoy  it,  more  it  dies ; 

If  not  enjoyed,  it  sighing  cries 


Ileigh-ho ! 


Samuel  Daniel. 


THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

BENT  BY  A   TORKISH  LOVEK  TO  HIS  LAIfCAS- 
TEIAN  MISTRESS. 

If  this  fair  rose  offend  thy  sight, 
Placed  in  tliy  bosom  bare, 
'T  will  blush  to  find  itself  less  white, 
And  turn  Lancastrian  there. 

But  if  thy  ruby  lip  it  spy, 
As  kiss  it  thou  mayest  deign, 
With  envy  pale  't  will  lose  its  dye, 


And  Yorkish  turn  again. 


ANOSTMOtrS. 


TRIUMPH  OF  CHAEIS. 

See  the  chariot  at  hand  here  of  Love ! 

Wherein  my  lady  rideth ! 
Each  that  draws  is  a  swan,  or  a  dove, 

And  well  the  car  Love  guideth. 
As  she  goes,  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty. 
And,  enamored,  do  wish,  so  they  might 

But  enjoy  such  a  sight. 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  side 
Through  swords,  through  seas,  whither  she 
would  ride. 

Do  but  look  on  her  eyes !  they  do  light 
All  that  Love's  world  compriseth  ; 

Do  but  look  on  her  hair !  it  is  bright 
As  Love's  star  when  it  riseth  ! 

Do  but  mark— her  forehead  's  smoother 
Than  words  that  soothe  her ! 


And  from  her  arched  brows  such  a  grace 
Sheds  itself  through  the  face. 
As  alone  there  triumphs  to  the  life, 
All  the  gain,  all  the  good,  of  the  elements' 
strife. 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow, 
Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it  ? 
Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the  snow. 

Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it  ? 
Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver  ? 

Or  swan's  down  ever  ? 
Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  of  the  brier  ? 

Or  the  nard  i'  the  fire  ? 
Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee  ? 
Oh,  so  white !  oh,  so  soft !  oh,  so  sweet  is  she ! 

Ben  Jonson. 


AN"  EARNEST  SUIT 

TO  HIS  UNKIND  MISTRESS  NOT  TO  FORSAKE  HIIV 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay !  say  nay  !  for  shame  I 
To  save  thee  from  the  blame 
Of  all  my  grief  and  grame. 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay !  say  nay  ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus, 
That  hath  loved  thee  so  long. 
In  wealth  and  woe  among  ? 
And  is  thy  heart  so  strong 
As  for  to  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay  !  say  nay ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus. 
That  hath  given  thee  my  heart. 
Never  for  to  depart. 
Neither  for  pain  nor  smart  ? 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay  !  say  nay ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus. 
And  have  no  more  pity 
Of  him  that  loveth  thee  ? 
Alas !  thy  cruelty ! 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay  !  say  nay  ! 

SiK  Thomas  Wtat 


SONGS. 


245 


DISCOURSE  WITH  CUPID. 

Noblest  Charis,  you  that  are 
Both  my  fortune  and  my  star ! 
And  do  govern  more  my  blood, 
Than  the  various  moon  the  flood ! 
Hear  what  late  discourse  of  you 
Love  and  I  have  had  ;  and  true. 
'Mongst  my  muses  finding  me, 
Where  he  chanced  your  name  to  see 
Set,  and  to  this  softer  strain  : 
"  Sure,"  said  he,  "  if  I  have  brain, 
This  here  sung  can  be  no  other 
By  description,  but  my  mother ! 
.So  hath  Homer  praised  her  hair ; 
So  Anacreon  drawn  the  air 
Of  her  face,  and  made  to  rise. 
Just  about  her  sparkling  eyes. 
Both  her  brows,  bent  like  my  bow. 
By  her  looks  I  do  her  know, 
Which  you  call  my  shafts.    And  see ! 
Such  my  mother's  blushes  be, 
As  the  bath  your  verse  discloses 
In  her  cheeks  of  milk  and  roses ; 
Such  as  oft  I  wanton  in. 
And  above  her  even  chin. 
Have  you  placed  the  bank  of  kisses 
Where,  you  say,  men  gather  blisses. 
Ripened  with  a  breath  more  sweet, 
Than  when  flowers  and  west  winds  meet. 
Nay,  her  white  and  polished  neck, 
With  the  lace  that  doth  it  deck, 
Is  my  mother's !  hearts  of  slain 
Lovers,  made  into  a  chain  ! 
And  between  each  rising  breast 
Lies  the  valley  called  my  nest. 
Where  I  sit  and  proyne  my  wings 
After  flight ;  and  put  new  strings 
To  my  shafts !     Her  very  name, 
With  my  mother's  is  the  same." 
"  I  confess  all,"  I  replied, 
"  And  the  glass  hangs  by  her  side, 
And  the  girdle  'bout  her  waist, 
All  is  Venus ;  save  unchaste. 
But,  alas !  thou  seest  the  least 
Of  her  good,  who  is  the  best 
Of  her  sex ;  but  couldst  thou.  Love, 
Call  to  mind  the  forms  that  strove 
For  the  apple,  and  those  three 
Make  in  one,  the  same  were  she. 


For  this  beauty  still  doth  hide 
Something  more  than  thou  hast  spied. 
Outward  grace  weak  Love  beguiles : 
She  is  Yenus  when  she  smiles, 
But  she 's  Juno  when  she  walks. 
And  Minerva  when  she  talks." 

Ben  Jonson. 


TO  CELIA. 

Dkixk  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine  ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup. 

And  I'U  not  look  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine  ; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

I  sent  thee,  late,  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honoring  thee. 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be. 
But  thou  thereon  did'st  only  breathe, 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me ; 
Since  when,  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee. 

Philosteatus.    (Greek.) 
Translation  of  Ben  Jonson. 


CUPID  AND  CAMPASPE. 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  played 

At  cards  for  kisses — Cupid  paid ; 

He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow  and  arrows, 

His  mother's  doves,  and  team  of  sparrows — 

Loses  them  too ;  then  down  he  throws 

The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 

Growing  on 's  check  (but  none  knows  how)  ; 

With  these  the  crystal  of  his  brow, 

And  then  the  dimple  of  his  chin  ; 

All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win. 

At  last  he  set  her  both  his  eyes ; 

She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 

0  Love !  has  she  done  this  to  thee  ? 

What  shall,  alas !  become  of  me  ? 

John  Ltlt. 


246                                                       POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

Reason  masters  every  sense. 

HEAR,  YE  LADIES. 

And  hor  virtues  grace  her  birth  ; 

Lovely  as  all  excellence, 

IIeae,  ve  ladies  that  despise 

Modest  in  her  most  of  mirth. 

"What  the  mighty  Love  hath  done  ; 

Likelihood  enough  to  prove 

Hear  examples,  and  be  wise  : 

Only  worth  could  kindle  love. 

Fail"  Calisto  was  a  nun  ; 

Such  she  is ;  and  if  you  know 

Leda  sailing  on  the  stream, 

To  deceive  the  hopes  of  man. 

Such  a  one  as  I  have  sung ; 

Be  she  brown,  or  fair,  or  so 

Love  accounting  but  a  dream, 

7                               7 

Doted  on  a  silver  swan  : 

That  she  be  but  somewhat  young ; 

7 

Be  assured  't  is  she,  or  none, 

Danae  in  a  brazen  tower. 

7                                        7 

That  I  love,  and  love  alone. 

Where  no  love  was,  loved  a  shower. 

William  Bkowhb 

Hear,  ye  ladies  that  are  coy, 
"What  the  mighty  Love  can  do ; 

Hear  the  liorceness  of  the  boy  ; 

The  chaste  moon  he  makes  to  woo. 

BEAUTY  CLEAR  AND  FAIR. 

Vesta  kindling  holy  fires, 

Circled  round  about  with  spies. 

Beauty  clear  and  fair. 

Never  dreaming  loose  desires, 

Where  the  air 

Doting  at  the  altar  dies. 

Rather  like  a  perfume  dwells  ; 

Ilion,  in  a  short  hour,  higher 

Where  the  violet  and  the  rose 

He  can  once  more  build  and  once  more 

Their  blue  veins  in  blush  disclose, 

fire. 

And  come  to  honor  nothing  else  ; 

Beaumont  and  Fletcheb. 

Where  to  live  near, 

And  planted  there. 

Is  to  live,  and  still  live  new  ; 

SHALL  I  TELL. 

Where  to  gain  a  favor  is 

More  than  light,  perpetual  bliss,— 

Shall  1  tell  you  whom  I  love  ? 

Make  me  live  by  serving  you! 

Hearken  then  a  while  to  me : 

7 

And  if  such  a  woman  move 

Dear,  again  back  recall 

As  I  now  sliall  versify. 

To  this  light 

Be  assured  't  is  she,  or  none. 

A  stranger  to  himself  and  all ; 

7                                       7 

That  I  love,  and  love  alone. 

Both  the  wonder  and  the  story 

Shall  be  yours,  and  eke  the  glory ; 

Nature  did  her  so  much  right 

I  am  your  servant,  and  your  thrall. 

As  she  scorns  the  help  of  art. 

'  Beattmont  and  Fletcheb 

In  as  many  virtues  dight 

As  e'er  yet  embraced  a  heart. 

• 

So  much  good  so  truly  tried. 

Some  for  less  were  deified. 

SPEAK,   LOVE! 

Wit  she  hath,  without  desire 

Dearest,  do  not  delay  me. 

To  make  known  how  much  she  hath  ; 

Since,  thou  knowest,  I  must  be  gone ; 

And  her  anger  flames  no  higher 

Wind  and  tide,  't  is  thought,  do  stay  me ; 

Than  may  fitly  sweeten  wrath. 

But  't  is  wind  that  must  be  blown 

Full  of  pity  as  may  be. 

From  that  breath,  whose  native  smell 

Though  perhaps  not  so  to  me. 

Indian  odors  far  excel. 

SONGS. 


24'J 


Oh,  then  speak,  thou  fairest  fair ! 

Kill  not  him  that  vows  to  serve  thee ; 
But  perfume  this  neighboring  air, 

Else  dull  silence,  sure,  will  starve  me  ; 
'T  is  a  word  that 's  quickly  spoken, 
Which,  being  restrained,  aheart  is  broken. 
Beaumont  and  Fleichbe. 


TAKE,  OH !  TAKE  THOSE  LIPS  AWAY. 

Take,  oh !  take  those  lips  away 
That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn, 

And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day. 
Lights  that  do  mislead  tlje  morn ! 

But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

Seals  of  love,  though  sealed  in  vain. 


Hide,  ob !  hide  those  hills  of  snow 
"Which  thy  frozen  bosom  bears, 

On  whose  tops  the  pinks  that  grow 
Are  of  those  that  April  wears. 

But  first  set  my  poor  heart  free. 

Bound  in  those  icy  chains  by  thee. 

Shakespeare  and  Jonjr  Flhtoher. 


YOU  ME.iNER  BEAUTIES. 

You  meaner  beauties  of  the  night, 
That  poorly  satisfy  our  eyes 

More  by  your  number  than  your  light — 
You  common  people  of  the  skies — 
What  are  you  when  the  moon  shall  rise  ? 


You  curious  chanters  of  the  wood, 
That  warble  forth  dame  nature's  lays, 

Tliinking  your  passions  understood 

By  your  weak  accents — what 's  your  praise 
When  riiilomel  her  voice  shall  raise  ? 


You  violets  that  first  appear, 
By  your  pure  purple  mantles  known. 

Like  the  proud  virgins  of  the  year, 
As  if  the  spring  were  all  your  own — 
What  are  you  when  the  rose  is  blown  ? 


So  when  my  mistress  shall  be  seen 
In  form  and  beauty  of  her  mind  ; 

By  virtue  first,  then  choice,  a  queen — 
Tell  me,  if  she  were  not  designed 
Th'  eclipse  and  glory  of  her  kind  ? 

SiK  Henhy  Wdtton. 


THE  LOVER  TO  THE  GLOW-WORMS. 

Ye  living  lamps,  by  whose  dear  light 
The  nightingale  does  sit  so  late, 

And,  studying  all  the  summer  night. 
Her  matchless  songs  does  meditate ! 


Ye  country  comets,  that  portend 
N"o  war,  nor  prince's  funeral, 

Shining  unto  no  other  end 
Than  to  presage  the  grass's  fall ! 

Ye  glow-worms,  whose  oflScious  flame 
To  wandering  mowers  shows  the  way. 

That  in  the  night  have  lost  their  aim, 
And  after  foolish  fires  do  stray ! 

Your  courteous  lights  in  vain  you  waste, 

Since  Juliana  here  is  come ; 
For  she  my  mind  hath  so  displaced, 

That  I  shall  never  find  my  home. 

Andeew  Marvell. 


MRS.  ELIZ.  WHEELER, 

UNDER  THE  XAME  OF  THE  LOST  SHEPHERDESS. 

Amoxg  the  myrtles  as  I  walkt. 

Love  and  my  siglis  thus  intertalkt ; 

Tell  me,  said  I,  in  deep  distress, 

Where  I  may  find  my  shepherdess. 

Thou  fool,  said  Love,  know'st  thou  not  this? 

In  every  thing  that 's  sweet,  she  is. 

In  yond'  carnation  go  and  seek. 

Where  thou  shalt  find  her  lip  and  cheek  ; 

In  that  enamelled  pansy  by. 

There  thou  shalt  have  her  curious  eye  ; 

In  bloom  of  peach  and  rose's  bud. 

There  waves  the  streamer  of  her  blood. 

'T  is  true,  sa'd  I ;  and  thereupon, 

I  went  to  pluck  them,  one  by  one. 


248 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


To  make  of  parts  au  union ; 

But  on  a  sudden  all  were  gone. 

At  -wbicli  I  stopt ;  said  Love,  these  bo 

The  true  resoniblances  of  thee; 

For  as  these  flowers,  thy  joys  must  die, 

And  in  the  turning  of  an  eye  ; 

And  all  thy  hopes  of  her  must  wither. 

Like  those  short  sweets  ere  knit  together. 

EOBEKT   IIeRPJCK. 


PANGLOEY'S  WOOING  SONG. 

LoTE  is  the  blossom  where  there  blows 
Every  thing  that  lives  or  grows. 
Love  doth  make  the  heavens  to  move, 
And  the  sun  doth  burn  in  love. 
Love  the  strong  and  weak  doth  yoke. 
And  makes  the  ivy  climb  the  oak ; 
Under  whose  shadows  lions  wild, 
Softened  by  love,  grow  tame  and  mild. 
Love  no  med'cine  can  api)ease ; 
He  burns  the  fishes  in  the  seas ; 
Xot  all  the  skill  his  wounds  can  stench  ; 
Xot  all  the  sea  his  fire  can  quench. 
Love  did  make  the  bloody  spear 
Once  a  heavy  coat  to  wear ; 
"While  in  his  leaves  there  shrouded  lay 
Sweet  birds,  for  love  that  sing  and  play ; 
And  of  all  love's  joyful  flame, 
I  the  bud  and  blossom  am. 

Only  bend  thy  knee  to  me. 
Thy  wooing  shall  thy  winning  be. 
See,  see  the  flowers  that  below 
Now  as  fresh  as  morning  blow ; 
And  of  all,  the  virgin  rose, 
That  as  bright  Aurora  shows — 
ITow  they  all  unleaved  die, 
Lo>ing  their  virginity ; 
Like  unto  a  summer-shade, 
But  now  born,  and  now  they  fade. 
Every  thing  doth  pass  away ; 
There  is  danger  in  delay. 
Come,  come  gather  then  the  rose, 
Gather  it,  or  it  you  lose. 
All  the  sand  of  Tagus'  sliore 
Into  my  bosom  casts  his  ore ; 
All  the  valleys'  swimming  corn 
To  my  house  is  yearly  borne ; 


Every  grape  of  every  vine 
Is  gladly  bruised  to  make  me  wine ; 
While  ten  thousand  kings,  as  proud 
To  carry  up  my  train,  have  bowed; 
And  a  world  of  ladies  send  me. 
In  my  chambers  to  attend  me. 
All  the  stars  in  heaven  that  shine, 
And  ten  thousand  more  are  mine. 
Only  bend  thy  knee  to  me. 
Thy  wooing  shall  thy  winning  be. 
Giles  Flktcusk 


OASTAEA. 

Like  the  violet,  which  alono 

Prospers  in  some  liappy  shade, 

My  Castara  lives  unknown. 

To  no  ruder  eye  betrayed ; 

For  she 's  to  herself  untrue 
Who  delights  i'  tlio  public  view . 

Such  is  her  beauty  as  no  arts 
Have  enriched  with  borrowed  grace. 
Iler  high  birth  no  pride  imparts, 
For  she  blushes  in  her  place. 

Folly  boasts  a  glorious  blood, — 

She  is  noblest  being  good. 

Cautious,  she  knew  never  yet 

What  a  wanton  courtship  meant ; 

Nor  speaks  loud  to  boast  her  wit, 

In  her  silence,  eloquent. 

Of  herself  survey  she  takes. 

But  'tween  men  no  difl:erence  makes 

She  obeys  with  speedy  will 

Her  grave  parents'  wise  commands ; 

And  so  innocent,  that  ill 

She  nor  acts,  nor  understands. 
Women's  feet  run  still  astray 
If  to  ill  they  know  the  way. 

She  sails  by  that  rook,  the  court, 
Where  oft  virtue  splits  her  mast ; 
And  retiredness  thinks  the  port, 
Where  her  fame  may  anchor  east. 
Virtue  safely  cannot  sit 
Where  vice  is  enthroned  for  wit. 


SONGS.                                                                       249 

She  holds  that  day's  pleasure  best 

Where  sin  waits  not  on  delight ; 

THE  NIGHT  PIECE. 

Without  mask,  or  ball,  or  feast. 

Sweetly  spends  a  winter's  night. 

TO    JULIA. 

O'er  that  darkness  whence  is  thrust 

Prayer  and  sleep,  oft  governs  lust. 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worme  lend  thee. 

The  shooting-starres  attend  thee ; 

And  the  elves  also. 

Slie  her  throne  makes  reason  climb, 

Whose  little  eyes  glow 

While  wild  passions  captive  lie  ; 

Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

And  each  article  of  time. 

Her  pure  thoughts  to  heaven  fly ; 

No  Will-o'-th '-  wispe  mislight  thee. 

All  her  vows  religious  be, 

Nor  snake  nor  slow-worm  bite  thee  ; 

And  she  voavs  her  love  to  me. 

But  on  thy  way, 

William  Habincton. 

Not  making  stay. 

Since  ghost  there 's  none  t'  affright  thee ! 

♦  — 

Let  not  the  darke  thee  cumber ; 

What  though  the  moon  does  slumber? 

OAI^ZONET. 

The  stars  of  the  night 

Will  lend  thee  their  light, 

The  golden  sun  that  brings  the  day, 

Like  tapers  cleare,  without  number. 

And  lends  men  light  to  see  withal. 

In  vain  doth  cast  his  beams  away, 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee, 

When  they  are  blind  on  whom  they  fall ; 

Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me ; 

There  is  no  force  in  all  his  light 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

To  give  the  mole  a  perfect  siglit. 

Thy  silvery  feet, 

My  soule  I  'le  pour  into  thee ! 

KOBEBT  HEBKIOE. 

But  thou,  my  sun,  more  bright  than  he 

That  shines  at  noon  in  summer  tide. 

* 

Hast  given  me  light  and  power  to  see, 

With  perfect  skill  my  sight  to  guide ; 

TO  LUOASTA, 

Till  now  I  lived  as  blind  as  mole 

Tliat  hides  her  head  in  earthly  hole. 

ON   GOIXG   TO   THE   WARS. 

Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkinde, 

I  heard  the  praise  of  beauty's  grace. 

That  from  the  nunnerie 

Yet  deemed  it  nought  but  poet's  skill ; 

Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  minde, 

I  gazed  on  many  a  lovely  face. 

To  warre  and  armes  I  flee. 

Yet  found  I  none  to  bend  my  will ; 

Which  made  me  think  that  beauty  bright 

True,  a  new  mistresse  now  I  chase— 

Was  nothing  else  but  red  and  white. 

The  first  foe  in  the  field ; 

And  with  a  stronger  faith  imbrace 

But  now  thy  beams  have  cleared  my  sight, 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

I  blush  to  think  I  was  so  blind  ; 

Thy  flaming  eyes  afford  me  light. 

Yet  tliis  inconstancy  is  such, 

Tliat  beauty's  blaze  each  where  I  find  ; 

As  you,  too,  should  adore  ; 

And  yet  those  dames  that  shine  so  bright 

I  could  not  love  thee,  deare,  so  much, 

Are  but  the  shadows  of  thy  light. 

Loved  I  not  honor  more. 

Thomas  Watson. 

ElCnARD   LOVELACH 

36 

250                                                       POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

When,  like  committed  linnets  I 

DISDAIN  EETURNED. 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 

The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty, 

And  glories  of  my  king ; 

IIk  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek, 

When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 

He  is,  how  great  should  be — 

Or  from  star-like  eves  doth  seek 

Enlarged  winds,  that  curl  the  flood. 

Fuel  to  maintain  his  fires — 

07                                                                 7 

Know  no  such  libertv. 

As  old  Time  makes  these  decay, 

f 

So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind, 

Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

Gentle  thoughts  and  calm  desires. 

That  for  an  hermitage. 

Hearts  with  equal  love  combined, 

If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

Kindle  never-dying  fires. 

And  in  my  soul  am  free — 

Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 

Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Lovely  cheeks,  or  lips,  or  eyes. 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 

EicnAKD  Lovelace 

ITo  tears,  Celia,  now  shall  win 

My  resolved  heart  to  return ; 

I  have  searched  thy  soul  within. 

'  TO  LUCASTA. 

And  find  nought  but  pride  and  scorn; 

I  have  learned  thy  arts,  and  now 

If  to  be  absent  were  to  be 

Can  disdain  as  much  as  thou. 

Away  from  thee ; 

Some  power,  in  my  revenge,  convey 

Or  that,  when  I  am  gone. 

That  love  to  her  I  cast  away  ! 

You  or  I  were  alone ; 

TnoJiAS  Caeew. 

Tlien,  my  Lucasta,  might  I  crave 

Pity  from  blustering  wind    or  swallowing 

♦ 

wave. 

But  I  '11  not  sigh  one  blast  or  gale 

TO  ALTHEA— FEOM  PEISOX. 

To  swell  my  sail. 

Or  pay  a  tear  to  'suage 

When  Love,  with  unconfined  wings, 

The  foaming  blue-god's  rage ; 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 

For,  whether  he  will  let  me  pass 

xYnd  my  divine  Althea  brings 

Or  no,  I  'm  still  as  happy  as  I  was. 

To  whisper  at  my  grates ; 

"When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair 

Though  seas  and  lands  be  'twixt  us  both. 

And  fettered  to  her  eye — 

Our  faith  and  troth. 

The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Like  separated  souls. 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

All  time  and  space  controls : 

Above  the  highest  sphere  we  meet, 

Unseen,  unknown ;  and  greet  as  angels  greet. 

"When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

"With  no  allaying  Thames, 

So,  then,  we  do  anticipate 

Our  careless  heads  with  roses  bound. 

Our  after-fate, 

Our  liearts  with  loyal  flames; 

And  are  alive  i'  th'  skies, 

When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 

If  thus  our  lips  and  eyes 

"When  liealths  and  draughts  go  free — 

Can  speak  like  spirits  unconfined 

Fishes,  that  tipple  in  tlie  deep. 

In  heaven — their  earthly  bodies  left  behind. 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

ElCHAKD   LOTELACK. 

SONGS.                                                                     251 

SUPERSTITION^. 

A   SOXG. 

I  CARE  not,  thougli  it  be 

To  thy  lover. 

By  the  preciser  sort  thought  popery ; 

Dear,  discover 

We  poets  can  a  license  show 

That  sweet  blush  of  thine,  that  shatneth 

For  every  thing  we  do. 

(A7hen  those  roses 

Hear,  then,  my  little  saint !  I'll  pray  to  thee. 

It  discloses) 

All  the  flowers  that  nature  nameth. 

If  now  thy  happy  mind, 

Amidst  its  various  joys,  can  leisure  find 

In  free  air 

To  attend  to  any  thing  so  low 

Flow  thy  hair. 

As  what  I  say  or  do, 

That  no  more  summer's  best  di'esses 

Eegard,  and  be  wbat  thou  wast  ever — kind. 

Be  beholden 

For  their  golden 

• 

Locks,  to  Phoebus'  flaming  tresses. 

Let  not  the  blest  above 

Engross  thee    quite,   but  sometimes  hither 

0  deliver 

rove; 

Love  his  quiver ! 

Fain  would  I  thy  sweet  image  see. 

From  thy  eyes  he  shoots  his  arrows, 

And  sit  and  talk  with  thee  ; 

Where  Apollo 

Nor  is  it  curiosity,  but  love. 

Cannot  follow. 

Feathered  with  his  mother's  sparrows. 

Ah  !  what  delight  'twould  be. 

Wouldst  thou  sometimes,  by  stealth,  converse 

0  envy  not 

with  me ! 

(That  we  die  not) 

How  should  I  thy  sweet  commune  prize, 

Those  dear  lips,  whose  door  encloses 

And  other  joys  despise ; 

All  the  Graces 

Come,  then,  I  ne'er  was  yet  denied  by  thee. 

In  their  places. 

Brother  pearls,  and  sister  roses. 

I  would  not  long  detain 

Thy  soul  from  bliss,  nor  keep  thee  here  in 

From  these  treasures 

pain ; 

Of  ripe  pleasures 

is  or  should  thy  fellow-saints  e'er  know 

One  bright  smile  to  clear  the  weather ; 

Of  thy  escape  below ; 

Earth  and  heaven 

Before  thou  'rt  missed,  thou  shoiddst  return 

Thus  made  even. 

again. 

Both  wiU  be  good  friends  together. 

Sure  heaven  must  needs  thy  love. 

The  air  does  woo  thee  ; 

As  well  as  other  qualities,  improve  ; 

Winds  cling  to  thee  ; 

Come,  then,  and  recreate  my  sight 

Might  a  word  once  fly  from  oat  thee, 

With  rays  of  thy  pure  light ; 

Storm  and  thunder 

'Twill  cheer  my  eyes  more  than  the  lamps 

Would  sit  under. 

above. 

And  keep  silence  round  about  thee. 

But  if  fate's  so  severe 

But  if  nature's 

As  to  confine  thee  to  thy  blissful  sphere. 

Common  creatures 

(And  by  thy  absence  I  shall  know 

So  dear  glories  dare  not  borrow  ; 

Whether  thy  state  be  so,) 

Yet  thy  beauty 

Live  happy,  and  be  mindful  of  me  there. 

Owes  a  duty 

John  Norris. 

To  my  loving,  lingering  sorrow. 

262 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


When,  to  end  me, 

Death  shall  send  mo 
All  his  terrors  to  aftVight  me  ; 

Tliiiie  eyes'  graces 

Gild  their  faces. 
And  those  terrors  shall  delight  me. 

"When  my  dying 

Life  is  flying. 
Those  sweet  airs  that  often  slew  me, 

Sliall  revive  me. 

Or  reprieve  me, 
And  to  many  deaths  renew  me. 

KrcHAKD  Ceasuaw. 


An,  now  SWEET  IT  IS  TO  LOVE. 

A 11,  how  sweet  it  is  to  love ! 

Ah,  how  gay  is  young  desire ! 

And  what  pleasing  pains  we  prove 

When  we  first  approach  love's  fire  ! 
Pains  of  love  be  sweeter  far 
Than  all  other  pleasures  are. 

Sighs,  which  are  from  lovers  blown, 
Do  but  gently  heave  the  heart ; 
E'en  the  tears  they  shed  alone. 
Cure,  like  trickling  balm,  their  smart. 

Lovers,  when  they  lose  their  breath, 

Bleed  away  in  easy  death. 

Love  and  time  with  reverence  use ; 

Treat  them  like  a  parting  friend, 

Nor  the  golden  gifts  refuse 

Which  in  youth  sincere  they  send ; 
For  each  year  their  price  is  more. 
And  they  less  simple  than  before. 

Love,  like  spring-tides,  full  and  high, 
Swells  in  every  youthful  vein  ; 
But  each  tide  does  less  supply, 
Till  they  quite  shrink  in  again ; 
If  a  flow  in  age  appear, 
'T  is  but  rain,  and  runs  not  clear. 

JoHir  DEYDEy. 


SONG. 

Ask  me  no  more  where  Jove  bestows, 
AVhen  June  is  past,  the  fading  rose ; 
For,  in  your  beauty's  orient  deep. 
These  flowers,  as  in  their  causes,  sleep. 

Ask  me  no  more  whither  do  stray 
The  golden  atoms  of  the  day ; 
For,  in  pure  love,  heaven  did  prepare 
Those  powders  to  enrich  your  hair. 

Ask  me  no  more  whither  doth  haste 
The  nightingale  when  May  is  past ; 
For  in  your  sweet,  dividing  throat 
She  winters,  and  keeps  warm  her  note. 

Ask  me  no  more  where  those  stars  light 
That  downwards  fall  in  dead  of  night ; 
For  in  your  eyes  they  sit,  and  there 
Fixed  become,  as  in  their  sphere. 

Ask  me  no  more  if  east  or  west 
The  phoenix  builds  her  spicy  nest ; 
For  unto  you  at  last  she  flies. 
And  in  your  fragrant  bosom  dies. 

Thomas  Caeew, 


PniLOMELA'S  ODE 

THAT  SHE  SUNG  IK  HEE  ARBOR. 

Sitting  by  a  river's  side 
Where  a  silent  stream  did  glide, 
Muse  I  did  of  many  things 
That  the  mind  in  quiet  brings. 
I  'gan  think  how  some  men  deem 
Gold  their  god  ;  and  some  esteem 
Honor  is  the  chief  content 
That  to  man  in  life  is  lent; 
And  some  others  do  contend 
Quiet  none  like  to  a  friend. 
Others  liold  there  is  no  wealth 
Compared  to  a  perfect  health; 
Some  man's  mind  in  quiet  stands 
When  he  's  lord  of  many  lands. 
But  I  did  sigh,  and  said  all  this 
Was  but  a  shade  of  perfect  bliss ; 


SONGS. 


253 


And  in  my  thoughts  I  did  approve 
Nought  so  sweet  as  is  true  love. 
Love  'twixt  lovers  passeth  these, 
When  mouth  kisseth  and  heart  'grees — 
With  folded  arms  and  lips  meeting, 
Each  soul  another  sweetly  greeting  ; 
For  by  the  breath  the  soul  tleeteth, 
And  soul  with  soul  in  kissing  meeteth. 
If  love  be  so  sweet  a  thing. 
That  such  happy  bliss  doth  bring, 
Happy  is  love's  sugared  thrall ; 
But  unhappy  maidens  all 
Who  esteem  your  virgin  blisses 
Sweeter  than  a  wife's  sweet  kisses. 
No  such  quiet  to  the  mind 
As  true  love  with  kisses  kind ; 
But  if  a  kiss  prove  unchaste. 
Then  is  true  love  quite  disgraced. 
Though  love  be  sweet,  learn  this  of  me, 
No  sweet  love  but  honesty. 

Egbert  Greene. 


COME  AWAY,  DEATH. 

Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ! 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  : 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 

My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

Oh,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
Did  sliare  it. 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet. 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown  ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  sliall  be 
thrown. 
A  thousand,  thousand  sighs  to  save. 

Lay  me.  Oh !  where 
Sad  true-love  never  find  my  grave, 
To  weep  there. 

S11AKE8PBA.BS. 

— « — 


THE  TOMB. 

Whex,  cruel  fair  one,  I  am  slain 

By  thy  disdain, 
And,  as  a  trophy  of  thy  scorn. 
To  some  old  tomb  am  borne. 
Thy  fetters  must  their  powers  bequeath 
To  those  of  death ; 
Nor  can  thy  flame  immortal  burn, 
Like  monumental  fires  within  an  urn: 
Thus  freed  from  thy  proud  empire,  I  shall 

prove 
There  is  more  liberty  in  death  than  love. 

And  when  forsaken  lovers  come 

To  see  mv  tomb. 
Take  heed  thou  mix  not  with  the  crowd. 

And,  (as  a  victor)  proud 
To  view  the  spoils  thy  beauty  made. 
Press  near  my  shade ; 

Lest  thy  too  cruel  breath  or  name 
Should  fan  my  ashes  back  into  a  flame. 
And  thou,  devoured  by  this  revengeful  fire, 
His  sacrifice,  who  died  as  thine,  expire. 

But  if  cold  earth  or  marble  must 

Conceal  my  dust. 
Whilst,  hid  in  some  dark  ruins,  I 

Dumb  and  forgotten  lie. 
The  pride  of  all  tliy  victory 

Will  sleep  with  me ; 
And  they  who  should  attest  thy  glory. 
Will  or  forget  or  not  believe  this  story. 
Then  to  increase  t]iy  triumph,  let  me  rest, 
Since  by  thine  eye  slain,  buried  in  tliy  breast 

Thomas  Stanley. 


LOVE  NOT  ME. 

Love  not  me  for  comely  grace. 
For  my  pleasing  eye  or  face, 
Nor  for  any  outward  jiart. 
No,  nor  for  my  constant  heart ; 
For  those  may  fail  or  turn  to  ill. 
So  thou  and  I  shall  sever ; 
Keep  therefore  a  true  woman's  eye. 
And  love  me  still,  but  know  not  why. 
So  hast  thou  the  same  reason  still 
To  doat  upon  me  ever. 

Anonymous. 


25-1 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


THE  EXEQUIES. 

Draw  near 
You  lovers,  that  complain, 
Of  fortune  or  disdain. 
And  to  my  ashes  lend  a  tear ! 
Melt  tlie  hard  marhle  -with  your  groans, 
And  soften  the  relentless  stones. 
Whose  cold  embraces  the  sad  subject  hide 
Of  all  love's  cruelties,  and  beauty's  pride ! 

No  verse, 
No  epicedium  bring ; 
Nor  peaceful  requiem  sing. 
To  charm  the  terrors  of  my  hearse ! 
No  profane  numbers  must  flow  near 
The  sacred  silence  that  dwells  here. 
Vast    griefs    are    dumb  ;     softly,  oh   softly 

mourn ! 
Lest  you  disturb  the  peace  attends  my  urn. 

Yet  strew 
Upon  my  dismal  grave 
Such  olTerings  as  you  have — 
Forsaken  cypress,  and  sad  yew  ; 
For  kinder  flowers  can  take  no  birth 
Or  growth  from  such  unhappy  earth. 
Weep  only  o'er  my  dust,  and  say,  "  Here  lies 
To  love  and  fate  an  equal  sacrifice." 

Thomas  Stanley. 


A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull ; 
Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
Witli  buckles  of  the  purest  gold ; 


THE  MILK-MAID'S  SONG. 

T  H  K     S  n  E  P  n  E  P.  D     TO     HIS     LOVE. 

Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  valleys,  groves,  hills,  and  fields. 
Woods  or  steepy  mountains  yields. 

There  will  we  sit  upon  the  rocks, 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks 
By  shallow  rivers  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

There  will  I  make  thee  beds  of  roses 
With  a  thousand  fragrant  posies ; 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle. 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle. 


A  belt  of  straw,  and  ivy  buds. 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs ; 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing, 
For  thy  delight  each  May  morning : 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move. 
Then  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

Christopher  Marlowe. 


THE  MILK-MAID'S  MOTHER'S  ANSWEE. 

THE   NTMPn's   REPLY. 

If  that  the  world  and  love  were  young, 
And  truth  in  every  shejAerd's  tongue, 
These  pretty  pleasures  might  me  move 
To  live  with  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

But  time  drives  flocks  from  field  to  fold, 
When  rivers  rage,  and  rocks  grow  cold ; 
And  Philomel  becometh  dumb. 
And  all  complain  of  cares  to  come. 

The  flowers  do  fade,  and  wanton  fields 
To  wayward  winter  reckoning  yields ; 
A  honey  tongue,  a  heart  of  gall. 
Is  fancy's  spring,  but  sorrow's  fall. 

Thy  gowns,  thy  shoes,  thy  beds  of  roses. 
Thy  cap,  thy  kirtle,  and  thy  posies 
Soon  break,  soon  wither,  soon  forgotten— 
In  folly  ripe,  in  reason  rotten. 

Thy  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
Thy  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs — 
All  these  in  me  no  means  can  move 
To  come  to  thee,  and  be  thy  love. 

But  could  youth  last,  and  love  still  breed, 
Had  joys  no  date,  nor  age  no  need, 
Then  those  delights  my  mind  might  move 
To  live  with  thee,  and  be  thy  love. 

Sir  ■Walter  Balsioh. 


MY    DEAR    AND     ONLY     LOVE.                                           255 

And  let  all  longing  lovers  feed 

MY  DEAR  AlN^D  OXLY  LOVE. 

Upon  such  looks  as  those. 

A  marble  wall  then  build  about, 

PAET   FIRST. 

Beset  without  a  door ; 

My  dear  and  only  love,  I  pray, 

But  if  thou  let  thy  heart  fly  out, 

This  noble  world  of  thee 

I  '11  never  love  thee  more. 

Be  governed  by  no  other  sway 

But  purest  monarchie. 

Let  not  their  oaths,  like  volleys  shot. 

For  if  confusion  have  a  part, 

Make  any  breach  at  all ; 

Which  virtuous  souls  abhore. 

Nor  smoothness  of  their  language  plot 

And  hold  a  synod  in  thy  heart. 

Which  way  to  scale  the  wall ; 

I  '11  never  love  thee  more. 

Nor  balls  of  wild-fire  love  consume 

The  shrine  which  I  adore ; 

Like  Alexander  I  will  reign. 

For  if  such  smoke  about  thee  fume. 

And  I  will  reign  alone, 

I  '11  never  love  thee  more. 

My  thoughts  shall  evermore  disdain 

A  rival  on  my  throne. 

I  think  thy  virtues  be  too  strong 

He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

To  sufier  by  surprise ; 

Or  his  deserts  are  small. 

Those  victualled  by  my  love  so  long, 

That  puts  it  not  unto  the  touch, 

The  siege  at  length  must  rise, 

To  win  or  lose  it  all. 

And  leave  thee  ruled  in  that  health 

But  I  must  rule  and  govern  still 

And  state  thou  wast  before ; 

O 

And  always  give  the  law. 

But  if  thou  turn  a  commonwealth, 

And  have  each  subject  at  my  will. 

I  '11  never  love  thee  more. 

And  all  to  stand  in  awe. 

But  'gainst  my  battery  if  I  find 

Or  if  by  fraud,  or  by  consent, 

Thou  shun'st  the  prize  so  sore 

Thy  heart  to  ruine  come. 

As  that  thou  set'st  me  up  a  blind. 

I  '11  sound  no  trumpet  as  I  wont, 

I  '11  never  love  thee  more. 

Nor  march  by  tuck  of  drum ; 

But  hold  my  arms,  like  ensigns,  up, 

If  in  the  empire  of  thy  heart, 

Thy  falsehood  to  deplore, 

Where  I  should  solely  be, 

And  bitterly  will  sigh  and  weep, 

Another  do  pretend  a  part, 

And  never  love  thee  more. 

And  dares  to  vie  with  me  ; 

Or  if  committees  thou  erect, 

I  '11  do  with  thee  as  Nero  did 

And  go  on  such  a  score. 

When  Eome  was  set  on  fire, 

I  '11  sing  and  laugh  at  thy  neglect, 

Not  only  all  relief  forbid. 

And  never  love  thee  more. 

But  to  a  hill  retire, 

And  scorn  to  shed  a  tear  to  see 

But  if  thou  wik  be  constant  then, 

Thy  spirit  grown  so  poor ; 

And  faithful  of  thy  word, 

But  smiling  sing,  until  I  die, 

I  '11  make  tliec  glorious  by  my  pen, 

I'll  never  love  thee  more. 

And  famous  by  my  sword. 

I  '11  serve  thee  in  such  noble  ways 

Yet,  for  the  love  I  bare  thee  once, 

Was  never  heard  before; 

Lest  that  thy  name  should  die, 

I  '11  crown  and  deck  thee  all  with  bays, 

A  monument  of  marble-stone 

And  love  thee  evermore. 

The  truth  shall  testific ; 

That  every  pilgrim  passing  by 

PART    SECOND. 

May  pity  and  deplore 

My  dear  and  only  love,  take  heed, 

My  case,  and  read  the  reason  why 

Lest  thou  thyself  expose. 

I  can  love  thee  no  more. 

20(5 


POEMS     OF    LOVE. 


The  golcleu  laws  of  love  shall  be 

Upon  this  pillar  hung, — 
A  simple  heart,  a  single  eye, 

A  true  and  constant  tongue  ; 
Let  no  man  for  more  love  pretend 

Than  he  has  hearts  in  store  ; 
True  love  begun  shall  never  end  ; 

Love  one  and  love  no  more. 

Then  shall  thy  heart  be  set  by  mine, 

But  in  far  different  case ; 
For  mine  was  true,  so  was  not  thine. 

But  lookt  like  Janus'  face. 
For  as  the  waves  with  every  wind, 

So  sail'st  thou  every  shore, 
And  leav'st  my  constant  heart  behind, — 

How  can  I  love  thee  more  ? 

My  heai't  shall  with  the  sun  be  fixed 

For  constancy  most  strange, 
And  thine  shall  with  the  moon  be  mixed, 

Delighting  ay  in  chnnge. 
Thy  beauty  shined  at  first  more  bright, 

And  woe  is  me  therefore, 
Tliat  ever  I  found  thy  love  so  light 

I  could  love  thee  no  more  ! 

The  misty  mountains,  smoking  lakes, 

The  rocks'  resounding  echo, 
The  whistling  wind  that  murmur  makes. 

Shall  with  me  sing  hey  ho  ! 
The  tossing  seas,  the  tumbling  boats, 

Tears  dropping  from  each  shore, 
Shall  tune  with  me  their  tm-tle  notes — 

I  '11  never  love  thee  more. 

As  doth  the  turtle,  chaste  and  true. 

Her  fellow's  death  regrete, 
And  daily  mourns  for  his  adieu, 

And  ne'er  renews  her  mate ; 
So,  though  thy  faith  was  never  fast, 

"Which  grieves  me  wondrous  sore. 
Yet  I  shall  live  in  love  so  chast, 

That  I  shall  love  no  more. 

And  when  all  gallants  ride  about 

These  monuments  to  view, 
Whereon  is  written,  in  and  out, 

Thou  traitorous  and  untrue ; 
Then  in  a  passion  they  shall  pause, 

And  thns  say,  sighing  sore, 


"  Alas  1  he  had  too  just  a  cause 
Never  to  love  thee  more." 

And  when  that  tracing  goddess  Fame 

From  east  to  west  shall  fiee. 
She  shall  record  it,  to  thy  shame. 

How  thou  hast  loved  me ; 
And  how  in  odds  our  love  was  such 

As  few  have  been  before ; 
Thou  loved  too  many,  and  I  too  much, 

So  I  can  love  no  more. 

James  Graham,  Maequis  of  Montrose. 


WELCOME,  WELCOME. 

Welcome,  welcome,  do  I  sing, 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ; 
He  that  parteth  from,  you  never, 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love  that  to  the  voice  is  near, 

Breaking  from  your  ivory  pale. 
Need  not  walk  abroad  to  hear 
The  delightful  nightingale. 
Welcome,  welcome,  then  I  sing. 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ; 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never. 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love,  that  still  looks  on  your  eyes, 

Tliough  the  winter  have  begun 
To  benumb  our  arteries, 

Shall  not  want  the  summer's  sun. 
Welcome,  idelcome,  then  I  sing, 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ; 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never. 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love,  that  still  may  see  your  cheeks, 

Where  all  rareness  still  reposes, 
Is  a  fool  if  e'er  he  seeks 
Other  lilies,  other  roses. 

Welcome,  welcome,  then  I  sing, 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ; 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never. 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love,  to  whom  your  soft  lip  yields, 
And  perceives  your  breath  in  kissing. 

All  the  odors  of  the  fields 
Never,  never  shall  be  missing. 


LINES    TO    AN 

INDIAN    AIR.                                           2o'7 

Welcome,  icelcome,  tlien  I  sing, 

Kaige,  the  watery  moor. 

Far  more  icelcome  than  the  spring  ; 

Is  pleasant  unto  me. 

He  that  parteth  from  you  never, 

Though  long  it  be. 

Shall  enjorj  a  spring  for  ever. 

Since  it  doth  to  my  mistress  lead. 

Love,  that  question  would  anew 

"What  fair  Eden  was  of  old, 
Let  liim  rightly  study  you, 

"Whom  I  adore ; 
The  Kilwa  moor 
I  ne'er  again  will  tread. 

And  a  brief  of  that  behold. 
Welcome,  welcome,  then  I  sing. 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ; 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never, 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

WiiiiAsi  Browne. 

Thoughts  filled  my  mind, 
"Whilst  I  through  Kaige  passed 
Swift  as  the  wind, 
And  my  desire 
"Winged  with  impatient  fire  ; 
My  reindeer,  let  us  haste ! 

So  shall  we  quickly  end  our  pleasing  pain — 

BLEST  AS  THE  TOAIORTAL  GODS. 

Behold  my  mistress  there. 

Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  he, 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee. 

\Yith  decent  motion  walking  o'er  the  plain. 
Kulnasatz,  my  reindeer. 
Look  yonder,  where 

And  hears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak,  and  sweetly  smile. 

**                         7 

She  washes  in  the  lake ! 
See,  while  she  swims. 

'T  was  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumults  in  my  breast : 
For  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  tost, 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost 

The  water  from  her  purer  limbs 
New  clearness  take ! 

Anonymous. 

My  bosom  glowed ;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame  : 

LINES  TO  AN  INDIAN  AIR. 

O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung ; 

I  ARISE  from  dreams  of  thee 

My  ears  with  hoUow  murmurs  rung. 

In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night. 

In  dewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chilled ; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrilled  : 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play — 
I  feinted,  sunk,  and  died  away. 

"When  the  winds  are  breathing  low. 
And  the  stars  are  shining  bright. 
I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee. 
And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 
Has  led  me — who  knows  how  ? 

Sappho.    (Greek.) 
Translation  of  Ambrose  PniLLrps. 

To  thy  chamber  window,  sweet ! 

The  wandering  airs,  they  faint 
On  the  dark  and  silent  stream — 

KULNASATZ,  MY  REINDEER. 

The  champak  odors  fail 

A  LAPLAND   SONG. 

Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream ; 
The  nightingale's  complaint, 

KtiLNASATZ,  my  reindeer, 

It  dies  upon  her  heart, 

"We  have  a  long  journey  to  go ; 

As  I  must  on  thine, 

The  moors  are  vast. 

Beloved  as  thou  art ! 

And  we  must  haste. 

Our  strength,  I  fear, 

Oh,  lift  me  from  the  grass ! 

Will  fail,  if  we  are  slow  ; 

Idle,  I  faint,  I  fail! 

And  so 

Let  thy  love  in  kisses  rain 

Our  songs  will  do. 
37 

On  my  hps  and  eyelids  pale. 

15S 


rOEMS     OF     LOVE. 


My  cheek  is  cold  and  white,  alas ! 
'^[y  heart  heats  loud  and  fast ; 
Oh  !  press  it  close  to  thine  again, 
■Wlierc  it  will  hrealc  at  last. 

Percy  Btsshe  Suellet. 


MAID  OF  ATHENS,  ERE  WE  PART. 

Zuij  fiov,  adg  ayafcu. 

Maid  of  Athens,  ere  we  part, 
Give,  oh,  give  me  hack  my  heart ! 
Or,  since  that  has  left  ray  breast, 
Keep  it  now,  and  take  the  rest! 
Hear  my  vow  before  I  go, 
Zu7f  fiov,  ffdf  ayaTTu. 

By  those  tresses  unconfined, 
"Wooed  by  each  ^gean  wind ; 
By  those-  lids  whose  jetty  fringe 
Kiss  thy  soft  cheeks'  blooming  tinge  ; 
By  those  wild  eyes  like  the  roe, 
Z67J  fiov,  aaq  ayanu. 

By  that  lip  I  long  to  taste ; 
By  that  zone-encircled  waist; 
By  all  the  token-flowers  that  tell 
What  words  can  never  speak  so  well ; 
By  love's  alternate  joy  and  woe, 
Zw7  [lov,  era?  aya-itu. 

Maid  of  Athens !  I  am  gone — 

Think  of  me,  sweet,  when  alone. 

Though  I  fly  to  Istambol, 

Athens  holds  my  heart  and  soul. 

Can  I  cease  to  love  thee  ?    No! 

ZuT]  fiov,  caq  ayaTiU. 

Lord  Br  eon. 


Forgive  me  if  I  cannot  turn  away 

From  those  sweet  eyes  that  are  my  earthly 

heaven, 
For  they  are  guiding  stars,  benignly  given 
To  tempt  my  footsteps  to  the  upward  \vay  ; 
And  if  I  dwell  too  fondly  in  thy  sight, 
I  live  and  love  in  God's  peculiar  light. 

Michael  Angelo.    (Italian  > 
Translation  of  J.  E.  Tatlok. 


SONNET. 

The  might  of  one  fair  face  sublimes  my  love. 
For  it  hath  weaned  my  heart  from  low  de- 
sires ; 
Nor  death  I  heed,  nor  purgatorial  fires. 
Thy  beauty,  antepast  of  joys  above, 
Instructs  me  ui  the  bliss  that  saints  approve ; 
For  oh !  how  good,  how  beautiful,  must  be 
The  God  that  made  so  good  a  thing  as  thee, 
So  fair  an  image  of  the  heavenly  Dove. 


LOVE'S  PHILOSOPHY. 

The  fountains  mingle  with  the  river. 

And  the  rivers  with  the  ocean  ; 
The  winds  of  heaven  mix  for  ever, 

"With  a  sweet  emotion ; 
Nothing  in  the  world  is  single ; 

All  things  by  a  law  divine 
In  one  another's  being  mingle — 

"Why  not  I  with  thine  ? 

See  the  mountains  kiss  high  heaven, 

And  the  waves  clasp  one  another ; 
No  sister  flower  would  be  forgiven 

If  it  disdained  its  brother  ; 
And  the  sunlight  clasps  the  earth. 

And  the  moonbeams  kiss  the  sea;- 
"What  are  all  these  kissings  worth. 

If  thou  kiss  not  me  ? 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley, 


TO- 


One  word  is  too  often  profaned 

For  me  to  profane  it. 
One  feeling  too  falsely  disdained 

For  thee  to  disdain  it. 
One  hope  is  too  like  despair 

For  prudence  to  smother. 
And  pity  from  thee  more  dear 

Than  that  from  another. 

I  can  give  not  what  men  call  love  ; 

But  wilt  thou  accept  not 
The  worship  the  heart  lifts  above 

And  the  heavens  reject  Oot: 
The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star. 

Of  the  night  for  the  morrow. 
The  devotion  to  something  afar 

From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow  ? 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


SONGS. 


259 


THE  GIRL  OF  CADIZ. 

I, 

Oh,  never  talk  agaiu  1o  me 

Of  northern  climes  and  British  ladies ; 
It  has  not  been  your  lot  to  see 

Like  me,  the  lovely  girl  of  Cadiz. 
Although  her  eyes  be  not  of  blue, 

ISTor  fair  her  locks,  like  English  lasses', 
How  far  its  own  expressive  hue 

The  languid  azure  eye  surpasses ! 

II. 
Prometheus-like,  from  heaven  she  stole 

The  fire  that  through  those  silken  lashes 
In  darkest  glances  seems  to  roll, 

From  eyes  that  cannot  hide  their  flashes ; 
And  as  along  her  bosom  steal 

In  lengthened  flow  her  raven  tresses, 
You  'd  swear  each  clustering  lock  could  feel, 

And  curled  to  give  her  neck  caresses. 

III. 

Our  English  maids  are  long  to  woo, 

And  frigid  even  in  possession  ; 
And  if  their  charms  be  fair  to  view, 

Their  lips  are  slow  at  love's  confession ; 
But,  born  beneath  a  brighter  sun, 

For  love  ordained  the  Spanish  maid  is. 
And  who, — when  fondly,  fairly  won,— 

Enchants  you  like  the  girl  of  Cadiz  ? 

IV. 

The  Spanish  maid  is  no  coquette, 

For  joys  to  see  a  lover  tremble  ; 
And  if  she  love,  or  if  she  hate, 

Alike  she  knows  not  to  dissemble. 
Her  heart  can  ne'er  be  bought  or  sold — 

Ilowe'er  it  beats,  it  beats  sincerely  ; 
And,  though  it  will  not  bend  to  gold, 

'T  will  love  you  long,  and  love  you  dearly. 


The  Spanish  girl  that  meets  your  love 

Ne'er  taunts  you  with  a  mock  denial ; 
For  every  thought  is  bent  to  prove 

Iler  passion  in  the  hour  of  trial. 
When  thronging  foemen  menace  Spain 

Slie  dares  the  deed  and  shares  the  danger ; 
And  should  her  lover  press  the  plain. 

She  hurls  the  spear,  her  love's  avenger. 


VI. 

And  when,  beneath  the  evening  star, 

She  mingles  in  the  gay  bolero ; 
Or  sings  to  her  attuned  guitar 

Of  Christian  knight  or  Moorish  hero ; 
Or  counts  her  beads  with  fairy  hand 

Beneath  the  twinkling  rays  of  Ilesper ; 
Or  joins  devotion's  choral  band 

To  chant  the  sweet  and  hallowed  vesper : 

TII. 

In  each  her  charms  the  heart  must  move 

Of  all  who  venture  to  behold  her. 
Then  let  not  maids  less  fair  reprove. 

Because  her  bosom  is  not  colder ; 
Through  many  a  clime  't  is  mine  to  roam 

Where  many  a  soft  and  melting  maid  is, 
But  none  abroad,  and  few  at  home, 

Hay  match  the  dark-eyed  giri  of  Cadiz. 

LOED   Bykcn. 


SOXG. 


The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 
The  bracken  curtain  for  my  head. 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread. 

Far,  far  from  love  and  thee,  Mary ; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid. 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid. 
My  vesper  song  thy  wail,  sweet  maid ! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary  ! 

I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now 

The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow ; 

I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow. 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 
No  fond  regret  must  Xorman  know  ; 
When  bursts  Clan-Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught ! 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thouglit 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary  ! 
And  if  returned  from  conquered  foes, 
How  blitliely  Avill  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


260 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


STANZAS  FOR  MUSIC. 

There  bo  none  of  beanty's  daugbtcrs 

"With  a  magic  like  thee; 
^ind  like  music  on  tlie  waters 

Is  tliy  sweet  voice  to  me : 
When,  as  if  its  sound  were  causing 
The  charmed  ocean's  pausing, 
The  waves  lie  still  and  gleaming, 
And  tlie  lulled  winds  seem  dreaming. 

And  the  midnight  moon  is  weaving 
Her  bright  chain  o'er  the  deep, 

"Whose  breast  is  gently  heaving, 
As  an  iufimt's  asleep  ; 

So  the  spirit  bows  before  thee, 

To  listen  and  adore  thee 

With  a  full  but  soft  emotion, 

Like  the  swell  of  summer's  ocean. 

LOKD   By  EON. 


HERE  'S  A  HEALTH  TO  iVHE  I  LO'E 
DEAR. 

Rcre  '*  a  health  to  anc  I  We  clear, 

Were 's  a  health  to  ane  I  We  dear  ; 

Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  ichen  fond  lovers 

meet, 
And  soft  as  the  parting  tear — Jess?/  ! 

Altho'  thou  maun  never  be  mine, 

Altho'  even  hope  is  denied, 
'Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing 

Than  aught  in  the  world  besido — Jessy ! 

I  mourn  thro'  the  gay,  gaudy  day. 
As,  hopeless,  I  muse  on  thy  cbarms; 

But  welcome  the  dream  o'  sweet  slumber. 
For  then  I  am  locked  in  thy  arms — Jessy! 

I  guess  by  the  dear  angel  smile, 

I  guess  by  the  love-rolling  ee ; 
But  why  urge  the  tender  confession 

'Gainst  fortune's  fell  cruel  decree — Jessy ! 
Here 's  a  health  to  ane  I  We  dear, 
Eere  'a  a  health  to  ane  I  We  dear  ; 
Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers 

meet. 
And  soft  as  the  parting  tear — Jessy  \ 

EOBERT  BCTENS. 


OA'  THE  YOWES  TO  THE  KNOWES. 

Co'  the  yowes  to  the  Tcnowes, 
CtC  them  tohere  the  heather  groics, 
Co'  them  where  the  durnie  rotes, 
My  ionnie  dearie. 

Haek  the  mavis'  evening  sang 
Sounding  Clouden's  woods  amang; 
Then  a  faulding  let  us  gang, 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

"We  '11  gae  down  by  Olouden  side. 
Thro'  the  hazels  spreading  wide. 
O'er  the  waves  that  sweetly  glide 
To  tbe  moon  sae  clearly. 

Yonder  Clouden's  silent  towers, 
"Where  at  moonshine,  midnight  hours, 
O'er  the  dewy  bending  flowers, 
Fairies  dance  sae  cheery. 

Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear  ; 
Tliou  'rt  to  love  and  heaven  sae  dear, 
Nocht  of  ill  may  come  thee  near. 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Thou  hast  stown  my  very  heart ; 
I  can  die — but  canna  part. 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

"Wliile  waters  wimple  to  the  sea, 
"While  day  blinks  in  the  lift  sae  hie, 
Till  clay-cauld  death  shall  blin'  my  ee, 
Ye  shall  be  my  dearie. 

Co'  the  yowes  to  the  Tcnoices, 
Co'  them  where  the  heather  grows^ 
Ga''  them  where  the  humie  rows. 
My  honnie  dearie. 

Egbert  Burns. 


FAREWELL  TO  NANCY. 

Ae  fond  kiss  and  then  we  sever! 
Ae  fareweel,  alas !  for  ever ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee ; 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  fortune  grieves  him, 
While  the  star  of  hope  she  leaves  him? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights  me ; 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 


THE    LASS    OF    BALLOCHMYLE, 


261 


I  '11  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy — 
XaetMng  could  resist  my  Nancy : 
But  to  see  her  was  to  love  her, 
Love  but  her,  and  love  for  ever. 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly, 
Never  met — or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest! 
Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest ! 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure  ! 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ! 
Ae  fareweel,  alas !  for  ever ! 
Deep  in  heart- wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee ; 
V\^arring  siglis  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee. 

EOBEET  BtIENS. 


OF  A'  THE  AIRTS  THE  WIXD  CAN" 
BLAW. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west ; 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives. 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best. 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row. 

And  monie  a  hill 's  between ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  ray  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air ; 
There 's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  foimtain,  shaw,  or  green — 
There  's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  of  my  Jean. 

EOBBET  BuENS. 


A  RED,   RED   ROSE. 

On,  my  luve's  like  a  red,  r(id  rose, 
That 's  newly  sprung  in  June ; 

Oh,  my  luve  's  like  the  melodic 
That 's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thon,  my  bonnie  lass, 
So  deep  in  luve  am  I ; 


And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
TQl  a'  the  seas  gang  dry — 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun; 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  of  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve ! 

And  fare  thee  weel  a  while ! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 

Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 

Egbert  Buens, 


THE  LASS   OF  BALLOCHMYLE. 

'T  WAS  even — the  dewy  fields  were  green, 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  did  hang ; 
The  zephyr  wantoned  round  the  bean 

And  bore  its  fragrant  sweets  along ; 
In  every  glen  the  mavis  sang. 

All  nature  listening  seemed  the  while, 
Except  where  green-wood  echoes  rang 

Amang  the  braes  o'  BaUochmyle. 

With  careless  step  I  onward  strayed  ; 

My  heart  rejoiced  in  nature's  joy ; 
When  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 

A  maiden  fair  I  chanced  to  spy. 
Her  look  was  like  the  morning's  eye, 

Her  air  like  nature's  vernal  smile ; 
Perfection  whispered,  passing  by. 

Behold  the  lass  o'  BaUochmyle ! 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 

And  sweet  is  night  in  autumn  mild, 
When  roving  thro'  the  garden  gay, 

Or  wandering  in  a  lonely  wild  ; 
But  woman,  nature's  darling  child ! 

There  all  her  charms  she  does  compile ; 
Ev'n  there  her  other  works  are  foiled 

By  the  bonnie  lass  o'  BaUochmyle. 

Oh,  had  she  been  a  country  maid. 

And  I  the  happy  country  swain, 
Tho'  sheltered  in  the  lowest  shed 

That  ever  rose  in  Scotland's  plain ! 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  BaUochmyle. 


262 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Then  pi'ido  might  climb  the  slippery  steep 

"VTliore  fame  ami  honors  lofty  shiuc  ; 
Ami  tliirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the  deep, 

Or  downward  seek  the  Indian  mine. 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine, 

To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil, 
And  every  day  have  joys  divine 

"With  the  bonnie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Robert  Burns. 


ADDRESS  TO  A  LADY. 

On,  wort  tliou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea ; 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I  'd  shelter  thee,  I  'd  shelter  thee : 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw. 
Thy  bield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 
Sao  bleak  and  bare,  sae  bleak  and  bare, 

The  desert  were  a  paradise 
If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there. 

Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 


Wi'  thee  to  reisn. 


thee  to  reign ; 


The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 

"Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 

EOBEET  Burns. 


ANNIE  LAUEIE. 

Masweltotj  braes  are  bonnie 
"Where  early  fa's  the  dew. 
And  it 's  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true ; 
Gie'd  nie  her  promise  true, 
"Which  ne'er  forgot  will  be ; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I  'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Her  brow  is  like  the  snaw  drift ; 
Her  throat  is  like  the  swan ; 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on — 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on — 
And  dark  blue  is  her  ec ; 


And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I  'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lying 

Is  the  fa'  o'  her  fairy  feet ; 

And  like  the  winds  in  summer  sighing, 

Iler  voice  is  low  and  sweet — 

Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet — 

And  she 's  a'  the  world  to  me ; 

And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I  'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

AuoNriiotrs. 


THOU  HAST  VOWED  BY  THY  FAITH, 
MY  JEANIE. 

Thou  hast  vowed  by  thy  faith,  my  Jeanie, 

By  that  pretty  white  hand  o'  thine. 
And  by  all  the  lowing  stars  in  heaven, 

That  thou  wad  aye  be  mine ! 
And  I  have  sworn  by  my  faith,  ray  Jeanie, 

And  by  that  kind  heart  o'  thine, 
By  all  the  stars  sown  thick  o'er  heaven, 

That  thou  shalt  ave  be  mine  ! 


Then  foul  fa'  the  hands  wad  loose  sic  bands, 

And  the  heart  wad  part  sic  love ; 
But  there 's  nae  hand  can  loose  the  band, 

But  the  finger  of  Him  above. 
Tho'  the  wee,  wee  cot  maun  be  my  bield. 

An'  my  clothing  e'er  so  mean, 
I  should  lap  np  rich  in  the  faulds  of  love. 

Heaven's  armfu'  o'  my  Jean. 

Her  white  arm  wad  be  a  pillow  to  me, 

Far  softer  than  the  down ; 
And  Love  wad  winnow  o'er  us,  his  kind, 
kind  wings. 

And  sweetly  we  'd  sleep,  an'  soun'. 
Come  here  to  mo,  thou  lass  whom  I  love. 

Come  here  and  kneel  wi'  me ; 
The  morn  is  full  of  the  presence  of  God, 

And  I  canna  pray  but  thee. 

The  morn-wind  is  sweet  amang  the  new 
flowers. 

The  wee  birds  sing  saft  on  the  tree ; 
Our  gudeman  sits  in  the  bonnie  sunshine, 

And  a  blithe  auld  bodie  is  he. 


FAIR    IXES. 


263 


The  benk  maim  be  ta^en  -whau  lie  comes 
Lame, 
TVi'  the  holy  psalmodie  ; 
And  I  will  speak  of  thee  whan  I  pray, 
And  thou  maun  speak  of  me. 

Allan  Cunninghaji. 


OH,  SAW  YE  THE  LASS. 

Oh  saw  ye  the  lass  wi'  the  bonny  blue  een  ? 
Her  smile  is  the  sweetest  that  ever  was  seen ; 
Her  cheek  like  the  rose  is,  but  fresher,  I  ween ; 
She  's  the  loveliest  lassie  that  trips  on  the 

green. 
The  home  of  my  love  is  below  in  the  valley, 
"Where  wild  flowers  welcome  the  wandering 

bee; 
But  the  sweetest  of  flowers  in  that  spot  that 

is  seen 
Is  the  maid  that  I  love  wi'  the  bonny  blue  een. 

When  night  overshadows  her  cot  in  the  glen, 
She'll  steal   out  to  meet  her  loved  Donald 

again ; 
And  when  the  moon  shines  on  the  valley  so 

green, 
I  'U  welcome  the  lass  wi'  the  bonny  blue  een. 
As  the  dove  that  has  wandered  away  from 

his  nest. 
Returns  to  the  mate  his  fond  heart  loves  the 

best, 
I  '11  fly  from  the  world's  false  and  vanishing 

scene, 
To  my  dear  one,  the  lass  wi'  the  bonny  blue 

een. 

ElCHAED  EyAN. 


BONNIE  LESLIE. 

On  saw  ye  bonnie  Leslie 
As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  ? 

She 's  ganc,  like  Alexander, 

To  spread  her  conquests  further. 

To  see  her  is  to  love  her, 
And  love  but  her  for  ever ; 

For  nature  made  her  what  she  is, 
And  ne'er  made  sic  anither. 


Thou  art  a  queen,  fair  Leslie — 
Thy  subjects  we,  before  thee; 

Thou  art  divine,  fair  Leslie — 
The  hearts  o'  men  adore  thee. 

The  ddl  he  could  na  scaith  thee. 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee  ; 

He  'd  look  into  thy  bonnie  face. 
And  say,  "I  cannawrang  thee." 

The  powers  aboon  will  tent  thee  ; 

Misfortune  sha'na  steer  thee ; 
Thou  'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely, 

That  ill  they  'U  ne'er  let  near  thee. 

Return  again,  fair  Leslie !. 

Return  to  Caledonie ! 
That  we  may  brag  we  hae  a  lass 

There  's  nane  again  sae  bonnie. 

KOBEKT  BtJBSS. 


FAIR  INES. 


Oh  saw  ye  not  fair  Ines  ? 

She 's  gone  into  the  west. 

To  dazzle  when  the  sun  is  down, 

And  rob  the  world  of  rest ; 

She  took  our  daylight  with  her, 

The  smiles  that  we  love  best, 

With  morning  blushes  on  her  cheek, 

And  pearls  upon  her  breast. 

II. 
Oh  turn  again,  fair  Ines, 
Before  the  fall  of  night. 
For  fear  the  moon  should  shine  alone. 
And  stars  unrivalled  bi-ight ; 
And  blessed  will  the  lover  be 
That  walks  beneath  their  light. 
And  breathes  the  love  against  thy  cheek 
I  dare  not  even  write ! 

III. 
Would  I  had  been,  fair  Ines, 
That  gdlant  cavalier 
Who  rode  so  gayly  by  tliy  side. 
And  whispered  thee  so  near ! — 


26-1: 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"Were  there  no  bonny  dames  at  Lome, 
Or  no  true  lovers  hero, 
That  he  should  cross  the  seas  to  win 
The  dearest  of  the  dear  ? 

IV. 

1  saw  thee,  lovely  Ines, 

Descend  along  the  shore, 

"With  bands  of  noble  gentlemen, 

xind  banners  waved  before ; 

And  gentle  youth  and  maidens  gay, 

And  snowy  plumes  they  wore ; — 

It  would  have  been  a  beauteous  dream, 

— If  it  had  been  no  more ! 


Alas !  alas !  fair  Ines ! 

She  went  away  with  song, 

With  music  waiting  on  her  steps. 

And  shoutings  of  the  throng ; 

But  some  were  sad,  and  felt  no  mirth. 

But  only  music's  wrong, 

In  sounds  that  sang  Farewell,  farewell ! 

To  her  you  've  loved  so  long. 

YI. 

Farewell,  farewell,  fair  Ines ! 

That  vessel  never  bore 

So  fair  a  lady  on  its  deck. 

Nor  danced  so  light  before — 

Alas  for  pleasure  on  the  sea, 

And  sorrow  on  the  shore ! 

The  smile  that  blest  one  lover's  heart 

Has  broken  many  more  ! 

TnoMAs  Hood. 


When,  at  eve,  thou  rovest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest, 

Oh  then  remember  me ! 
Think,  when  home  returning, 
Bright  we  've  seen  it  burning, 

Oh  thus  remember  me ! 
Oft  as  summer  closes, 
When  thine  eye  reposes 
On  its  lingering  roses. 

Once  so  loved  by  thee. 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them, 
Her  who  made  thee  love  them ; 

Oh  then  remember  me ! 

When,  around  thee  dying, 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying. 

Oh  then  remember  me ! 
And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  blazing. 

Oh  still  remember  me ! 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  soul  of  feeling. 
To  thy  heart  appeahng, 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee — 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  used  to  sing  thee ; 

Oh  then  remember  me ! 

Thomas  Mooeb. 


GO  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS  THEE ! 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee ; 
But,  while  fame  elates  thee, 

Oh  still  remember  me  ! 
When  the  praise  tliou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest. 

Oh  then  remember  me ! 
Other  arms  may  press  thee, 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee — 
All  the  joys  that  bless  thee 

Sweeter  far  may  be ; 
But  when  fi-iends  are  nearest. 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh  then  remember  me ! 


FLY  TO  THE  DESERT. 

Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me — 

Our  Arab  tents  are  rude  for  thee ; 

But,  oh !  the  choice  what  heart  can  doubt, 

Of  tents  with  love,  or  thrones  without  ? 

Our  rocks  are  rough  ;  but  smiling  there 
The  acacia  waves  her  yellow  hair — 
Lonely  and  sweet,  nor  loved  the  less 
For  flowering  in  a  wilderness. 

Our  sands  are  bare ;  but  down  their  slope 
The  silvery-footed  antelope 
As  gracefully  and  gayly  spring's 
As  o'er  the  marble  courts  of  kings. 

Then  come — thy  Arab  maid  wiU  be 
The  loved  and  lone  acacia-tree — 
The  antelope,  whose  feet  shall  bless 
With  their  light  sound  thy  loveliness. 


LOVELY    MARY    DONNELLY.                                          265 

Oil !  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 

Red  rowans  warm  in  sunshine,  and  wetted 

An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart  — 

with  a  shower. 

As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 

Could  ne'er  express  the  charming  lip   that 

Some  treasure  it  through  life  had  sought ; 

has  me  in  its  power. 

As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes 

Predestined  to  have  all  our  sighs, 

Her  nose  is  straight  and  handsome,  her  eye- 

And never  he  forgot  again, 

brows  lifted  up. 

Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then ! 

Her  chin  is  very  neat  and  pert,  and  smooth 

like  a  china  cup ; 

So  came  thy  every  glance  and  tone, 

Her  hair 's  the  brag  of  Ireland,  so  weighty 

When  first  on  me  they  breathed  and  shone; 

and  so  fine — 

New  as  if  brought  from  other  spheres. 

It 's  rolling  down  upon  her  neck,  and  gath- 

Yet welcome  as  if  loved  for  years. 

ered  in  a  twine. 

Then  fly  with  me, — if  thou  hast  known 

No  other  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 

The  dance  o'  last  Whit  Monday  night  exceed- 

A gem  away,  that  thou  hadst  sworn 

ed  all  before — 

Should  ever  in  thy  heart  be  worn  ; 

No  pretty  girl  for  mUes  around  was  missing 

from  the  floor ; 

Come,  if  the  love  thou  hast  for  me 

But  Mary  kept  the  belt  of  love,  and  oh  !  but 

Is  pure  and  fresh  as  mine  for  thee — 

she  was  gay; 

Fresh  as  the  fountain  under  ground. 

She  danced  a  jig,  she  sung  a  song,  and  took 

When  first 't  is  by  the  lapwing  found. 

my  heart  away ! 

But  if  for  me  thou  dost  forsake 

Some  other  maid,  and  rudely  break 

When  she  stood  up  for  dancing,  her  steps 

Her  worshipped  image  from  its  base, 

were  so  complete, 

To  give  to  me  the  ruined  place — 

The  music  nearly  killed  itself,  to  listen  to  her 
feet; 

Then,  fare  thee  well ;  I  'd  rather  make 

The  fiddler  mourned  his  blindness,  he  heard 

My  bower  upon  some  icy  lake 

her  so  much  praised ; 

When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine, 

But  blessed  himself  he  wasn't  deaf  when 

Than  trust  to  love  so  false  as  thine ! 

once  her  voice  she  raised. 

Thomas  Mooke. 

And  evermore  I'm  whistling  or  lilting  what 
you  sung ; 

LOVELY  MAEY  DONNELLY. 

Your  smile  is  always  in  my  heart,  your  name 

beside  my  tongue. 

0,  LOVELY  Mary  Donnelh",  it  's  you  I  love 

But  you  've  as  many  sweethearts  as  you  'd 

the  best ! 

count  on  both  your  hands. 

If  fifty  girls  were  around  you,  I  'd  hardly  see 

And  for  myself  there 's  not  a  thumb  or  little 

the  rest ; 

finger  stands. 

Be  what  it  may  the  time  of  day,  the  place  be 

where  it  will. 

Oh,  you  're  the  flower  of  womankind,  in  coun- 

Sweet looks  of  Mary  Donnelly,  they  bloom 

try  or  in  town ; 

before  me  still. 

The  higher  I  exalt  you,  the  lower  I  'm  cast 

down. 
If  some  great  lord  should  come  tliis  way  and 

Her  eyes  like  mountain  water  that 's  flowing 

on  a  rock, 

see  your  beauty  bright. 

How  clear  they  are,  how  dark  they  are  !  and 

And  you  to  be  his  lady,  I  'd  own  it  was  but 

they  give  me  many  a  shock ; 
S8 

right. 

266 


i'  0  EMS     U  I'     L  O  \  !■; . 


Ob,  miij:lit  Ave  live  together  in  lofty  palace 

liall 
^^'llel•e  joyful  music  rises,  and  wliere  scarlet 

curtains  fall ; 
Oil,  might  we  live  together  in  a  cottage  mean 

and  small, 
"With  sods  of  grass  the  only  roof,  and  mud 

the  only  wall! 

0,  lovely  Mary  Donnelly,  your  beauty  's  my 

distress — 
It's  far  too  beauteous  to  be  mine,  but  I'll 

never  wish  it  less; 
The  proudest  place  would  fit  your  face,  and 

I  am  poor  and  low. 

But  blessings  be  about  you,  dear,  wherever 

you  may  go ! 

"William  Allisgham. 


AN  IRISH  MELODY. 

"An,  sweet  Kitty  Neil!  rise  up  from  your 
wheel — 
Your  neat  little  foot  will  be  weary  from 
spinning ; 
Come,  trip  down  with  me  to  the  sycamore 
tree ; 
Half  the  parish  is  there,  and  the  dance  is 
beginning. 
The  sun  is  gone  down  ;  but  the  full  harvest 
moon 
Shines  sweetly  and  cool  on  the  dew-whit- 
ened valley ; 
"While  all  the  air  rings  with  the  soft,  loving 
things 
Each  little  bird  sings  in  the  green  shaded 
alley." 

"With  a  blush  and  a  smile,  Kitty  rose  up  the 
while, 
Iler  eye  in  the  glass,  as   she  bound  her 
hair,  glancing ; 
'Tis    hard   to   refuse    when   a   young  lover 
sues. 
So  she  could  n't  but  choose  to — go  off  to 
the  dancing. 
And  now  on  the  green  the  glad  groups  are 
seen — 
Each  gay-hearted  lad  witli  the  lass  of  his 
choosing ; 


And  Pat,  without  lail,  leads  out  sweet  Kitty 
Neil— 
Somehow,  when  he  asked,  she  ne'er  thought 
of  refusing. 

Now   Felix  Magee    puts  his    pipes   to   his 
knee, 
And,  with  flourish  so  free,  sets  each  couple 
in  motion ; 
"With  a  cheer  and  a  bound,  the  lads  patter 
the  ground — 
The  maids  move  around  just  like  swans  on 
the  ocean. 
Cheeks  bright  as  the  rose — feet   light  as  the 
doe's — 
Now  cozily  retiring,  now  boldly  advanc- 
ing; 
Search  the  world  all  around  from  the  sky  to 
the  ground, 

No  such  sight  can  be  found  as  an  Irish  lass 
dancing ! 

Sweet  Kate !    who  could   view  your  bright 
eyes  of  deep  blue, 
Beaming  humidly  through  their  dark  lashes 
so  mildly — 
Ycur  fair-turned  arm,  heaving  breast,  round- 
ed form — 
Nor  feel  his  heart   warm,  and  his  pulses 
throb  wildly? 
Poor  Pat  feels  his  heart,    as  he   gazes,  de- 
part. 
Subdued  by  the  smart  of  such  painful  yet 
sweet  love ; 
The  sight  leaves  his  eye  as  he  cries  with  a 
sigh, 
"Dance  light,  for  my  heart  it  lies  under 
your  feet,  love! " 

Denis  Flokence  M'Caktht. 


SONG. 


Love  me  if  I  live ! 

Love  me  if  I  die ! 
What  to  me  is  life  or  death, 

So  that  thou  be  nigh  ? 

Once  I  loved  thee  rich. 
Now  I  love  thee  poor ; 

Ah !  what  is  there  I  could  not 
For  thy  sake  endure  ? 


THE     WELCOME. 


267 


Kiss  me  for  my  love  I 

Pay  me  for  my  paiu ! 
Come !  and  murmur  in  my  ear 

How  thou  lov'st  again ! 

Baket  Cornwall. 


WERE  I  BUT  HIS  OWN  WIFE. 

Were  I  but  his  own  wife,  to  guard  and  to 
guide  him, 
'Tis  little   of  sorrow  should   fall    on  my 
dear ; 
I  'd  chant  my  low  love  verses,  stealing  beside 
him, 
So  faint  and  so  tender  his  heart  would  but 
hear ; 
I  'd  pull  the  wild  blossoms  from  valley  and 
higliland ; 
And  there  at  his  feet  I  would  lay  them  aU 
down ; 
I  'd  sing  him  the  songs  of  our  poor  stricken 
island, 
Till  his  heart  was  on  fire  with  a  love  like 
my  own. 

There 's  a  rose  by  his  dwelling — I  'd  tend  the 
lone  treasure, 
That  he  might  ha^'e  flowers  when    the 
summer  would  come ; 
There 's  a  harp  in  his  hall — I  would  wake  its 
sweet  measure, 
For  he  must  have  music  to  brighten  his 
home. 
Were  I  but  his  own  wife,  to  guide  and  to 
guard  him, 
'Tis  little  of  sorrow  should  fall  on  my 
dear ; 
For  every  kind  glance  my  whole  life  would 
award  him — 
In  sickness  1  'd  soothe  and  in  sadness  I  'd 
cheer. 

My  heart    is    a  fount  welling    upward  for 
ever — 
When  I  think  of  my  true-love,  by  night 
or  by  day ; 
That  heart  keeps  its  faith  like  a  fast-flowing 
river 
Which  gushes  for  ever  and  sings  on   its 
way. 


I  have  thoughts  full  of  peace  for  his  soul  to 

repose  in, 

Wei-e  I  but  his  own  wife,  to  win  and  to 

woo — 

Oh,  sweet,  if  the  night  of  misfortune  were 

closing, 

To  rise  like  the  morning  star,  darling,  for 

you! 

Mart  Downing. 


THE  WELCOME. 

I. 

Come  in  the  evening,  or  come  in  the  morning — 
Come  when  you  're  looked  for,  or  come  with- 
out warning ; 
Kisses  and  welcome  you'll  find  here  before  you, 
And  the  oftener  you  come  here  the  more  I  '1 1 
adore  you ! 
Light  is  my  heart  since  the  day  we  were 

l^lighted ; 
Red  is  my  cheek  that  they  told  me  was 

blighted ; 
The  green  of  the  trees  looks  far  greener 


than  ever, 
I  the  linnet 
don't  sever !  " 


And  the  linnets  are  singing,  "  True  lovers 


II. 

I  '11  pull  you  sweet  flowers,  to  wear  if  you 

choose  them ! 
Or,  after  you  've  kissed  them,  they  '11  lie  on 

my  bosom ; 
I  'U  fetch  from  the  mountain  its  breeze  to  in- 
spire you ; 
I  '11  fetch  from  my  fancy  a  tale  that  won't 
tire  you. 
Oh !  your  step 's  like  the  rain  to  the  summer- 
vexed  farmer, 
Or  sabre  and  shield  to  a  knight  without 

armor ; 
I  '11  sing  you  sweet  songs  till  the  stars  rise 

above  me, 
Then,  wandering,  I  '11  wish  you  in  silence 
to  love  me. 

III. 
We  '11  look  through  the  trees  at  the  cliff  and 

the  eyrie ; 
We  '11  tread  round  the  rath  on  the  track  of 

the  fairy ; 


268 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


"We  '11  look  on  the  stars,  and  we  '11  list  to  tlie 

river, 
Till  you  ask  of  your  darling  what  gift  you 
can  give  litr — 

Oh!    slic'll  whisper  you— "Love,  as   un- 
changeably beaming. 

And  trust,  when  in  secret,  most  tunefully 
streaming ; 

Till  the  starlight  of  heaven  above  us  shall 
quiver, 

As  our  souls  flow  in  one  down  eternity's 
river." 

So  come  in  the  evening,  or  come  in  the  morn- 

'"a  1 

Come  when  you 're  looked  for,  or  come  with- 
out warning : 
Kisses  and  welcome  you  'U  find  here  before 

you, 
And   the  oftener  you  come  here  the  more 
I  Tl  adore  you ! 
Light  is  my  heart  since  the  day  we  were 

plighted ; 
Red  is  my  cheek  that  they  told  me  was 

blighted ; 
The  green  of  the  trees  looks  far  greener 

than  ever. 
And  the  linnets  are  singing,  "True  lovers 
don't  sever ! " 

TnoMAS  Davis. 


COME  INTO  THE  GAEDEN,  MAUD. 

Come  into  the  garden,  Maud — 
For  the  black  bat,  night,  has  flown ! 

Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 
I  am  here  at  the  gate  alone ; 

And  the  woodbine  spices  are  wafted  abroad. 
And  the  musk  of  the  roses  blown. 

For  a  breeze  of  morning  moves. 
And  the  jjlanet  of  love  is  on  liigh, 

Beginning  to  faint  in  the  light  that  she  loves, 
On  a  bed  of  daflTodil  sky. 

To  faint  in  the  light  of  the  sun  that  she  loves, 
To  faint  in  its  hght,  and  to  die. 

A  U  night  have  the  roses  heard 

The  flute,  violin,  bassoon ; 
All  night  has  the  casement  jessamine  stirred 

To  the  dancers  dancing  in  tune — 


Till  a  silence  fell  with  the  waking  bird, 
And  a  hush  with  the  setting  moon. 


I  said  to  the  lily,  "There  is  but  one 

With  whom  she  has  heart  to  be  gay. 
"When  will  the  dancers  leave  her  alone? 

She  is  weary  of  dance  and  play." 
Now  half  to  the  setting  moon  are  gone. 

And  half  to  the  rising  day ; 
Low  on  the  sand  and  loud  on  the  stone 

The  last  wheel  echoes  away. 

I  said  to  the  rose,  "The  brief  night  goes 

In  babble  and  revel  and  wine. 
0  young  lord-lover,  what  sighs  are  those, 

For  one  that  will  never  be  thine ! 
But  mine,  but  mine,"  so  I  sware  to  the  rose, 

"For  ever  and  evei*,  mine!  " 

And  the  soul  of  the  rose  went  into  my  blood, 
As  the  music  clashed  in  the  hall ; 

And  long  by  the  garden  lake  I  stood. 
For  I  heard  your  rivulet  fall 

From  the  lake  to  the  meadow  and  on  to  the 
wood — 
Our  wood,  that  is  dearer  than  aU — 

From  the  meadow  your  walks  have  left  so 
sweet 

That  whenever  a  March-wind  sighs, 
He  sets  the  jewel-print  of  your  feet 

In  -s-iolets  blue  as  your  eyes — 
To  the  woody  hollows  in  which  we  meet. 

And  the  valleys  of  Paradise. 

The  slender  acacia  would  not  shake 

One  long  milk-bloom  on  the  tree ; 
The  white  lake-blossom  fell  into  the  lake. 

As  the  pimpernel  dozed  on  the  lea ; 
But  the  rose  was  awake  all  night  for  your 
sake. 

Knowing  your  promise  to  me ; 
The  lilies  and  roses  were  aU  awake — 

They  sighed  for  the  dawn  and  thee. 

Queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls. 
Come  hither !  the  dances  are  done ; 

In  gloss  of  satin  and  glimmer  of  pearls, 
Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one  ; 

Shine  out,   little  head,   sunning  over  with 
curls. 
To  tlie  flowers,  and  be  their  sun. 


SUMMER    DAYS. 


269 


There  has  fallen  a  splendid  tear 

From  the  passion-flower  at  the  gate. 
She  is  coming,  my  dove,  my  dear, 

She  is  commg,  my  life,  my  fate ! 
The  red  rose  cries,  "  She  is  near,  she  is  near ; " 

And  the  white  rose  weeps,  "  She  is  late ;  " 
The  larkspur  listens,  "I  hear,  I  hear," 

And  the  lily  whispers,  "  I  wait." 

She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet ! 

Were  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread. 
My  lieart  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

"Were  it  earth  in  an  earthly  bed ; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat. 

Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead — 
"Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet. 

And  blossom  in  purple  and  red. 

Alfred  Texntsox. 


SUMMER  DAYS. 

In  summer,  when  the  days  were  long, 
We  walked  together  in  the  wood: 
Our  heart  was  liglit,  our  step  was  strong ; 
Sweet  flutterings  were  there  in  our  blood. 
In  summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 

We  strayed  from  morn  till  evening  came ; 
We  gathered  flowers,  and  wove  us  crowns  ; 
"We  walked  mid  poppies  red  as  flame. 
Or  sat  upon  the  yellow  downs ; 
And  always  wished  our  life  the  same. 

In  summer,  wlion  the  days  were  long, 
We  leaped  the  hedgerow,  crossed  the  brook ; 
And  still  her  voice  flowed  forth  in  song. 
Or  else  she  read  some  graceful  book, 
Tn  summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 

And  then  we  sat  beneath  the  trees, 
Witli  shadows  lessening  in  the  noon  ; 
And,  in  the  sunlight  and  the  breeze. 
We  feasted,  many  a  gorgeous  June, 
While  larks  were  singing  o'er  the  leas. 

In  summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 
On  dainty  chicken,  snow-white  bread, 
"We  feasted,  with  no  grace  but  song ; 
"We  plucked  wild  strawb'ries,  ripe  aiul  red, 
In  summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 


We  loved,  and  yet  we  knew  it  not — 
For  loving  seemed  like  breathing  tlien ; 
We  found  a  heaven  in  every  spot ; 
Saw  angels,  too,  in  all  good  men ; 
And  dreamed  of  God  in  gi-ove  and  grot. 

In  summer,  when  the  days  are  long, 
Alone  I  wander,  muse  alone ; 
I  see  her  not ;  but  tbat  old  song 
Under  the  fragrant  wind  is  blown, 
In  summer,  when  the  days  are  long. 

Alone  I  wander  in  the  wood ; 
But  one  fair  spirit  bears  my  sighs ; 
And  half  I  see,  so  glad  and  good, 
The  honest  daylight  of  her  eyes. 
That  charmed  me  under  earlier  skies. 

In  summer,  when  the  days  are  long, 
I  love  her  as  we  loved  of  old ; 
My  heart  is  light,  my  step  is  strong ; 
For  love  brings  back  those  hours  of  gold. 
In  summer,  when  the  days  are  long. 

Anontmot!& 


RUTH. 


She  stood  breast  high  amid  the  com, 
Clasped  by  the  golden  light  of  morn, 
Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun. 
Who  many  a  glowing  kiss  had  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  autumn  flush 
Deeply  ripened ; — such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  born. 
Like  red  poppies  grown  with  corn. 

Round  her  eyes  her  tresses  fell — 
Which  were  blackest  none  could  tell ; 
But  long  lashes  veiled  a  light 
That  had  else  been  all  too  bright. 

And  her  hat,  with  shady  brim. 
Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim  ; — 
Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stooks, 
Praising  God  with  sweetest  looks. 

Sure,  I  said,  Heaven  did  not  mean 
Where  I  reap  thou  shouldst  but  glean ; 
Lay  thy  sheaf  adown  and  come, 
Share  my  harvest  and  my  home. 

Thomas  IIood 


270 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


AT  TITE  CnURCH  GATE. 

ALxnoucn  I  enter  not, 
Yet  round  about  the  spot 

OfttimesI  hover; 
And  near  the  sacred  gate, 
With  longing  eyes  I  Avait, 

Expectant  of  her. 

The  minster  hell  tolls  out 
Above  the  city's  rout, 

And  noise  and  humming; 
They  've  Imslicd  the  minster  bell : 
The  organ  'gins  to  swell ; 

She  's  coming,  she  's  coming ! 

My  lady  comes  at  last. 
Timid  and  stepping  fast, 

And  hastening  hither, 
"With  modest  eyes  downcast ; 
She  comes — she  's  here,  she 's  past ! 

May  heaven  go  with  her ! 

Kneel  undisturbed,  fair  saint ! 
Pour  out  your  praise  or  plaint 

Meekly  and  duly ; 
I  will  not  enter  there. 
To  sully  your  pure  prayer 

"With  thoughts  unruly. 

But  suffer  me  to  pace 
Round  the  forbidden  place, 

Lingering  a  minute, 
Like  outcast  spirits,  who  wait. 
And  see,  through  heaven's  gate, 

Angels  within  it. 

William  Makepeace  Thackebat. 


SHE   IS  A  MAID  OF  ARTLESS  GRACE. 

SnE  is  a  maid  of  artless  grace, 
Gentle  in  form,  and  fair  of  face. 

Tell  me,  thou  ancient  mariner, 

That  sailest  on  the  sea. 
If  ship,  or  sail,  or  evening  star. 

Be  Jialf  so  fair  as  she  ! 

Tell  me,  thon  gallant  cavalier, 

Whose  shining  arms  I  see. 
If  steed,  or  sword,  or  battle-field. 

Be  half  so  fair  as  she ! 


Tell  me,  thou   swain   that  guard'st  thy 
flock 
Beneath  the  sliadowy  tree, 
If  flock,  or  vale,  or  mountain-ridge, 
Be  half  so  fair  as  she ! 

Gil  Vicente.    (Portuguese.) 
Translation  of  11.  W.  Longfellow. 


SERENADE. 

I. 

Ah,  sweet,  thou  little  knowest  how 

I  wake  and  passionate  watches  keep  ; 
And  yet,  while  I  address  thee  now, 

Mcthlnks  thou  smilest  in  thy  sleep. 
'T  is  sweet  enough  to  make  me  weep, 

That  tender  thought  of  love  and  thee, 
That  while  the  world  is  hushed  so  deep, 

Thy  soul 's  perhaps  awake  to  me ! 

n. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  sweet  bride  of  sleep! 

AYith  golden  visions  for  thy  dower, 
While  I  tins  midnight  vigil  keep. 

And  bless  thee  in  thy  silent  bower ; 
To  me  'tis  sweeter  than  the  power 

Of  sleep,  and  fairy  dreams  unfurled. 
That  I  alone,  at  this  still  hour, 

In  patient  love  outwatch  the  Avorld. 

Thomas  Hood. 


SERENADE. 

Look  out  upon  the  stars,  my  love, 

And  shame  them  with  thine  eyes, 
On  which,  than  on  the  lights  above, 

There  hang  more  destinies. 
Kight's  beauty  is  the  harmony 

Of  blending  shades  and  light: 
Then,  lady,  up, — look  out,  and  be 

A  sister  to  the  night! — 

Sleep  not! — tliine  image  wakes  for  aye 

Within  my  watcliing  breast; 
Sleep  not! — from  her  soft  sleep  should  fly, 

Who  robs  all  hearts  of  rest. 
Nay,  lady,  from  thy  slumbers  break, 

And  make  this  darkness  gay. 
With  looks  whose  brightness  well  might  make 

Of  darker  nights  a  day. 

Edtvaei)  Coatb  Pinknet. 


SONGS.                                                                    271 

VIII. 

MY  LOVE. 

She  is  a  woman — one  in  whom 

I. 

The  spring-time  of  her  childish  years 

Not  as  all  other  women  are 

Hath  never  lost  its  fresh  perfume. 

Is  she  that  to  my  soul  is  dear ; 

Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 

Iler  glorious  fancies  come  from  far, 

For  many  blights  and  many  tears. 

Beneath  the  silver  evening-star ; 

And  yet  her  heart  is  ever  near. 

IS. 

II. 

I  love  her  with  a  love  as  still 

As  a  broad  river's  peaceful  might, 

Great  feelings  hath  she  of  her  own, 

Which,  by  high  tower  and  lowly  mill. 

Which  lesser  souls  may  never  know ; 

Goes  wandering  at  its  own  will, 

God  giveth  them  to  her  alone, 

And  yet  doth  ever  flow  aright. 

And  sweet  they  are  as  any  tone 

Wherewith  the  wind  may  choose  to  blow. 

X. 

III. 

And,  on  its  full,  deep  breast  serene. 

Yet  in  herself  she  dwelleth  not. 

Like  quiet  isles  my  duties  lie  ; 

Although  no  home  were  half  so  fair  ; 

It  flows  around  them  and  between. 

No  simplest  duty  is  forgot ; 

And  makes  them  fresh  and  fair  and  green  - 

Life  hath  no  dim  and  lowly  spot 

Sweet  homes  wherein  to  live  and  die. 

That  doth  not  in  her  sunshine  share. 

IV. 

James  Kttssell  Lowelu 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses. 

Which  most  leave  undone,  or  despise : 

For  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease. 

THE  MILLER'S  DAUGHTER. 

And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 

Is  low-esteemed  in  her  eyes. 

It  is  the  miller's  daughter. 

And  she  is  grown  so  dear,  so  dear. 

V. 

That  I  would  be  the  jewel 

She  hath  no  scorn  of  common  things ; 

That  trembles  at  her  ear ; 

And,  though  she  seem  of  other  birth. 

For,  hid  in  ringlets  day  and  night. 

Round  us  her  heart  entwines  and  clings, 

I  'd  touch  her  neck  so  warm  and  white. 

And  patiently  she  folds  her  wings 

To  tread  the  humble  paths  of  earth. 

And  I  would  be  the  girdle 

VI. 

About  her  dainty,  dainty  waist. 

Blessing  she  is  ;  God  made  her  so  ; 

And  her  heart  would  beat  against  me 

And  deeds  of  week-day  holines-s 

In  sorrow  and  in  rest ; 

Fall  from  her  noiseless  as  the  snow ; 

And  I  should  know  if  it  beat  right, 

Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 

I  'd  clasp  it  round  so  close  and  tight. 

That  aught  were  easier  than  to  bless. 

And  I  would  be  the  necklace. 

VII. 

And  all  day  long  to  fall  and  rise 

She  is  most  fair,  and  thereunto 

Upon  her  balmy  bosom 

Iler  life  doth  rightly  harmonize  ; 

With  her  laughter  or  her  sighs  ; 

Feeling  or  thought  that  was  not  true 

And  I  would  lie  so  light,  so  liglit. 

Ne'er  made  less  beautiful  the  blue 

I  scarce  should  be  unclasped  at  night. 

Unclouded  heaven  of  her  eyes. 

A-LKKED    TeNNTSOM. 

.^72                                                       POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

'T  is  when  he  sings  on  some  lone  shore 

THE  BROOK-SIDE. 

Where  Echo's  vocal  spirits  throng, 

Whose  airy  voices,  o'er  and  o'er, 

I  WANDERED  bj  the  brook-side, 

On  still  and  moonlight  lake  prolong 

I  -wandei-ed  by  the  mill ; 

One  dear,  loved,  thrilling  name. 

I  could  not  hear  the  brook  flow — 

Anonymous. 

The  noisy  wliecl  was  still ; 

There  was  no  burr  of  grasshopper, 

No  chirp  of  any  bird, 

TO  . 

But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

"Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

Let  other  bards  of  angels  sing. 

I  sat  beneath  the  elm-tree ; 

Bright  suns  without  a  spot ; 

I  watched  the  long,  long  shade, 

But  thou  art  no  such  perfect  thing : 

And,  as  it  grew  still  longer, 

Rejoice  that  thou  art  not ! 

I  did  not  feel  afraid ; 

For  I  listened  for  a  footfall. 

Heed  not  though  none  should  call  thee  fair ; 

I  listened  for  a  word — 

So,  Mary,  let  it  be, 

But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

If  naught  in  loveliness  compare 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

With  what  thou  art  to  me. 

He  came  not,— no,  he  came  not— 

True  beauty  dwells  in  deep  retreats. 

The  night  came  on  alone — 

Whose  veil  is  unremoved 

The  little  stars  sat  one  by  one. 

Till  heart  with  heart  in  concord  beats. 

Each  on  his  golden  throne ; 

And  the  lover  is  beloved. 

The  evening  wind  passed  by  my  cheek. 

William  Wokdswoexh. 

The  leaves  above  were  stirred — 

But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 
Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

Fast  silent  tears  were  flowing, 

BALLAD. 

When  something  stood  behind ; 

A  hand  was  on  my  shoulder — 

I. 

I  knew  its  touch  was  kind : 

It  was  not  in  the  winter 

It  drew  me  nearer — nearer, — 

Our  loving  lot  was  cast ; 

We  did  not  speak  one  word, 

It  was  the  time  of  roses, — 

For  the  beating  of  our  own  hearts 

We  plucked  them  as  we  passed ! 

Was  all  tVie  sound  we  heard. 

ElCHARD    MONCKTON    MiLNES. 

II. 

That  churlish  season  never  frowned 

On  early  lovers  yet ! 

Oh  no — the  world  was  newly  crowned 

on:   TELL  ME,  LOVE,  THE  DEAREST 

With  flowers  when  first  we  met. 

HOUR. 

III. 

On  !  tell  me,  love,  the  dearest  hour 

'T  was  twilight,  and  I  bade  you  go — 

Tlic  parted,  anxious  lover  knows, — 

But  still  you  held  me  fost ; 

When  passion,  with  enclianter's  power, 

It  was  the  time  of  roses, — 

Across  his  faithful  memory  throws 

We  plucked  them  as  we  passed ! 

Its  softest,  brightest  flame. 

Thomas  Hood 

SONGS. 


273 


THE  PORTEAIT. 

Come,  thou  best  of  painters, 
Prince  of  tlie  Rhodian  art; 

Paint,  thou  best  of  painters. 
The  mistress  of  my  heart — 

Though  absent — from  the  picture 
Which  I  shall  now  impart. 

First  paint  for  me  her  ringlets 
Of  dark  and  glossy  hue, 

And  fragrant  odors  breathing — 
If  this  thine  art  can  do. 

Paint  me  an  ivory  forehead 
That  crowns  a  perfect  cheek. 

And  rises  under  ringlets 
Dark-colored,  soft,  and  sleek. 

The  space  between  the  eyebrows 
Xor  mingle  nor  dispart. 

But  blend  them  imperceptibly 
And  true  will  be  thy  art. 

From  under  black-eye  fringes 
Let  sunny  flashes  play — 

Cythera's  swimming  glances, 
Minerva's  azure  ray. 

With  milk  commingle  roses 
To  paint  a  nose  and  cheeks — 

A  lip  like  bland  persuasion's — 
A  lip  that  kissing  seeks. 

Within  the  chin  luxurious 

Let  all  the  graces  fair, 
Pound  neck  of  alabaster. 

Be  ever  flitting  there. 

And  now  in  robes  invest  her 

Of  palest  purple  dyes. 
Betraying  fair  proportions 

To  our  delighted  eyes. 

Cease,  cease,  I  see  before  me 
The  picture  of  my  choice  ! 

And  quickly  wilt  thou  give  me — 

The  music  of  thy  voice. 

Anaceeon.    (Greek.) 
rranslation  of  William  Hat. 

39 


A  HEALTH. 

I  FILL  this  cup  to  one  made  up 

Of  loveliness  alone, 
A  woman,  of  her  gentle  sex 

The  seeming  paragon ; 
To  whom  the  better  elements 

And  kindly  stars  have  given 
A  form  so  fair,  that,  like  the  air, 

'T  is  less  of  earth  than  heaven. 

Her  every  tone  is  music's  own. 

Like  those  of  morning  birds. 
And  something  more  than  melody 

Dwells  ever  in  her  words ; 
The  coinage  of  her  heart  are  they, 

And  from  her  lips  each  flows 
As  one  may  see  the  burdened  bee 

Forth  issue  from  the  rose. 

Aftections  are  as  thoTights  to  her, 

The  measures  of  her  hours ; 
Her  feelings  have  the  fragrancy, 

The  freshness  of  young  flowers  ; 
And  lovely  passions,  changing  oft, 

So  fill  her,  she  appears 
The  image  of  themselves  by  turns.  — 

The  idol  of  past  years ! 

Of  her  bright  face  one  glance  will  trace 

A  picture  on  the  brain, 
And  of  her  voice  in  echoing  hearts 

A  sound  must  long  remain  ; 
But  memory,  such  as  mine  of  her. 

So  very  much  endears, 
When  death  is  nigh  my  latest  sigh 

Will  not  be  life's,  but  hers. 

I  fill  this  cup  to  one  made  up 

Of  loveliness  alone, 
A  woman,  of  her  gentle  sex 

The  seeming  paragon — 
Her  health !  and  would  on  earth  there 
stood 

Some  more  of  such  a  frame, 
That  life  might  be  all  poetry. 

And  weariness  a  name. 

Edwaed    Coate    Piskney, 


274 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


LOVE  SONG. 

SwEKT  in  licr  green  dell  the  flower  of  beauty 

slumbers, 
Lulled  by  the  faint  breezes  sighing  through 

her  hair  1 
Sleeps  she,  and  hears  not  the  melancholy 

numbers 
Ih-oathed  to  my  sad  lute  amid  the  lonely  air ! 


Down  from   the  high   clifls   the    rivulet  is 

teeming 
To  wind  round  the  willow  banks  that  lure 

him  from  above  ; 
Oh  that,  in  tears,   from    my   rocky  prison 

streaming, 
I,  too,  could  glide  to  the  bower  of  my  love ! 


Ah,  where  the  woodbines,  with  sleepy  arms, 

have  wound  her. 
Opes  she  her  eyelids  at  the  dream  of  my  lay. 
Listening,  like  the  dove,  while  the  fountains 

echo  round  her, 
To  her  lost  mate's  call  in  the  forests  far  away ! 

Come,  then,  my  bird !    for  the  peace  thou 

ever  bearest, 
Still  heaven's  messenger  of  comfort  to  me — 
Come !  this  fond  bosom,  my  faithfulest,  my 

fairest. 
Bleeds  with  its  death-wound — but   deeper 

yet  for  thee ! 

Geoegb  Daeley. 


SYLVIA. 

[  'vE  taught  thee  love's  sweet  lesson  o'er — 

A  task  that  is  not  learned  with  tears  : 
Was  Sylvia  e'er  so  blest  before 
In  her  wild,  solitary  years  ? 

Tlien  what  does  he  deserve,  the  youth 
"Who  made  her  con  so  dear  a  truth  ? 

rill  now  in  silent  vales  to  roam. 

Singing  vain  songs  to  heedless  flowers, 
Jr  watch  the  dashing  billows  foam. 
Amid  thy  lonely  myrtle  bowers — 
To  weave  light  crowns  of  various  hue — 
Were  all  the  joys  thy  bosom  knew. 


The  wild  bird,  though  most  musical, 

Could  not  to  thy  sweet  plaint  reply  ; 
The  streamlet,  and  the  waterfall, 

Could  only  weep  when  thou  didst  sigh  I 
Thou  couldst  not  change  one  dulcet  word 
Either  with  billow,  or  with  bird. 

For  leaves  and  flowers,  but  these  alone, 
"Winds  have  a  soft,  discoursing  way ; 
Heaven's  starry  talk  is  all  its  own, — 
It  dies  in  thunder  far  away. 

E'en  when  thou  wouldst  the  moon  be- 
guile 
To  speak, — she  only  deigns  to  smile  ! 

Now,  birds  and  winds,  be  churlish  still ! 

Ye  waters,  keep  your  sullen  roar ! 
Stars,  be  as  distant  as  ye  will, — 
Sylvia  need  court  ye  now  no  more : 
In  love  there  is  society 
She  never  yet  could  find  with  ye ! 

Geokqe  Darlet. 


EOSALIE. 

Oh,  pour  upon  my  soul  again 
That  sad,  unearthly  strain. 

That  seems  from  other  worlds  to  plain ; 

Thus  falling,  falling  from  afar, 

As  if  some  melancholy  star 

Had  mingled  with  her  light  her  sighs. 
And  dropped  them  from  the  skies. 

No — never  came  from  aught  below 

This  melody  of  woe, 
That  makes  my  heart  to  overflow, 
As  from  a  thousand  gushing  springs 
Unknown  before ;  that  with  it  brings 
This  nameless  light — if  light  it  be — 

That  veils  the  world  I  see. 

For  all  I  see  around  me  wears 
The  hue  of  other  spheres ; 
And  something  blent  of  smiles  and  tears 
Comes  from  the  very  air  I  breathe. 
Oh,  nothing,  sure,  the  stars  beneath, 
Can  mould  a  sadness  like  to  this — 
So  like  angelic  bliss. 


SONGS. 


275 


So,  at  that  dreamy  hour  of  day, 
"When  the  last  lingering  ray 

Stops  on  the  highest  cloud  to  play — 

So  thought  the  gentle  Rosalie 

As  on  her  maiden  revery 

First  fell  the  strain  of  him  who  stole 
In  music  to  her  soul. 

■Washington  Allston. 


SONG, 


Sing  the  old  song,  amid  the  sounds  dispers- 
ing 
That  burden  treasured  in  your  hearts  too 
long; 
Sing  it  with   voice    low-breathed,  but 
never  name  her : 
She  will  not  hear  you,  in  her  turrets  nursing 
High  thoughts,  too  high  to  mate  with  mor- 
tal song — 
Bend  o'er  her,  gentle    heaven,  but  do 
not  claim  her ! 


II. 

In  twilight  caves,  and  secret  lonelinesses, 
She  shades  the  bloom  of  her  unearthly 
days  ;— 
The  forest  winds  alone  approach  to  woo 
her. 
Far  off  we  catch  the  dark  gleam  of  her 
tresses ; 
And  wild  birds  haunt   the    wood-walks 
where  she  strays, 
Intelligible  music  warbling  to  her. 

III. 

That  spirit  charged  to  follow  and  defend  her. 
He  also,  doubtless,  suffers  this  love-pain ; 
And  she  perhaps  is   sad,    hearing  his 
sighing. 
A.nd  yet  that  face  is  not  so  sad  as  tender ; 
Like  some  sweet  singer's,  when  her  sweet- 
est strain 
From  the    heaved    heart  is   gradually 
dying ! 

AUBBET    DE    VkKE. 


THE  AWAKENmG  OF  ENDYMIOX. 

LoxE  upon  a  mountain,  the  pine-trees  wailing 
round  him. 
Lone  upon  a  mountain  the  Grecian  youth 
is  laid ; 
Sleep,  mystic   sleep,   for  many   a  year  has 
bound  him, 
Yet  his  beauty,  like  a  statue's,  pale  and 
fair,  is  undecayed. 

When  will  he  awaken  ? 

When  will  he  awaken?  a  loud  voice  hath 
been  crying, 
Night  after  night,  and  the  cry  has  been  in 
vain  ; 
Winds,  woods,  and  waves  found  echoes  for 
replying. 
But  the  tones  of  tlie  beloved  one    were 
never  heard  again. 

When  will  he  awaken  ? 
Asked  the  midnight's  silver  queen. 

Never  mortal  eye  has  looked  upon  his  sleeping ; 
Parents,  kindred,  comrades,  have  mourned 
for  him  as  dead ; 
By  day  the  gathered  clouds  have  had  him  in 
their  keeping. 
And  at  night  the  solemn  shadows  round 
his  rest  are  shed. 

When  will  he  awaken? 

Long  has  been  the  cry  of  faithful  love's  im- 
ploring ; 
Long  has  hope  been  watching  with  soft 
eyes  fixed  above ; 
When  will  the  fates,  the  life  of  life  restoring, 
Own    themselves    vanquished    by  much- 
enduring  love  ? 

When  will  he  awaken  ? 
Asks  the  midnight's  weary  queen. 

Beautifid  the  sleep  that  she  has  watched  un- 
tiring, 
Lighted  up  with  visions  from  yonder  ra- 
diant sky, 
Full  of  an  immortal's  glorious  inspiring. 
Softened  by  the  woman's  meek  and  loving 
sigh. 

When  will  he  awaken  ? 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


IIo  has  been  drcaining  of  old  heroic  stories, 
And  the  poet's  passionate  world  has  entered 
in  his  soul ; 
He  has  grown  conscious  of  life's  ancestral 

glories, 
'When  sages  and  when  kings  first  npheld  the 
mind's  control. 

When  will  he  awaken  ? 
Asks  the  midnight's  stately  queen. 

Lo,  the  appointed  midnight !  the  present  hour 
is  fated ! 
It  is  Endymion's  planet  that  rises  on  the 
air; 
How  long,  how  tenderly  his  goddess-love  has 
waited, 
"Waited  with  a  love  too  mighty  for  despair ! 
Soon  he  will  awaken. 

Soft  amid  the  pines  is  a  sound  as  if  of  sing- 
inf 
Tones  that  seem  the  lute's  from  the  breath- 
ing flowers  depart ; 
Not  a  wind  that  wanders  o'er  Mount  Latmos 
but  is  bringing 
Music  that  is  murmured  from   nature's  in- 
most heart. 

Soon  he  will  awaken 
To  his  and  midnight's  queen ! 

Lovely  is  the  green  earth, — she  knows  the 
hour  is  holy ; 
Starry  are  the  heavens,  lit  with  eternal 

joy; 

Light  like  their  own  is  dawning  sAveet  and 
slowly 
O'er  the  fair  and  sculptured  forehead  of 
that  yet  dreaming  boy. 

Soon  he  Avill  awaken  ! 

Red  as  the  red  rose  towards  the  morning 
turning, 
Warms  the  youth's  lip  to  the  watcher's 
near  his  own ; 
While  the  dark  eyes  open,  bright,  intense, 
and  burning 
"With  a  life  more  glorious  than,  ere  they 
closed,  was  known. 

Yes,  he  has  awakened 
For  the  midnight's  happy  queen ! 


What  is  this  old  history,  but  a  lesson  given, 
How  true  love  still  conquers  by  the  deep 
strength  of  truth — 
How  all  the  impulses,  whose  native  home  is 
heaven. 
Sanctify  the  visions  ot  hope,  and  faith,  and 
youth  ? 

'T  is  for  such  they  waken  I 

"When  every  worldly  thought  is  utterly  for- 
saken. 
Comes  the  starry  midnight,  felt  by  life's 
gifted  few ; 
Then  will  the  spirit  from  its  earthly  sleep 
awaken 
To  a  being  more  intense,  more  spiritual, 
and  true. 

So  doth  the  soul  awaken, 
Like  that  youth  to  night's  fair  queen ! 

L.ETiTiA  Elizabeth  Landos. 


SONG. 


Day,  in  melting  purple  dying ; 
Blossoms,  all  around  me  sighing ; 
Fragrance,  from  the  lilies  straying ; 
Zephyr,  with  my  ringlets  playing ; 

Ye  but  waken  my  distress ; 

I  am  sick  of  loneliness  I 

Thou,  to  whom  I  love  to  hearken. 
Come,  ere  night  around  me  darken  ; 
Though  thy  softness  but  deceive  me. 
Say  thou  'rt  true,  and  I  '11  believe  thee ; 

Veil,  if  ill,  thy  soul's  intent. 

L?t  me  think  it  innocent : 

Save  thy  toiling,  spare  thy  treasure  ; 

All  I  ask  is  friendship's  pleasure  ; 

Let  the  shining  ore  lie  darkling — 

Bring  no  gem  in  lustre  sparkling ; 

Gifts  and  gold  are  naught  to  mc 
I  would  only  look  on  thee  ! 

Tell  to  thee  the  high-wrought  feeling, 

Ecstasy  but  in  revealing ; 

Paint  to  tliee  the  deep  sensation, 

Eaplure  in  participation ; 

Yet  but  torture,  if  comprest 
In  a  lone,  unfriended  breast. 


SONGS.                                                                   277 

Absent  still !     Ah !  come  and  bless  me  1 

I  wiU  this  dreary  blank  of  absence  make 

Let  these  eyes  again  caress  thee. 

A  noble  task-time  ;  and  will  therein  strive 

1                                                                                        9 

Once  in  caution,  I  could  fly  thee ; 

To  follow  excellence,  and  to  o'ertake 

"Now,  I  nothing  could  deny  thee. 

More  good  than  I  have  won  since  yet  I  live. 

In  a  look  if  death  there  be, 

Come,  and  I  will  gaze  on  thee ! 

So  may  this  doomed  time  build  up  in  me 

Maeia  Beooks. 

A  thousand  graces,  which  shall  thus  be 

thine ; 
So  may  my  love  and  longing  hallowed  be, 

♦ 

And  thy  dear  thought  an  influence  divine. 

ABSENCE. 

Fkances  Anne  Ke.mble. 

What  shall  I  do  with  all  the  days  and  hours 
That  must  be  counted  ere  I  see  thy  face  ? 

How  shall  I  charm  the  interval  that  lowers 

Between  this  time  and  that  sweet  time  of 

THE  GROOMSMAN  TO  HIS  MISTEESS. 

grace  ? 

Shall  I  in  slumber  steep  each  weary  sense — 

I. 

Every  wedding,  says  the  proverb, 

Weary  with  longing  ?     Shall  I  flee  away 

Makes  another,  soon  or  late  ; 

Into  past  days,  and  with  some  fond  pretence 

7                                                       7 

Never  yet  was  any  marriage 

Cheat  myself  to  furget  the  present  day  ? 

Entei-ed  in  the  book  of  fate. 

But  the  names  were  also  written 

Shall  love  for  thee  lay  on  my  soul  the  sin 

Of  the  patient  pair  that  wait. 

Of  casting  from   me  God's  great  gift  of 

time? 

II. 

Shall  I,  these  mists  of  memory  locked  with- 

Blessings then  upon  the  morning 

in, 

When  my  friend,  with  fondest  look. 

I^ave  and  forget  life's  purposes  sublime  ? 

J                           3                                                                     7 

By  the  solemn  rites'  permission. 

To  himself  his  mistress  took. 

Oh,  how,  or  by  what  meana,  may  I  contrive 

And  the  destinies  recorded 

To  bring  the  hour  that  brings  thee  back 

Other  two  within  their  book, 

more  near  ? 

How  may  I  teach  my  drooping  hope  to  live 

III. 

Until  that  blessed  time,  and  thou  art  here  ? 

While  the  priest  fulfilled  his  office. 

Still  the  ground  the  lovers  eyed, 

I  '11  tell  thee ;  for  thy  sake  I  will  lay  hold 

And  the  parents  and  the  kinsmen 

Of  all  good  aims,  and  consecrate  to  thee. 

Aimed  their  glances  at  the  bride ; 

In  worthy  deeds,  each  moment  that  is  told 

But  the  groomsmen  eyed  the  virgins 

While   thou,   beloved  one!    art  far  from 
me. 

Who  were  waiting  at  her  side. 

For  Ihee  I  will  arouse  my  thoughts  to  try 

IV. 

Three  there  v.'ere  that  stood  beside  her ; 

All  heavenward  flights,  all  liigh  and  holy 

One  was  dark,  and  one  was  fair ; 

strains  ; 

But  nor  fair  nor  dark  the  other, 

For  thy  dear  sake  I  will  walk  patiently 

Save  her  Arab  eyes  and  hair; 

Through  these  long  hours,  nor  call  their 

Neither  dark  nor  fair  I  call  her. 

minutes  pains. 

• 

Yet  she  was  the  fairent  there. 

278                                                         rOEMri     OF     LOVE. 

T. 

"While  bcr  groomsman^shall  I  own  it  ? 

TIIE  CHRONICLE. 

Yes  to  tlioe,  and  only  thee — 

A  BALLAD. 

Gazed  ui^on  tliis  dark-eyed  maiden 

Who  was  fairest  of  the  three, 

Margaeita  first  possessed, 

Thus  he  thought :  "  How  blest  the  bridal 

If  I  remember  well,  my  breast, 

Where  the  bride  were  such  as  she !  " 

Margarita  first  of  all ; 

But  when  awhile  the  wanton  maid 

VI. 

With  my  restless  heart  had  played, 

Then  I  mused  upon  the  adage, 

Martha  took  the  flying  ball. 

Till  my  wisdom  was  perplexed, 

And  I  wondered,  as  the  churchman 

Martha  soon  did  it  resign 

To  the  beauteous  Catharine. 

Dwelt  upon  his  holy  text, 
Which  of  all  who  heard  his  lesson 

Beauteous  Catharine  gave  place 

Should  require  the  service  next. 

(Though  loth  and  angry  she  to  part 

With  the  possession  of  my  heart) 

YII. 

To  Eliza's  conquering  face. 

Whose  "will  be  the  next  occasion 

Eliza  till  this  hour  might  reign. 

For  the  flowers,  the  feast,  the  wine  ? 

Had  she  not  evil  counsels  ta'en ; 

Thine,  perchance,  my  dearest  lady ; 

Fundamental  laws  she  broke, 

Or,  -who  knows? — it  may  be  mine. 

And  still  new  favorites  she  chose, 

What  if  t  were — forgive  the  fancy — 

Till  up  in  arms  my  passions  rose, 

What  if 't  were — both  mine  and  thine? 

And  cast  away  her  yoke. 

Thomas  William  Paesoxs. 

Mary  then,  and  gentle  Anne, 

Both  to  reign  at  once  began ; 
Alternately  they  swayed ; 

And  sometimes  Mary  was  the  fair, 

SOxNTG. 

And  sometimes  Anne  the  c-rown  did  wear, 

And  sometimes  both  I  obeyed. 

How  delicious  is  the  winning 

Of  a  kiss  at  love's  beginning. 

Another  Mary  then  arose, 

When  two  mutual  hearts  are  sighing 

And  did  rigorous  laws  impose  ; 

For  the  knot  there 's  no  untying ! 

A  mighty  tyrant  she  i 

Long,  alas !  should  I  have  been 

Yet,  remember,  'midst  your  wooing, 

Under  that  iron-sceptred  queen, 

Love  has  bliss,  but  love  has  rueing ; 

Had  not  Rebecca  set  me  free. 

Other  smiles  may  make  you  fickle. 

When  fair  Rebecca  set  me  free, 

Tears  for  other  charms  may  trickle. 

*  m                            il                                           TT                   a  *                               'jl 

'i  was  then  a  golden  tune  with  me: 

But  soon  those  pleasures  fled  ; 

Love  he  comes,  and  Love  he  tarries, 

Just  as  fate  our  fancy  carries  ; 
Longest  stays  when  sorest  chidden ; 

For  the  gracious  princess  died 
In  her  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 

And  Judith  reisined  in  her  stead. 

Laughs  and  flies  when  pressed  and  bidden. 

^-*-*-*-*-*       "-^     v»^_»A^/*A.       &     v./ A  ^M  L4  N/ V.^       A  A^.       M-^\^^         k./ V  ^p'l.w  ^4  • 

One  month,  three  days,  and  half  an  hour, 

Bind  tlie  sea  to  slumber  stilly. 

Judith  held  the  sovereign  power  : 

Bind  its  odor  to  the  lily, 

Wondrous  beautiful  her  face ! 

Bind  the  aspen  ne'er  to  quiver, 

But  so  weak  and  small  her  wit, 

Then  bind  love  to  last  forever ! 

That  she  to  govern  was  unfit, 

Thomas  Campbell. 

And  so  Susanna  took  her  place. 

THE    XUN. 


279 


But  -when  Isabella  came, 
Armed  wiih  a  resistless  flame, 

And  the  artillery  of  her  eye, 
Whilst  she  proudly  marched  about, 
Greater  conquests  to  find  out. 

She  beat  out  Susan  by  the  bye. 

But  in  her  place  I  then  obeyed 
Black-eyed  Bess,  her  viceroy-maid, 

To  whom  ensued  a  vacancy : 
Thousand  worse  passions  then  possessed 
The  interregnum  of  my  breast ; 

Bless  me  from  such  an  anarchy ! 

Gentle  Henrietta  then. 

And  a  third  Mary  next  began ; 

Then  Joan,  and  Jane,  and  Andria ; 
And  then  a  pretty  Thomasine, 
And  then  another  Catharine, 

And  then  a  long  et  ccetera. 

But  should  I  now  to  you  relate 

The  strength  and  riches  of  their  state ; 

The  powder,  patches,  and  the  pins, 
The  ribbons,  jewels,  and  the  rings, 
The  lace,  the  paint,  and  warlike  things, 

That  make  up  all  their  magazines ; 

If  I  should  tell  the  politic  arts 
To  take  and  keep  men's  hearts ; 

The  letters,  embassies,  and  spies, 
The  frowns,  and  smiles,  and  flatteries, 
The  quarrels,  tears,  and  perjuries 

(Numberless,  nameless  mysteries !) 

And  all  the  little  lime-twigs  laid 
By  Machiavel  the  waiting-maid — 

I  more  voluminous  should  grow 
(Chiefly  if  I  Mke  them  should  tell 
All  change  of  weathers  that  befell) 

Than  Ilolinshed  or  Stow. 

But  I  will  briefer  with  them  be, 
Since  few  of  them  were  long  Avith  me. 

An  higher  and  a  nobler  strain 
My  present  empercss  does  claim, 
Ilcleonora,  first  of  the  name ; 

Whom  God  grant  long  to  reign  ! 

Abraham  Cowiet. 


THE  NUN. 


I. 


If  you  become  a  nun,  dear, 

A  friar  I  will  be ; 
In  any  cell  you  run,  dear, 

Pray  look  behind  for  me. 
The  roses  all  turn  pale,  too ; 
The  doves  all  take  the  veil,  too  ; 

The  blind  will  see  the  show  : 
What !  you  become  a  nun,  my  dear  ? 

I  '11  not  believe  it,  no ! 

n. 

If  you  become  a  nun,  dear, 

The  bishop  Love  will  be ; 
The  Cupids  every  one,  dear, 

Will  chant,  "We  trust  in  thee  !  " 
The  incense  will  go  sighing. 
The  candles  fall  a  dying, 

The  water  turn  to  wine : 
What !  you  go  take  the  vows,  my  dear  ? 

You  may — but  they  'U  be  mine. 

Leigh  Htikt. 


CEABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH. 

Crabbed  age  and  youth 

Cannot  live  together : 
Youth  is  full  of  pleasance, 

Age  is  full  of  care ; 
Youth  like  summer  morn. 

Age  like  winter  weather ; 
Youth  like  summer  brave. 

Age  like  winter  bare. 
Youth  is  full  of  sport. 
Age's  breath  is  short ; 

Youth  is  nimble,  age  is  lame ; 
Youth  is  hot  and  bold, 
Age  is  weak  and  cold ; 

Youth  is  wild,  and  age  is  tame. 
Age,  I  do  abhor  thee. 
Youth,  I  do  adore  thee ; 

O,  my  love,  my  love  is  young ! 
Age,  I  do  defy  thee; 
O,  sweet  shepherd !  hie  thee. 

For  methinks  thou  stay'st  too  long. 

SnAKESPEAP.E. 


280                                                      POEMS     OF    LOVE. 

'Cause  her  fortune  seems  too  high, 

THE  MAIDEN'S  CnOICE. 

Shall  I  play  the  fool  and  die  ? 

Those  that  bear  a  noble  mind 

Gexteel  ill  personage, 

Where  they  want  of  riches  find. 

Conduct  and  equipage; 

Think  what  with  them  they  would  do 

Noble  l)y  heritage ; 

That  without  them  dare  to  woo ; 

Generous  and  free ; 

And  unless  that  mind  I  see, 

What  care  I  how  great  she  be  ? 

Bravo,  not  romantic ; 

D 

Learned,  not  pedantic; 

Great,  or  good,  or  kind,  or  fair, 

Frolic,  not  frantic — 

I  will  ne'er  the  more  despair : 

This  must  he  be. 

If  she  love  me,  this  believe — 

Honor  maintaining, 

I  will  die  ere  she  shall  grieve. 

Meanness  disdaining. 

If  she  slight  me  when  I  woo, 

Still  entertaining, 

I  can  scorn  and  let  her  go ; 

Engainna:  and  new ; 

For  if  she  be  not  for  me. 

—-—           ^•.^^••.•.Q       ^M^~M.-.^       .m-^^J     >■        ^ 

What  care  I  for  whom  she  be? 

Neat,  but  not  finical ; 

Geobqb  WiTHiat. 

Sage,  but  not  cynical ; 
Never  tyrannical, 

But  ever  true. 

Anontmotts. 

SONG. 
Wiiv  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover  ? 

Pr'y  thee,  why  so  pale? — 
Will,  when  looking  well  can't  move  her, 

THE  SHEPHERD'S  RESOLUTION. 

Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair, 

Looking  ill  prevail  ? 

Die  because  a  woman  's  fair  ? 

Pr'y  thee,  why  so  pale? 

Or  make  pale  my  cheeks  with  care, 

'Cause  another's  rosy  are  ? 

Why  so  dun  and  mute,  young  sinner? 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day. 

Pr'y  thee,  why  so  mute? 

Or  the  flowery  meads  in  May — 

Will,  when  speaking  well  can't  win  her, 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me. 

Saying  nothing  do 't? 

"What  care  I  how  foir  she  be  ? 

Pr'y  thee,  why  so  mute  ? 

Shall  my  foolish  heart  be  pined 

Quit,  quit,  for  shame !  this  will  not  move, 

'Cause  I  see  a  woman  kind  ? 

This  cannot  take  her — 

Or  a  well-disposed  nature 

If  of  herself  slie  will  not  love, 

Joined  with  a  lovely  feature  ? 

Nothing  can  make  her : 

Be  she  meeker,  kinder,  than 

The  devil  take  her ! 

The  turtle  dove  or  pelican — 

SiK  John  Suckliuq. 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me. 

What  care  I  how  kind  she  be  ? 

FLY  NOT  YET. 

Shall  a  woman's  virtues  move 

2tle  to  perish  for  her  love  ? 

Fly  not  yet — 't  is  just  the  hour 

Or,  her  well  descrvings  known, 

When  pleasure,  like  the  midnight  flower. 

Make  me  quite  forget  mine  own? 

That  scorns  the  eye  of  vulgar  light, 

Be  she  with  that  goodness  blest, 

Begins  to  bloom  for  sons  of  night. 

"Which  may  merit  name  of  best, 

And  maids  who  love  the  moon ! 

If  she  be  not  such  to  me. 

'T  was  but  to  bless  these  hours  of  shade 

What  care  I  how  good  she  be  ? 

That  beauty  and  the  moon  were  made ; 

SONGS,                                                                    281 

'T  is  then  their  soft  attractions  glowing 

Set  the  tides  and  goblets  flowing ! 

THE   CHEAT   OF  CUPID; 

Oh  !  stay, — oh !  stay, — 

Joy  so  seldom  weaves  a  chain 

OR,    THE   rXGENTLE   GUEST. 

Like  this  to-night,  that  oh !  't  is  pain 

To  break  its  links  so  soon. 

OxE  silent  night  of  late. 

When  every  creature  rested, 

Fly  not  yet !  the  fount  that  played, 

Came  one  unto  my  gate. 

In  times  of  old,  through  Ammon's  shade, 

And,  knocking,  me  molested. 

Though  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran, 

' 

Yet  stiU,  like  sounds  of  mirth,  began 

"VTlio  's  there,  said  I,  beats  there, 

To  burn  when  night  was  near  ; 

And  troubles  thus  the  sleepy  ? 

And  thus  should  woman's  heart  and  looks 

Cast  oflF,  said  he,  aU  fear. 

At  noon  be  cold  as  winter-brooks. 

And  let  not  locks  thus  keep  thee. 

Nor  kindle  till  the  night,  returning. 

Brings  theii-  genial  hour  for  burning. 

For  I  a  boy  am,  who 

Oh!  stay, — oh!  stay, — 

By  moonless  nights  have  swerved  ; 

When  did  morning  ever  break 

And  all  with  showers  wet  through, 

And  find  such  beaming  eyes  awake 

Arwl  e'en  with  cold  half  starved. 

As  those  that  sparkle  here ! 

Thomas  Mooee. 

I,  pitiful,  arose, 

And  soon  a  taper  liglited  ; 
And  did  myself  disclose 

DECEITFULNESS  OF  LOVE. 

Unto  the  lad  benighted. 

Go,  sit  by  the  summer  sea, 

Thou  whom  scorn  wasteth, 

I  saw  he  had  a  bow, 

And  wings,  too,  which  did  shiver ; 

And  let  thy  musing  be 
"Where  the  flood  hasteth. 

And,  looking  down  below. 

Mark  how  o'er  ocean's  breast 

I  spied  he  had  a  quiver. 

Rolls  the  hoar  billow's  crest ; 

Such  is  his  heart's  unrest, 

I  to  my  chimney's  shrine 

Who  of  love  tasteth. 

Brought  him,  as  Love  professes, 

And  chafed  his  hands  with  mine, 

Griev'st  thou  that  hearts  should  change  ? 

And  dried  his  dripping  tresses. 

Lo !  where  life  reigneth, 

Or  the  free  sight  doth  range, 

But  when  that  he  felt  warmed  : 

What  long  rcmainet-h  ? 

Let 's  try  this  bow  of  ours. 

Spring  with  her  flowers  doth  die  ; 

And  string,  if  they  be  harmed, 

Fast  fades  the  gilded  sky ; 

Said  he,  with  these  late  showers. 

And  the  full  moon  on  high 

Ceaselessly  waneth. 

Forthwith  his  bow  ho  bent, 

And  wedded  string  and  arrow. 

Smile,  then,  yo  sage  and  wise ; 

And  struck  me,  that  it  went 

And  if  love  sever 

Quite  through  my  heart  and  marrow. 

Bonds  which  thy  soul  doth  prize, 

Such  does  it  ever ! 

Then,  laughing  loud,  he  flew 

Deep  as  the  rolling  seas. 

Away,  and  thus  said  flying  : 

Soft  as  the  twilight  breeze, 

Adieu,  mine  host,  adieu  ! 

But  of  more  than  these 

I  '11  leave  thy  heart  a-dying. 

Boast  could  it  never  I 

Anacp-kon.    (Greek.) 

Anontmoits. 
40 

Translation  of  Eodert  Hekkick. 

rOEMS    OF     LOVE. 


IF  I  DESIRE  WITH  PLEASANT  SOXGS. 

If  I  desire  with  pleasant  songs 
To  throw  a  merry  hour  away, 

Coines  Love  unto  rae,  and  my  wrongs 
In  careful  tale  he  doth  display, 

And  asks  me  how  I  stand  for  singing, 

"While  I  my  helpless  hands  am  wringing. 

And  then  another  time,  if  I 
A  noon  in  shady  hower  would  pass. 

Comes  lie  with  stealthy  gestures  sly. 
And  flinging  down  upon  the  grass. 

Quoth  he  to  me :  My  master  dear, 

Think  of  this  noontide  such  a  year ! 

And  if  elsewhile  I  lay  my  head 
On  pillow,  with  intent  to  sleep. 

Lies  Love  beside  me  on  the  bed. 

And  gives  m<3  ancient  words  to  keep  ; 

Says  he:  These  looks,  these  tokens  num- 
ber— 

May  be,  they  '11  help  you  to  a  slumber. 

So  every  time  Avhcn  I  would  yield 
An  hour  to  quiet,  comes  lie  still ; 

And  hunts  up  every  sign  concealed. 
And  every  outward  sign  of  ill ; 

And  gives  me  his  sad  face's  pleasures 

For  merriment's,  or  sleep's,  or  leisure's. 

TnOMAS   BUEBIDGE. 


THE  ANNOYEPw 

Love  knoweth  every  form  of  air, 

And  every  shape  of  earth. 
And  comes  unbidden  everywhere, 

Like  thought's  mysterious  birth. 
The  moonlit  sea  and  the  sunset  sky 

Are  written  with  Love's  words, 
And  you  hear  his  voice  unceasingly, 

Like  song  in  the  time  of  birds. 

lie  peeps  into  the  warrior's  heart 

From  the  tip  of  a  stooping  plume. 
And  the  serried  spears,  and  j;he  many  men 

May  not  deny  him  room. 
He  '11  come  to  his  tent  in  the  weary  night. 

And  be  busy  in  his  dream. 
And  he  '11  float  to  his  eye  in  the  morning  light, 

Like  a  fay  on  a  silver  beam. 


lie  hears  the  sound  of  the  hunter's  gun, 

And  rides  on  the  echo  hack. 
And  sighs  in  his  ear  like  a  stirring  leaf, 

And  flits  in  his  woodland  track. 
The  shade  of  the  wood,  and  the  sheen  of  the 
river, 

The  cloud  and  the  open  sky, — 
lie  will  haunt  them  all  with  his  subtle  quiver. 

Like  the  light  of  your  very  eye. 

The  fisher  hangs  over  the  leaning  boat, 

And  ponders  the  silver  sea. 
For  Love  is  under  the  surface  hid, 

And  a  spell  of  thought  has  he. 
He  heaves  the  wave  like  a  bosom  sweet. 

And  speaks  in  the  ripple  low. 
Till  the  bait  is  gone  from  the  crafty  line. 

And  the  hook  hangs  bare  below. 

He  blurs  the  print  of  the  scholar's  book. 

And  intrudes  in  the  maiden's  prayer. 
And  profanes  the  cell  of  the  holy  man 

In  the  shape  of  a  lady  fair. 
In  the  darkest  night,  and  the  bright  daylight, 

In  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky. 
In  every  home  of  human  thought 

Will  Love  be  lurking  nigh, 

Nathaniel  Pabker  "Willis. 


THE  DOLE'S  I'  THIS  BONNET  0'  MINE. 

The  dule  's  i'  this  bonnet  o'  mine : 

My  ribbins  '11  never  be  reet ; 
Here,  Mally,  aw  'm  like  to  be  tine, 

For  Jamie  '11  be  comin'  to-neet ; 
He  met  me  i'  th'  lone  t'other  day 

(Aw  wur  gooin'  for  wa}i;er  to  th'  well), 
An'  he  begged  that  aw'  d  wed  him  i'  May, 

Bi  th'  mass,  if  he  'h  let  me,  aw  will ! 

When  he  took  my  two  bonds  into  his. 

Good  Lord,  heaw  they  trembled  between ! 
An'  aw  durstn't  look  up  in  his  face, 

Becose  on  him  seein'  my  e  'en. 
My  cheek  went  as  red  as  a  rose ; 

There 's  never  a  mortal  con  tell 
Heaw  happy  aw  felt — for,  thae  knows, 

Oue  couldn't  ha'  axed  him  theirsel'. 

But  th'  tale  wur  at  th'  end  o'  my  tung : 
To  let  it  eawt  wouldn't  be  reet, 


SONGS. 


283 


For  a\y  thought  to  seem  forrud  wur  wrung  ; 

So  aTT  towd  him  aw  'd  tell  him  to-neet. 
But,  Mally,  thae  knows  very  weel, 

Though  it  isn't  a  thing  one  should  own, 
Iv  aw'd  th'  pikeiu'  o'  th'  world  to  mysel', 

Aw  'd  oathcr  ha'  Jamie  or  noan. 

iSTeaw,  Mally,  aw  've  towd  thae  my  mind  ; 

"What  would  to  do  iv  it  wur  thee  ? 
"  Aw'd  tak  him  just  while  he  'se  inclined, 

An'  a  farrantly  bargain  he  '11  be  ; 
For  Jamie 's  as  greadly  a  lad 

As  ever  stept  eawt  into  th'  sun. 
Go,  jump  at  thy  chance,  an'  get  wed; 

An'  mak  th'  best  o'  th'  job  when  it 's  done !  " 

Eh,  dear!  but  it's  time  to  be  gwon: 

Aw  shouldn't  like  Jamie  to  wait ; 
Aw  connut  for  shame  be  too  soon, 

An'  aw  wouldn't  for  th'  wuld  be  too  late. 
Aw  'm  o'  ov  a  tremble  to  th'  heel : 

Dost  think  'at  my  bonnet  '11  do? 
"  Be  off",  lass — thae  looks  very  weel ; 

He  wants  noan  o'  th'  bonnet,  thae  foo  !  " 

Edwin  "WAtiGH. 


ROEY  O'MORE; 


Young  Rory  O'More  courted  Kathleen  bawn ; 
He  was  bold  as  the  hawk,  and  she  soft  as  the 

dawn ; 
lie  wished  in  his  heart  pretty  Kathleen  to 

please, 
And  he  thought  the  best  way  to  do  that  was 

to  tease. 
"  ISTow,  Rory,  be  aisy,"  sweet  Kathleen  would 

cry, 
Reproof  on  her  lip,  but  a  smile  in  her  eye — 
"  With  your  tricks,  I  don't  know,  in  throth, 

what  I'm  about ; 
Faith  you've  teazed  till  I  've  put  on  my  cloak 

inside  out." 
"  Och!  jewel,"  says  Rory,  "  that  same  is  the 

way 
You  've  thrated  my  heart  for  this  many  a  day ; 
And  'tis  plazed  that  I  am,  and  why  not,  to 

be  sure? 
For 'tis  all  for  good  luck,"  says  bold  Rory 

O'More. 


n. 

"Indeed,  then,"  says  Kathleen,  "  do  n't  think 

of  the  like. 
For  I  half   gave  a  promise  to   soothering 

Mike ; 
The  ground  that  I  walk  on  he  loves,  I'll  be 

bound  " — 
"  Faith !  "  says  Rory,  "  I'd  rather  love  you 

than  the  ground." 
"  N'ow,  Rory,  I'U  cry  if  you  don't  let  me  go  ; 
Sure  I  dream  ev'ry  night  that  I'm  hating  you 

so !  " 
"  Och  !  "  says  Rory,  "that  samel  'm  delighted 

to  hear. 
For  dhrames  always  go  by  conthraries,  my 

dear. 
Och !  jewel,  keep  dhraming  that  same  till 

you  die. 
And  bright  morning  will  give  dirty  night  the 

black  lie ! 
And  't  is  plazed  that  I  am,  and  why  not,  to 

be  sure? 
Since  't  is  all  for  good  luck,"  says  bold  Rory 

O'More. 

m. 

"  Arrah,  Kathleen,  my  darlint,  you've  teazed 

me  enough ; 
Sure  I've  thrashed,  for  your  sake,   Dinny 

Grimes  and  Jim  Duff; 
And  I  've  made  myself,  drinking  your  health, 

quite  a  baste, 
So  I  think,  after  that,  I  may  talk  to  the 

priest." 
Then  Rory,  the  rogue,  stole  his  arm  round 

her  neck. 
So  soft  and  so  white,  without  freckle  or 

speck ; 
And  he  looked  in  her  eyes,  that  were  beam- 
ing with  light. 
And  he  kissed  her  sweet  lips — do  n't  you  think 

he  was  right  ? 
"Now  Rory,  leave  off,  sir — you'll  hug  me 

no  more — ■ 
That 's  eight  times  to-day  you  have  kissed  mo 

before." 
"Then  here  goes  another," says  he,  "to make 

sure, 
For  there 's  luck  in  odd  numbers,"  says  Rory 

O'More. 

,  SAircTBL  Lover. 


284 


POEMS     OF     LOVE, 


COMIXG  TIIROUGn  THE  RYE. 

Grs  a  body  meet  a  body 

Comiii'  through  the  rye, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 

Xeed  a  body  cry  ? 
Every  lassie  has  her  laddie — 

Ne'er  a  ane  hae  I ; 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  smile  at  me 

"When  comin'  through  the  rye. 
Amang  the  train  there  is  a  swain 

I  dearly  lo'e  myseV  ; 
But  ichaur  his  hame.,  or  what  his  name^ 
I  dinna  care  to  tell. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Corain'  frae  the  town, 
Gin  a  body  greet  a  body, 

Need  a  body  frown  ? 
Every  lassie  has  her  laddie — 

Ne'er  a  ane  hae  I; 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  smile  at  me 

"When  comin'  through  the  rye. 
Amanj  the  train  there  is  a  sicain 

I  dearly  We  myseV  ; 
But  whaur  his  hayne,  or  what  his  name^ 
I  dinna  care  to  tell. 

AUONTMOirB. 


MOLLY  CAREW. 

Ocn  hone !  and  what  will  I  do  ? 
Sure  ray  love  is  all  crost, 
Like  a  bud  in  the  frost ; 
And  there 's  no  use  at  all  in  my  going  to  bed, 
For  't  is  dhrames  and  not  sleep  tliat  comes 
into  my  head; 
And  't  is  all  about  you, 
My  sweet  Molly  Carew — 
And  indeed  't  is  a  sin  and  a  shame! 
You  're  complater  than  nature 
In  every  feature ; 
Tlie  snow  can 't  compare 
"With  your  forehead  so  fair ; 
And  I  rather  would  see  just  one  blink  of  your 

eye 
Than  the  prettiest  star  that  shines  out  of  the 
sky; 
And  by  this  and  by  that, 
For  the  matter  o'  that. 


You  're  more  distant  by  far  than  that  same  1 
Och  hone !  weirasthru ! 
I  'm  alone  in  this  world  without  you. 

Och  hone !  but  why  should  I  spake 
Of  your  forehead  and  eyes. 
When  your  nose  it  defies 
Paddy  Blake,  the  schoolmaster,  to  put  it  in 

rhyme ; 
Tho'  there  's  one  Burke,  he  says,  that  would 
call  it  snublime. 
And  then  for  your  cheek, 
Troth  't  would  take  him  a  week 
Its  beauties  to  tell,  as  he  'd  rather ; 
Then  your  lips !  oh,  machree ! 

In  their  beautiful  glow 
They  a  pattern  might  be 
For  the  cherries  to  grow. 
'T  was  an  apple  that  tempted  our  mother,  we 

know, 
For  apples  were  scarce,  I  suppose,  long  ago  ; 
But  at  this  time  o'  day, 
'Pon  my  conscience  I  'U  say. 
Such  cherries  might  tempt  a  man's  father ! 
Och  hone !  weirasthru ! 
I  'm  alone  in  this  world  without  you, 

Och  hone !  by  the  man  in  the  moon, 
You  taze  me  all  ways 
That  a  woman  can  plaze, 
For  you  dance  twice  as  high  with  that  thief, 

Pat  IMagee, 
As  when  you  take  share  of  a  jig,  dear,  with 
me. 
Tho'  the  piper  I  bate. 
For  fear  tlie  old  cheat 
"Would  n't  play  you  your  favorite  tune. 
And  when  you're  at  mass 
My  devotion  you  crass. 
For  't  is  thinking  of  you 
I  am,  Molly  Cai-ew. 
"While  you  wear,  on  purpose,  a  bonnet  so  deep 
Tluit  I  can 't  at  your  sweet  pretty  face  get  a 
peep. 
Oh,  lave  off  that  bonnet, 
Or  else  I  '11  lave  on  it 
The  loss  of  my  wandering  sowl ! 

Och  hone!  weirasthru! 
Och  hone !  like  an  owl, 
Day  is  night,  dear,  to  me  without 
you  I 


SONGS. 


285 


Ocli  hone !  do  n't  provoke  me  to  do  it ; 
For  there 's  guis  by  the  score 
That  loves  me — and  more  ; 
And  you  'd  look  very  qnare  if  some  morning 

you  'd  meet 
My  wedding  all  marching  in  pride  down  the 
street ; 
Troth,  you  'd  open  your  eyes, 
And  you  'd  die  with  surprise 
To  think  't  was  n't  you  was  come  to  it ! 
And  faith,  Katty  ISTailo, 
And  her  cow,  I  go  hail. 
Would  jump  if  I  'd  say, 
"  Katty  ISTaile,  name  the  day ;  " 
And  tho'  you  're  fair  and  fresh  as  a  morning 

in  May, 
While  she  's  short  and  dark  like  a  cold  win- 
ter's day, 
Yet  if  you  do  n't  repent 
Before  Easter,  when  Lent 
Is  over,  I  '11  marry  for  spite, 
Och  hone !  weirasthru ! 
And  when  I  die  for  you. 
My  ghost  win  haunt  you  every  night. 

Samuel  Lovxk. 


WIDOW  MACHREE. 


Widow  machree,  it 's  no  wonder  you  frown — 

Och  hone !  widow  machree  ; 
Faith,  it  ruins  your  looks,  that  same  dirty 
black  gown — 
Och  hone !  widow  machree. 
How  altered  your  air, 
With  that  close  cap  you  wear — 
'T  is  destroying  your  hair, 

Which  should  he  flowing  free : 
Be  no  longer  a  churl 
Of  its  black  silken  curl — 
Och  hone!  widow  machree! 

11. 

Widow  machree,  now  the  summer  is  come — 
Och  hone!  widow  machree ! 

When  every  thing  smiles,  should  a  beauty 
look  glum  ? 
Och  hone!  widow  muchreel 


See  the  birds  go  in  pairs, 
And  the  rabbits  and  hares — 
Why,  even  the  bears 

Wow  in  couples  agree ; 
And  the  mute  little  fish, 
Though  they  can  't  spake,  they  wish — 

Och  hone !  widow  machree. 

in. 

Widow  macliree,  and  when  winter  comes  in — 

Och  hone !  widow  machree — 
To  be  poking  the  fire  aU  alone  is  a  sin, 

Och  hone !  widow  machree. 
Sure  the  shovel  and  tongs 
To  each  other  belongs. 
And  the  kettle  sings  songs 

Full  of  family  glee  ; 
While  alone  with  your  cup, 
Like  a  hermit  you  sup, 

Och  hone !  widow  machree. 

lY. 

And  how  do  you  know,  with  the   comforts 
I  've  towld — 
Och  hone !  widow  machree — 
But  you  're  keeping  some  poor  fellow  out  in 
the  cowld, 
Och  hone !  widow  machree ! 
With  such  sins  on  your  head. 
Sure  your  peace  would  be  fled ; 
Could  you  sleep  in  your  bed 

Without  thinking  to  see 
Some  ghost  or  some  sprite, 
That  Avould  wake  you  each  night, 

Crying,  "  Och  hone !  widow  machree !  " 

T. 

Then   take   my  advice,   darling  widow  ma- 
chree— 
Och  hone !  widow  machree — 
And  with  my  advice,  faith,  I  wish  you  'd  take 
me, 
Och  hone !  widow  machree  ! 
You  'd  have  me  to  desire 
■   Then  to  stir  up  the  fire ; 
And  sure  hope  is  no  liar 
In  whispering  to  me, 
That  tlie  ghosts  would  depart 
When  you  'd  me  near  your  heart — 
Och  hone !  widow  machree  ! 

Bamttel  Lotee. 


286 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


STANZAS. 

On,  talk  not  to  me  of  a  name  great  in  story ; 
The  days  of  our  youtli  are  the  days  of  our 

glory, 
And  the  myrtle  and  ivy  of  sweet  two-and- 

twenty 
Ai-e  wortli  all  your  laurels,  though  ever  so 

])lonty. 

What  arc  garlands  and  crowns  to  the  brow 
that  is  wrinkled  ? 

'Tis  hut  as  a  dead  flower  with  May-dew  be- 
sprinkled. 

Then  away  with  all  such  from  the  head  that 
is  hoary ! 

What  care  I  for  the  wreaths  that  can  only 
give  glory? 

0  fame  I   if  I  e'er  took  delight  in  thy  praises, 
'T  was  less  for  the  sake  of  thy  high-sounding 

phrases 
Than  to  see  the  bright  eyes  of  the  dear  one 

discover 
She  thought  that  I  was  not  unworthy  to  love 

her. 

There  chiefly  I  sought  thee,  there  only  I  found 
thee; 

Her  glance  was  the  best  of  the  rays  that  sur- 
round thee ; 

"When  it  sparkled  o'er  aught  that  was  bright 
in  my  story, 

1  knew  it  was  love,  and  I  felt  it  was  glory. 

Lord  Btron. 


LOVE  UOTtEQUITED. 

Tnoron  thou  say'st  thou  lov'st  me  not, 

And  although  thou  bidd'st  me  blot 

From  my  heart,  and  from  my  brain, 

All  this  consciousness  of  thee, 

Witli  its  longing,  its  blest  pain, 

And  its  deathless  memory 

Of  the  hope — ah,  why  in  vain  ? — 

That  thy  great  heart  might  beat  for  me  ;- 

Ask  it  not, — love  fixed  so  high, 

Thongh  unrequited,  cannot  die; 

In  my  soul  such  love  hath  root, 

And  the  world  shall  have  the  fruit. 

Anontmocs. 


SONNET. 

SixcE  there 's  no  help,  come,  let  us  kiss  and 

part ! 
Nay,  I  have  done ;  you  get  no  more  of  me ; 
And  I  am  glad,  yea,  glad  with  all  my  heart. 
That  thus  so  clearly  I  myself  can  free. 
Shake  hands  forever,  cancel  all  our  vow^s. 
And  when  we  meet  at  any  time  again 
Be  it  not  seen,  on  either  of  our  brows, 
That  we  one  jot  of  former  love  retain 
Now  at  the  last  gasp  of  love's  latest  breath, 
When,  his    pulse  failing,  passion   speechless 

lies. 
When  faith  is  kneehng  by  his  bed  of  death, 
And  innocence  is  closing  up  his  eyes  ; 
Now,  if  thou  wouldst,  when  all  have  given 

him  over, 
From  death  to  life  thou  might'st  him  yet  re- 
cover. 

Michael  Drayton. 


JENNY  KISSED  ME. 

Jenny  kissed  me  when  we  met, 

Jumping  from  the  chair  she  sat  in , 
Time,  you  thief!  who  love  to  get 

Sweets  into  your  list,  put  that  in. 
Say  I  'm  weary,  say  I  'm  sad ; 
Say  that  health  and  wealth  have  missed  me ; 
Say  I  'm  growing  old,  but  add — 

Jenny  kissed  me ! 

Leigh  Hunt. 


THE  MAID'S  LAMENT. 

I  LOVED  him  not ;  and  yet,  now  he  is  gone, 

I  feel  I  am  alone. 
I  checked  him  while  he  spoke ;  yet,  could  he 
speak, 

Alas!  I  would  not  check. 
For  reasons  not  to  love  him  once  I  sought. 

And  wearied  all  my  thought 
To  vex  myself  and  him ;  I  now  would  give 

My  love,  could  he  but  live 
Who  lately  lived  for  me,  and,  when  he  found 

'T  was  vain,  in  holy  ground 
He  hid  his  face  amid  the  shades  of  death  I 

I  waste  for  him  my  breath 


BALLAD. 


287 


Who  wasted  his  for  me  ;  but  mine  returns, 

And  this  lone  bosoin  burns 
With  stifling  heat,  heaving  it  up  in  sleep, 

And  waking  me  to  weep 
Tears  that  had  melted  his  soft  heart ;  for  years 

Wept  he  as  bitter  tears! 
"  Merciful  God !  "  such  was  his  latest  prayer, 

"  These  may  she  never  share !  " 
Quieter  is  his  breath,  his  breast  more  cold 

Tban  daisies  in  the  mould, 
Where  children  spell,  athwart  the  churchyard 
gate, 

His  name  and  life's  brief  date. 
Pray  for  him,  gentle  souls,  whoe'er  ye  be. 

And  oh  I  pray,  too,  for  me ! 

TValtek  Savage  Landob. 


MISCOKOEPTIONS. 

L 

This  is  a  spray  the  bird  clung  to. 
Making  it  blossom  with  pleasure, 

Ere  the  high  tree-top  she  sprung  to. 
Fit  for  hor  nest  and  her  treasure. 
Oh,  what  a  hope  beyond  measure 

Was  the  poor  spray's,  which  the  flymg  feet 
hung  to, — 

So  to  be  singled  out,  built  in,  and  sung  to ! 

n. 
This  is  a  heart  the  queen  leant  on, 

Thrilled  in  a  minute  erratic, 
Ere  the  true  bosom  she  bent  on, 
Meet  for  love's  regal  dalmatic. 
Oh,  what  a  fancy  ecstatic 
Was  the  poor  heart's,  ere  the  wanderer 

went  on — 
Love  to  be  saved  for  it,  proffered  to,  spent 
on! 

EOBEBT  BEOWXING. 


ONE  WAY  OF  LOVE. 

L 
All  June  I  bound  tlio  rose  in  sheaves ; 
Now,  rose  by  rose,  I  strip  the  leaves, 
And  strew  them  where  Pauline  may  pass. 
She  will  not  turn  aside  ?     Alas ! 
Let  them  lie.     Suppose  they  die? 
The  chance  was  they  might  take  her  eye. 


u. 

How  many  a  month  I  strove  to  suit 
These  stubborn  fingers  to  the  lute ! 
To-day  I  venture  all  I  know. 
She  will  not  hear  my  music  ?     So ! 
Break  the  string — fold  music's  wing. 
Suppose  Pauhne  had  bade  me  sing ! 

m. 
My  whole  life  long  I  learned  to  love  ; 
This  hour  my  utmost  art  I  prove 
And  speak  my  passion. — Heaven  or  hell  ? 
She  will  not  give  me  heaven  ?     'T  is  well ! 
Lose  who  may — I  still  can  say, 
Those  who  win  heaven,  blest  are  they. 

ROBEET   BeOWNIKG. 


BALLAD. 

Sigh  on,  sad  heart,  for  love's  eclipse 

And  beauty's  fairest  queen. 
Though  't  is  not  for  my  peasant  lips 

To  soil  her  name  between. 
A  king  might  lay  his  sceptre  down. 

But  I  am  poor  and  naught ; 
The  brow  should  wear  a  golden  crown 

That  wears  her  in  its  thought. 

Tlie  diamonds  glancing  in  her  hair. 

Whose  sudden  beams  surprise. 
Might  bid  such  humble  hopes  beware 

The  glancing  of  her  eyes ; 
Yet,  looking  once,  I  looked  too  long ; 

And  if  my  love  is  sin. 
Death  follows  on  the  heels  of  wrong. 

And  kills  the  crime  within. 

Her  dress  seemed  wove  of  lily  leaves. 

It  was  so  pure  and  fine — 
Oh  lofty  wears,  and  lowly  weaves, 

But  hodden  gray  is  mine ; 
And  homely  hose  must  step  apart, 

Where  gartered  princes  stand ; 
But  may  he  wear  my  love  at  heart 

That  wins  her  lily  hand! 

Alas!  there  's  far  from  russet  frieze 

To  silks  and  satin  gowns ; 
But  I  doubt  if  God  made  like  degrees 

In  courtly  hearts  and  clowns. 


2S8 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


My  fother  \vrouged  a  maiden's  mirth, 
And  brouglit  her  cheeks  to  blame ; 

And  all  that  's  lordly  of  my  birth 
Is  ray  reproach  and  shame  ! 

'T  is  vain  to  -weep,  't  is  vain  to  sigh, 

'T  is  vain  this  idle  speech — 
For  where  her  happy  pearls  do  lie 

My  tears  may  never  reach  ; 
Yefc  when  I  'm  gone,  e'en  lofty  pride 

May  say,  of  wliat  has  been, 
nis  love  Avas  nobly  born  and  died, 

Tho'  all  the  rest  was  mean  ! 

My  speech  is  rude, — but  speech  is  weak 

Such  love  as  mine  to  tell ; 
Yet  had  I  words,  I  dare  not  speak : 

So,  lady,  fare  thee  well ! 
I  will  not  wish  thy  better  state 

Was  one  of  low  degree. 
But  I  must  weep  that  partial  fate 

Made  such  a  churl  of  me. 

Thomas  Hood. 


THE  DREAM. 


OcB  life  is  twofold :  sleep  hath  its  own  world— 
A  boundary  between  the  things  misnamed 
Death  and  existence :  sleep  bath  its  own  woild, 
And  a  wide  realm  o-f  wild  reality ; 
And  dreams  m.  their  development  have  breath. 
And  tears,  and  tortures,  and  the  touch  of 

joy; 

They    leave    a    weight    upon    our    waking 

thoughts ; 
They  take  a  weight  from  off  our  waking  toils ; 
They  do  divide  our  being ;  they  become 
A  portion  of  ourselves  as  of  our  time. 
And  look  like  heralds  of  eternity ; 
They  pass  like  sph-its  of  the  past, — they  speak 
Like  sibyls  of  the  future  ;  tliey  have  power — 
The  tyranny  of  pleasure  and  of  pain ; 
They  make  us  what  we  were  not — what  they 

will; 
They  shake  us  with  the  vision  that 's  gone  by. 
The  dread  of  vanished  shadows — are  they  so  ? 
Is  not  the  past  all  shadow  ?     What  are  tliey  ? 
Creations  of  the  mind? — the  mind  can  make 
Substance,  and  people  planets  of  its  own 


With  beings   brighter  than  have  been,  and 

give 
A  breath  to  forms  which  can  outlive  all  flesh. 
I  would  recall  a  vision,  which  I  dreamed 
Perchance  in  sleep — for  in  itself  a  thought, 
A  slumbering  thought,  is  capable  of  years, 
And  curdles  a  long  life  into  one  hour. 

n. 

I  saw  two  beings  in  the  hues  of  youth 

Standing  ujwn  a  lull,  a  gentle  hill. 

Green  and  of  mild  declivity ;  the  last. 

As  't  were  the  cape,  of  a  long  ridge  of  such, 

Save  that  there  was  no  sea  to  lave  its  base, 

But  a  most  living  landscape,  and  the  wave 

Of  woods  and  cornfields,  and  the  abodes  of 

men 
Scattered  at  intervals,  and  wreathing  smoke 
Arising  from  such  rustic  roofs ; — the  hill 
Was  crowned  with  a  peculiar  diadem 
Of  trees,  in  circular  array — so  fixed, 
Not  by  the  sport  of  nature,  but  of  man. 
These  two,  a  maiden  and  a  youth,  were  there 
Gazing— the  one  on  all  that  was  beneath ; 
Fair  as  herself — but  the  boy  gazed  on  her; 
And  both  were  young,  and  one  was  beauti- 
ful; 
And    both  were  young— yet  not    alike  in 

youth. 
As  the  sweet  moon  on  the  horizon's  verge. 
The  maid  was  on  the  eve  of  womanhood; 
The  boy  had  fewer  summers ;  but  his  heart 
Had  far  outgrown  his  years,  and  to  his  eye 
There  w^as  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him  ;  he  had  looked 
Upon  it  till  it  could  not  pass  away ; 
lie  had  no  breath,  no  being,  but  in  hers; 
She  was  his  voice ;  he  did  not  speak  to  her. 
But  trembled  on  her  words;   she  was  his 

sight, 
For  his  eye  followed  hers,  and  saw  with 

hers. 
Which  colored  all  his  objects ; — ^he  had  ceased 
To  live  within  himself;  she  was  his  hfe, 
The  ocean  to  the  river  of  his  thoughts, 
Which  terminated  all ;  upon  a  tone, 
A  touch  of  hers,  his  blood  would  ebb  and 

flow. 
And  his  check  change  tempestuously — his 

heart 
Unknowing  of  its  cause  of  agony. 


THE    DREAM. 


289 


But  she  in  these  fond  feelings  had  no  share : 
Her  sighs  were  not  for  him ;  to  her  he  "was 
Even   as  a  brother — but  no  more;    'twas 

much ; 
For  brotherless  she  was,  save  in  the  name 
'  Her  infant  friendship  had  bestowed  on  him — 
Herself  the  solitary  scion  left 
Of  a  time-honored  race. — It  was  a  name 
Wliich  pleased  him,  and  yet  pleased  him  not 

— and  why  ? 
Time  taught  him  a  deep  answer — when  she 

loved 
Anothei-.    Even  now  she  loved  another ; 
And  on  the  summit  of  that  hill  she  stood 
Looking  afar,  if  yet  her  lover's  steed 
Kept  pace  with  her  expectancy,  and  flew. 

ni. 
A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream : 
There  was  an  ancient  mansion ;  and  before 
Its  walls  there  was  a  steed  caparisoned. 
"Witliin  an  antique  oratory  stood 
The  boy  of  whom  I  spake  ; — he  was  alone, 
And  pale,  and  pacing  to  and  fro.     Anon 
He  sate  him  down,  and  seized  a  pen  and 

traced 
Words  which  I  could  not  guess  of;  then  he 

leaned 
His  bowed  head  on  his  hands,  and  shook,  as 

't  were 
With  a  convulsion — then  arose  again : 
And  with  his  teeth  and  quivering  hands  did 

tear 
What  he  liad  written  ;  but  he  shed  no  tears. 
And  he  did  calm  himself,  and  fix  his  brow 
Into  a  kind  of  quiet.     As  he  paused, 
The  lady  of  his  love  reentered  there  ; 
She  was  serene  and  smUing  then ;  and  yet 
She  knew  she   was  by  hira  beloved;    she 

knew — 
Ho^v  quickly  comes  such  knowledge !   that 

his  heart 
Was  darkened  with  her  shadow,  and  she  saw 
That  he  was  wretched;  but  she  saw  not  all. 
He  rose,  and  with  a  cold  and  gentle  grasp 
He  took  her  hand;  a  moment  o'er  his  fiice 
A  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts 
Was  traced ;  and  then  it  faded  as  it  came. 
He  dropped  the  hand  he  held,  and  with  slow 

steps 
Retired  ;  but  not  as  bidding  her  adieu, 
41 


For  they  did  part  with  mutual  smiles.    He 

passed 
From  out  the  massy  gate  of  that  old  hall ; 
And,  mounting  on  his  steed,  he  went  his  way ; 
And  ne'er    repassed    that  hoary  threshold 

more. 

IT. 

A  cljiange  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream  : 
The  boy  was  sprung  to  manhood.     In  tlie 

wilds 
Of  fiery  climes  he  made  himself  a  home. 
And  his  soul  drank  their  sunbeams ;  he  was 

girt 
With  strange  and  dusky  aspects ;  he  was  not 
Himself  like  what  he  had  been ;  on  the  sea 
And  on  the  shore  he  was  a  wanderer; 
There  was  a  mass  of  many  images 
Crowded  like  waves  npon  me,  but  he  was 
A  part  of  all ;  and  in  the  last  he  lay, 
Reposing  from  the  noontide  sultriness, 
Couched  among  fallen  columns,  in  the  shade 
Of  ruined  walls  that  had  survived  the  names 
Of  those  who  reared  them ;  by  his  sleeping 

side 
Stood  camels  gi-azing,  and  some  goodly  steeds 
Were  fastened  near  a  fountain ;  and  a  man 
Clad  in  a  fiowing  garb  did  watch  the  while. 
While  many  of  his  tribe  slumbered  around ; 
And  they  were  canopied  by  the  blue  sky — 
So  cloudless,  clear,  and  purely  beautiful. 
That  God  alone  was  to  be  seen  in  heaven. 


A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  n)y  dream  : 
The  lady  of  his  love  was  wed  with  one 
Who  did  not  love  her  better.     In  her  home, 
A  thousand  leagues  from   his, — her  native 

home — 
She  dwelt,  begirt  with  growing  infoncy, 
Daughters  and  sons  of  beauty.     But  behold ! 
Upon  her  face  there  was  the  tint  of  grief, 
The  settled  shadow  of  an  inward  strife. 
And  an  unquiet  drooping  of  the  eye, 
As  if  its  lids  were  cliarged  with  unshed  tears. 
What  could  her  grief  be  ? — She  had  all  s^he 

loved ; 
And  lie  who  had  so  loved  her  was  not  there 
To  trouble  witli  bad  hopes  or  evil  wish. 
Or  ill-repressed  affection,  her  i)ure  thoughts. 
What  could  her  grief  be?— she  had  loved  him 

not, 


290 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Kor  given  him  cause  to  deem  himself  be- 
loved ; 
ISTor  could  he  be  a  part  of  that  whicli  preyed 
Upon  her  mind — a  spectre  of  the  past. 

Vr. 

A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream : 
The  wanderer  was  returned— I  saw  him  stand 
Before  an  altar,  with  a  gentle  bride ; 
Her  face  was  fair;  but  was  not  that  which 

made 
The  starligbt  of  his  boyhood.     As  he  stood, 
Even  at  tlic  altar,  o'er  his  brow  there  came 
The  self-same  aspect,  and  the  quivering  shock 
That  in  the  antique  oratory  shook 
His  bosom  in  its  solitude ;  and  then — 
As  in  that  hour — a  moment  o'er  his  face 
The  tablet  of  unutterable  tlioughts 
Was  traced — and  then  it  faded  as  it  came  ; 
And  he  stood  calm  and  quiet ;  and  he  spoke 
Tlie  fitting  vows,  but   heard   not  his   own 

words ; 
And  an  things  reeled  around  Lim ;  lie  could 

see 
Xot  that  wliich  was,  nor  that  which  should 

have  been — 
But  the  old  mansion,  and  the  accustomed 

hall,     • 
And    the  remembered   chambers,    and    the 

place, 
The  day,  the  hour,  the  sunshine,  and   the 

shade — 
All  things  pertaining  to  that  place  and  hour, 
And  her  who  was  his  destiny — came  back 
And  thrust  themselves  between  him  and  the 

light; 
"Wliat  business  had  they  there  at  such  a  time? 

VII. 

A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream : 
Tlie  lady  of  his  love — oh !  she  was  changed. 
As  by  the  sickness  of  the  soul ;  her  mind 
ITad  wandered  from  its  dwelling;    and  her 

eyes, 
They  had  not  their  own  lustre,  but  the  look 
Wliich  is  not  of  the  earth  ;  she  was  become 
The  queen  of  a  fantastic  realm ;  her  thoughts 
Were  combinations  of  disjointed  things, 
And  forms  impalpable,  and  unperceived 
Of  others'  sight,  familiar  were  to  hers. 


And  this  the  world  calls  frenzy;   but  the 

wise 
Ha,ve  a  far  deeper  madness,  and  the  glance 
Of  melancholy  is  a  fearful  gift ; 
What  is  it  but  the  telescope  of  truth  ? 
Which  sti-ips  the  distance  of  its  fantasies, 
And  brings  life  near  to  utter  nakedness. 
Making  the  cold  reality  too  real ! 

vm. 
A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream : 
The  wanderer  was  alone,  as  heretofore ; 
The  beings  which  surrounded  him  were  gone 
Or  were  at  war  with  him ;  he  was  a  mark 
For  blight  and  desolation — compassed  round 
With  hatred  and  contention ;  pain  was  mixed 
In  all  which  was  served  up  to  him ;  until. 
Like  to  the  Pontic  monarch  of  old  days. 
He  fed  on  poisons ;  and  they  had  no  power, 
But  were  a  kind  of  nutriment.     He  lived 
Through  that  which  had  been  death  to  many 

men ; 
And  made  liim  friends  of  mountains.     With 

tlie  stars, 
And  the  quick  spirit  of  the  universe, 
He  held  his  dialogues,  and  they  did  teach 
To  him  the  magic  of  their  mysteries ; 
To  him  the  book  of  night  was  opened  wide. 
And  voices  from  the  deep  abyss  revealed 
A  marvel  and  a  secret — Be  it  so. 

IX. 

My  dream  was    past;    it   had    no    further 

change. 
It  was  of  a  strange  order,  that  the  doom 
Of  these  two  creatures  should  be  thus  traced 

out 
Almost  like  a  reality — the  one 
To  end  in  madness — both  in  misery. 

Lord  Byko». 


ASK  ME  NO  MORE. 

Ask  me  no  more :  the  moon  may  draw  the 
sea; 
The  cloud  may  stoop  from  heaven  and  take 

the  shape. 
With  fold  to  fold,  of  mountain  or  of  cape. 
But,  oh  too  fond,  when  have  I  answered  thee  ? 
Ask  me  no  more. 


IT    MIGHT    RAVE    BEEX. 


291 


Ask  me  no  more :  what  answer  should  I  give  ? 

I  love  not  hollow  cheek  or  faded  eye  ; 

Yet,  O  my  friend,  I  will  not  have  thee  die  ! 
Ask  me  no  more,  lest  I  should  bid  thee  live ; 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  me  no  more :    thy  fate  and  mine  are 
sealed, 
I  strove  against  the  stream  and  all  in  vain. 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main. 
No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield  ; 
Ask  me  no  more ! 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


WHEIT  WE  TWO  PARTED. 

When  we  two  parted 

In  silence  and  tears. 
Half  broken-hearted, 

To  sever  for  vears. 
Pale  grew  thy  cheek  and  cold, 

Colder  thy  kiss ; 
Truly  that  hour  foretold 

Sorrow  to  this. 

The  dew  of  the  morning 

Sunk  chill  on  my  brow — 
It  felt  like  the  warning 

Of  what  I  feel  now. 
Thy  vows  are  all  broken. 

And  light  is  thy  fame ; 
I  hear  thy  name  spoken. 

And  share  in  its  shame. 

They  name  thee  before  me, 

A  knell  to  mine  ear ; 
A  shudder  comes  o'er  me — 

"Why  wert  thou  so  dear  ? 
They  know  not  I  knew  thee. 

Who  knew  thee  too  well. 
Long,  long,  shall  I  rue  thee 

Too  deeply  to  tell. 

In  secret  we  met — 

In  silence  I  grieve. 
That  thy  heart  could  forget, 

Tliy  spirit  deceive. 


If  I  should  meet  thee 

After  long  years. 
How  should  I  greet  thee  ?- 

In  silence  and  tears. 


LoED  By  SON. 


IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEK 

Ax  August  evening,  on  a  balcony 
That  overlooked  a  woodland  and  a  lake, 
I  sat  in  the  still  air,  and  talked  with  one 
Whose  face  shone  fairer  than  the  crescent 

moon. 
Just  over-head,  a  violin  and  flute 
Played  prelude    to   a  dance.      Their  long- 
drawn  chords 
Poured  through  the  windows,  gaping  sum- 
mer-wide, 
A  flood  of  notes  that,  flowing  outward,  swept 
To  the  last  ripple  of  the  orchard  trees. 

I  had  not  known  her  long,  but  loved  her 

more 
Than  I  could  dream  of  then — oh,  even  now 
I  dai'e  not  dwell  upon  my  passion, — more 
Than  life  itself  I  loved  her,  and  still  love. 

The  white  enchantment  of  her  dimpled  hand 
Lay  soft  in  mine  !  I  looked  into  her  eyes ; 
I  knew  I  was  unworthy,  but  I  felt 
That  I  was  noble  if  she  did  but  smile. 

A  light  of  stars  shone  round  her  head ;  I  saw 
The  sombre  shores  that  gloomed  the  lake 

below ; 
The  shadows  settling  on  the  distant  hills ; 
I  heard  the  pleasant  music  of  the  night, 
Brought  by  the  wind,  a  vagrant  messenger. 
From  the  deep  forest  and  tlie  broad,  sweet 

fields. 

But  when  she  spoke,  and  her  pervasive  voice 

Stole  on  me  till  I  trembled  to  my  knees, 

I  pressed  my  lips  to  hers — then    round  me 

glowed 
A  sudden  light,  that  seemed  to  flash  me  on, 
Beyond  myself,  beyond  the  fainting  stars. 
Then  all  the  bleak  disheartenings  of  a  life 
That  had  not  been  of  pleasure  faded  off, 


12112 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


And  left  me  with  a  puq)ose,  and  a  hope 
Tliat  1  Avas  born  for  somethmg  braver  than 
To  hang-  my  head  aud  wear  a  nameless  name. 

That  hour  has  passed,  nor  ever  came  again. 
"We  all  do  live  such — so  I  would  believe. 
Life's  mere  arithmetic  and  prose  are  mine, 
And  I  have  missed  the  beauty  of  the  world. 

Let  this    remembrance    comfort  me, — that 

when 
My  heart  seemed  bursting — like  a  restless 

wave, 
Tliat,  swollen  with  fearful  longing  for  the 

shore. 
Throws  its  strong  life  on  the  imagined  bliss 
Of  finding  peace  and  undisturbed  calm — 
It  fell  on  rock  and  broke  in  many  tears. 

Else  could  I  bear,  on  all  days  of  the  year, 
Not  now  alone — this  gentle  summer  night, 
"When  scythes  are  busy  in  the  headed  grass. 
And  the  full  moon  warms  me  to  thought- 
fulness, — 
This  voice,  that  haunts  the  desert  of  my  soul ; 
'•It  might  have  been,"  alas!  "It  might  have 
been! " 

William  Cross  Williamson. 


WE  PAETED  m  SILEITCE. 

"^'e  parted  in  silence,  we  parted  by  night. 

On  the  banks  of  that  lonely  river; 
"Where  tlie  fragrant  limes  their  boughs  unite, 

"We  met — and  we  parted  for  ever ! 
The  night-bird  sung,  and  the  stars  above 

Told  many  a  touching  story, 
Of  friends  long  passed  to  the  kingdom  of 
love, 

"Where  the  soul  wears  its  mantle  of  glory. 

We  parted  in  silence — our  cheeks  were  wet 
"With  the  tears  that  were  past  controlling; 
We  vowed  we  would  never — no,  never  for- 

And  those  vows  at  the  time  were  con- 
soling; 


But  those  lips  that  echoed  the  sounds  of  mine 
Are  as  cold  as  that  lonely  river ; 

And  that  eye,  that  beautiful  spirit's  shrine, 
Has  shrouded  its  fires  for  ever. 

And  now  on  the  midnight  sky  I  look, 

And  my  heart  grows  full  of  weeping ; 
Each  star  is  to  me  a  sealed  book. 

Some  tale  of  that  loved  one  keeping. 
"We  parted  in  silence — we  parted  in  tears, 

On  the  banks  of  that  lonely  river : 
But  the  odor  and  bloom  of  those  by-gone 
years 

Shall  hang  o'er  its  waters  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Cka-wfobd. 


m  A  YEAE. 

Never  any  more 

While  I  live, 
Need  I  hope  to  see  his  face 

As  before. 
Once  his  love  groAvn  chill. 

Mine  may  strive — 
Bitterly  we  reembrace, 

Single  still. 

"Was  it  something  said, 

Something  done, 
Vexed  him  ?  was  it  touch  of  hand, 

Turn  of  head  ? 
Strange !  that  very  way 

Love  begun. 
I  as  little  understand 

Love's  decay. 

"When  I  sewed  or  drew, 

I  recall 
How  he  looked  as  if  I  sang 

— Sweetly  too. 
If  I  spoke  a  word. 

First  of  all 
Up  his  clieek  the  color  sprang, 

Then  he  heard. 

Sitting  by  my  side. 

At  my  feet, 
So  he  breathed  the  air  I  breathed, 

Satisfied ! 


MARIANA    IN    THE    SOUTH. 


293 


I,  too,  at  love's  brim 

Touclied  the  sweet. 

I  would  die  if  death  bequeathed 
Sweet  to  him. 

"  Speak— I  love  thee  best !  " 

He  exclaimed — 
"Let  thj  love  my  own  foretell." 

I  confessed : 
"  Clasp  my  heart  on  thine 

i!s'ow  unblamed, 
Since  upon  thy  soul  as  well 

Hangeth  mine !  " 

"Was  it  wrong  to  own, 

Being  truth  ? 
Why  should  all  the  giving  prove 

His  alone  ? 
I  had  wealth  and  ease, 

Beauty,  youth — 
Since  my  lover  gave  me  love, 

I  gave  these. 

That  was  all  I  meant, 

— To  be  just. 
And  the  passion  I  had  raised 

To  content. 
Since  he  chose  to  change 

Gold  for  dust, 
If  I  gave  him  what  he  praised 

Was  it  strange  ? 

Would  he  loved  me  yet, 

On  and  on, 
While  I  found  some  way  undreamed 

— Paid  my  debt! 
Gave  more  life  and  more. 

Till,  all  gone, 
He  should  smile  "  She  never  seemed 

Mine  before. 

"What— she  felt  the  while. 

Must  I  think  ? 
Love  's  so  different  with  us  men," 

He  should  smile, 
"  Dying  for  my  sake — 

AVhite  and  pink ! 
Can 't  we  touch  tlicse  bubbles  then 

But  they  break  ?  " 


Dear,  the  pang  is  brief. 

Do  thy  part, 
Have  thy  pleasure.    How  perplext 

Grows  belief! 
Well,  this  cold  clay  clod 

Was  man's  heai-t. 
Crumble  it — and  what  comes  next  ? 

Is  it  God? 

EOBERT   BEOWNINa 


MAPJAXA  m  THE  SOUTH. 


Wixn  one  black  shadow  at  its  feet, 

The  house  through  all  the  level  shines, 
Close-latticed  to  the  broodin£c  heat. 

And  silent  in  its  dusty  vines  ; 
A  faint-blue  ridge  upon  the  right, 
An  empty  river-bed  before, 
And  shallows  on  a  distant  shore, 
In  glaring  sand  and  inlets  bright. 

But  "Ave  Mary,"  made  she  moan, 

And  "Ave  Mary,"  night  and  morn; 

And  "Ah,"  she  sang,  "to  be  all  alone, 

To  live  forgotten,  and  love  forlorn." 

II. 
She,  as  her  carol  sadder  grew. 

From  brow  and  bosom  slowly  down 
Through  rosy  taper  fingers  drew 

Her  streaming  curls  of  deepest  brown 
To  left  and  right,  and  made  appear, 
Still-lighted  in  a  secret  shrine. 
Her  melancholy  eyes  divine, 
The  home  of  woe  without  a  tear. 

And  "Ave  Mary,"  was  her  moan, 

"  Madonna,  sad  is  night  and  morn  ;  " 
And  "Ah,"  she  sang,  "to  be  all  alone, 
To  live  forgotten,  and  love  forlorn," 

III. 
Till  all  the  crimson  changed,  and  passed 

Into  deep  orange  o'er  the  sea, 
Low  on  her  knees  herself  she  cast. 

Before  Our  Lady  murmured  she ; 
Complaining,  "  ilotlier,  give  me  grace 

To  help  me  of  my  weary  load !  " 

And  on  the  liquid  mirror  glowed 
The  clear  perfection  of  her  face. 


294 


POEMS    OF    LOVE, 


"  Is  this  the  form,"  she  made  her  moan, 
"That  wou  his  praises  night  and  morn  ?" 

And  "Ah,"  she  said,  "but  I  Avake  alone, 
I  sleep  forgotten,  I  wake  forlorn." 

lY. 

Nor  bird  would  sing,  nor  lamb  would  bleat, 

Nor  any  cloud  would  cross  the  vault ; 
But  day  increased  from  heat  to  heat, 

On  stony  drought  and  steaming  salt ; 
Till  now  at  noon  she  slept  again, 

And  seemed  knee-deep  in  mountain  grass, 
And  heard  her  native  breezes  pass. 
And  runlets- babbling  down  the  glen. 

She  breathed  in  sleep  a  lower  moan ; 

And  murmuring,  as  at  night  and  morn, 
She  thought,  "My  spirit  is  here  alone, 
"Walks  forgotten,  and  is  forlorn." 


Dreaming,  she  knew  it  was  a  dream  ; 
She  felt  he  Avas  and  was  not  there. 
She  woke :  the  babble  of  the  stream 
Fell,  and  without  the  steady  glare 
Shrank  the  sick  olive  sere  and  small. 
The  river-bed  was  dusty  white; 
And  all  the  furnace  of  the  light 
Sti'uck  up  against  the  blinding  wall. 
She  Avhispered,  Avith  a  stifled  moan 

More  iuAvard  than  at  night  or  morn, 
"SAveet  mother,  let  me  not  here  alone 
Live  forgotten,  and  die  forlorn." 

VI. 

And,  rising,  from  her  bosoin  drew 

Old  letters,  breathing  of  her  Avorth  ; 
For  "Love,"  they  said,  "must  needs  be  true. 

To  what  is  loveliest  upon  earth." 
An  image  seemed  to  pass  the  door. 
To  look  at  her  with  slight,  and  say, 
"  But  noAV  thy  beauty  flows  away. 
So  be  alone  for  evermore." 

"  0  cruel  heart,"  she  changed  her  tone, 
"And  cruel  love,  whose  end  is  scorn, 
Ls  tins  the  end — to  be  left  alone. 
To  live  forgotten,  and  die  forlorn  I  " 

VII. 

But  sometimes  in  the  falling  day 
An  image  seemed  to  pass  the  door, 

To  look  into  her  eyes  and  say, 

"But  thou  shalt  be  alone  no  more." 


And  flaming  doAvnAvard  over  all, 

From  heat  to  heat  the  day  decreased, 
And  sloAvly  rounded  to  the  cast 
I'he  one  black  shadow  from  the  Avail. 

"  The  day  to  night,"  she  made  her  moan, 
"  The  day  to  night,  the  night  to  morn 
And  day  and  night  I  am  left  alone, 
To  live  forgotten,  and  love  forlorn." 

VIII. 

At  eve  a  dry  cicala  sung; 

There  came  a  sound  as  of  the  sea ; 
Backward  the  lattice-blind  she  flung. 

And  leaned  upon  the  balcony. 
There,  all  in  spaces  rosy -bright, 
Large  Hesper  glittered  on  her  tears. 
And  deepening  through  the  silent  spheres. 
Heaven  over  heaven,  rose  the  night, 

And  weeping  then  she  made  her  moan, 
"  The  night  comes  on  that  knows  not 
morn; 
"When  I  shall  cease  to  be  all  alone, 
To  live  forgotten,  and  love  forlorn." 
Altked  Tesntson 


SONG. 


"  A  AVEART  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine ! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid. 

And  press  the  rue  for  Avine  ! 
A  ligiitsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green — 

No  more  of  me  you  kncAV, 
My  love ! 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

"  This  morn  is  merry  June,  1  trow  — 

The  rose  is  budding  fain  ; 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snoAV 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
lie  turned  his  charger  as  he  spake. 

Upon  the  river  shore; 
He  gave  his  bridle  reins  a  shake. 

Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore. 
My  love ! 
And  adieu  for  evermore." 

Sir  Waltee  Score 


LOCKSLEY    HALL. 


293 


LOCKSLEY  HALL. 

Comrades,  leave  me  here  a  little,  while  as 

yet 't  is  early  morn — 
Leave  me  here,  and  when  you  want  me,  sound 

upon  the  bugle  horn. 

'T  is  the  place,  and  all  around  it,  as  of  old,  the 

curlews  call. 
Dreary  gleams  about  the  moorland,  flying  over 

Locksley  Hall ; 

Locksley  Hall,  that  in  the  distance  overlooks 

the  sandy  tracts. 
And  the  hollow  ocean-ridges  roaring  into 

cataracts. 

Many  a  night  from  yonder  ivied  casement, 

ere  I  went  to  rest, 
Did  I  look  on  great  Orion  sloping  slowly  to 

the  west. 

Many  anight  I  saw  the  Pleiads,  rising  through 

the  mellow  shade. 
Glitter  like  a  swarm  of  fire-flies  tangled  in  a 

silver  braid. 

Here  about  the  beach  I  wandered,  nourishing 

a  youth  sublime 
With  the  fairy  tales  of  science,  and  the  long 

result  of  time ; 

When  the  centuries  behind  me  like  a  fruitful 
land  reposed ; 

When  I  clung  to  all  the  present  for  the  prom- 
ise that  it  closed ; 

When  I  dipt  into  the  future  far  as  human  eye 
could  see — ■ 

Saw  the  vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  won- 
der that  would  be. 

In  (he  spring  a  fuller  crimson  comes  upon  the 
robin's  breast ; 

Ic  the  spring  the  wanton  lapwing  gets  him- 
self another  crest ; 

In  the  spring  a  livelier  iris  changes  on  the 

burnished  dove ; 
In  tlie   spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly 

turns  to  thoughts  of  love. 


Then  her  clieek  was  pale  and  thinner  than 
should  be  for  one  so  young. 

And  her  eyes  on  all  my  motions  with  a  mute 
observance  hung. 

And  I  said,  "  My  cousin  Amy,  speak,   and 

speak  the  truth  to  me  ; 
Trust  me,  cousin,  all  the  current  of  my  being 

sets  to  thee." 

On  her  pallid  cheek  and  forehead  came  a 

color  and  a  light, 
As  I  have  seen  the  rosy  red  flushing  in  the 

northern  night. 

And  she  turned — ^her  bosom  shaken  with  a 

sudden  storm  of  sighs — 
All  the  spirit  deeply  dawning  in  the  dark  of 

hazel  eyes — 

Saying,  "  I  have  hid  my  feelings,  fearing  they 
should  do  me  wrong ;  " 

Saying,  "Dost  thou  love  me,  cousin?"  weep- 
ing, "  I  have  loved  thee  long." 

Love  took  up  the  glass  of  time,  and  turned 

it  in  his  glowing  hands ; 
Every  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  in 

golden  sands. 

Love  took  up  the  harp  of  life,  and  smote  on 

all  the  chords  with  might ; 
Smote  the  chord  of   self,  that,  trembling, 

passed  in  music  out  of  sight. 

Many  a  morning  on  the  moorland  did  we  hear 

the  copses  ring. 
And  her  whisper  thronged  my  pulses  with 

the  fulness  of  the  spring. 

Many  an  evening  by  the  waters  did  we  watch 
the  stately  ships. 

And  our  spirits  rushed  together  at  the  touch- 
ing of  the  lips. 

Oh  my  cousin,   shallow-hearted!      Oh  my 

Amy,  mine  no  more  ! 
Oh  the  dreary,  dreary  moorland!     Oh   the 

barren,  barren  shore ! 


2St() 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Falser  than  all  fancy  fathoms,  falser  than  all 

songs  have  sung — 
Puppet  to  a  fiither's  threat,  and  servile  to  a 


shrewish  tongue ! 


Is  it  well  to  wish  thee  happy  ? — ^liaving  known 

lue;  to  decline 
On  a  range  of  lower  feelings  and  a  narrower 

heart  than  mine ! 

Yet  it  shall  be  :  thou  shalt  lower  to  his  level 

day  by  day, 
What  is  fine  within  thee  growing  coarse  to 

sympathize  with  clay. 

As  the  husband  is,  the  wife  is ;    thou  art 

mated  with  a  clown, 
And  the  grossness  of  his  nature  will  have 

weight  to  drag  thee  down. 

He  will  hold  thee,  when  his  j^assion  shall 

have  spent  its  novel  force. 
Something  better  than  his  dog,  a  little  dearer 

than  his  horse. 

What  is  this  ?  his  eyes  are  heavy — think  not 

they  are  glazed  with  wine. 
Go  to  him ;  it  is  thy  duty — kiss  him ;  take 

his  hand  in  thine. 

It  may  be  my  lord  is  weary,  that  his  brain  is 

overwrought — 
Soothe  him  with  thy  finer  fancies,  touch  him 

with  thy  lighter  thought. 

He  will  answer  to  the  purpose,  easy  things  to 

understand — 
Better  thou  wert  dead  before  me,  though  I 

slew  thee  with  my  hands. 

Better  thou  and  I  were  lying,  hidden  from 

the  heart's  disgrace, 
Rolled  in  one  another's  arms,  and  silent  in  a 

last  embrace. 

Cursed  be  the  social  wants  that  sin  against 

the  strengtli  of  youth  ! 
Cursed  be  the  social  lies  that  warp  us  from 

the  living  truth ! 


Cursed  bo  the  sickly  forms  that  err  from 

honest  nature's  rule ! 
Cursed  be  the  gold  that  gilds  the  straitened 

forehead  of  the  fool ! 

Well — 't  is  well  that  I  should  bluster ! — ^Hadst 
thou  less  unworthy  proved, 

Would  to  God — for  I  had  loved  thee  more 
than  ever  wife  was  loved. 

Am  I  mad,  that  I  should  cherish  that  which 

bears  but  bitter  fruit  ? 
I  will  pluck  it  from  my  bosom,  though  my 

heart  be  at  the  root. 

ISTevcr!  though  my  mortal  summers  to  such 
length  of  years  should  come 

As  the  many-wintered  crow  that  leads  the 
clanging  rookery  home. 

Where  is  comfort  ?  in  division  of  the  records 

of  the  mind  ? 
Can  I  part  her  from  herself,  and  love  her,  as 

I  knew  her,  kind  ? 

I  remember  one  that  perished ;  sweetly  did 

she  speak  and  move  ; 
Such  a  one  do  I  remember,  whom  to  look  at 

was  to  love. 

Can  I  think  of  her  as  dead,  and  love  her  for 

the  love  she  bore  ? 
No — she  never  loved  me  truly  ;  love  is  love 

for  evermore. 

Comfort  ?  comfort  scorned  of  devils !  this  is 
truth  the  poet  sings, 

That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remem- 
bering happier  things. 

Drug  thy  memories,  lest  thou  learn  it,  lest 

thy  heart  be  put  to  proof, 
In  the  dead,  unhappy  night,  and  when  the 

rain  is  on  the  roof. 

Like  a  dog,  ho  hunts  in  dreams .;  and  thou  art 

staring  at  the  w^all, 
Where  the  dying  night-lamp  flickers,  and  the 

shadows  rise  and  fall. 


LOCKSLEY    HALL. 


297 


Then  a  hand  shall  pass  before  thee,  pointing 

to  his  drunken  sleep, 
To  thy  -nidowed  marriage- pillows,   to  the 

tears  that  thou  wilt  weep. 

Thou  shalt  hear  the  "Never,  never,"  whis- 
pered by  the  phantom  years. 

And  a  song  from  out  the  distance  in  the  ring- 
ing of  thine  ears ; 

And  an  eye  shall  vex  thee,  looking  ancient 

kindness  on  thy  pain. 
Turn  thee,  turn  thee  on  thy  pillow  ;  get  thee 

to  thy  rest  again. 

Nay,  but   nature  brings  thee  solace ;   for  a 

tender  voice  will  cry ; 
'T  is  a  purer  life  than  thine ;  a  lip  to  drain 

thy  trouble  dry. 

Baby  lips  will  laugh  me  doAvn;  my  latest 

rival  brings  thee  rest — 
Baby  fingers,  waxen  touches,  press  me  from 

the  mother's  breast. 


Oh,  the  child,  too,  clothes  the  father  with  a 

dearness  not  his  due  : 
Half  is  thine,  and  half  is  his — it  will   be 

worthy  of  the  two. 

Oh,  I  see  thee,  old  and  formal,  fitted  to  thy 

petty  part, 
With  a  littl-e  hoard  of  maxims  preaching  down 

a  daughter's  heart : 

"  They  were  dangerous  guides  the  feelings — 
she  herself  was  not  exempt — 

Truly,  she  herself  had  suifered." — ^Perish  in 
thy  self-contempt ! 

Overlive  it — lower  yet — be  happy!  wherefore 

should  I  care  ? 
I  myself  must  mix  with  action,  lest  I  wither 

by  despair. 

What  is  that  which  I  should  turn  to,  lighting 

upon  days  like  these  ? 
Every  door  is  barred  with  gold,  and  opens 

but  to  golden  keys. 
42 


Every  gate  is  thronged  with  suitors;  all  the 

markets  overflow. 
I  have  but  an  angry  fancy :  what  is  that 

which  I  should  do  ? 

I  had  been  content  to  perish,  falling  on  the 

foeman's  ground. 
When  the  ranks  are  rolled  in  vapor,  and  the 

winds  are  laid  with  sound. 

But  the  jingling  of  the  guinea  helps  the  hurt 

that  honor  feels. 
And  the  nations  do  but  murmur,  snarling  at 

each  other's  heels. 

Can  I  but  relive  in  sadness  ?  I  will  turn  that 
earlier  page. 

Hide  me  from  my  deep  emotion,  O  thou  won- 
drous mother-age ! 

Make  me  feel  the  wild  pulsation  that  I  felt 

before  the  strife, 
When  I  heard  my  days  before  me,  and  the 

tumult  of  my  life  ; 

Yearning  for  the  large  excitement  that  the 
coming  years  would  yield — 

Eager-hearted  as  a  boy  when  first  he  leaves 
his  father's  field, 

And  at  night  along  the  dusky  highway  near 

and  nearer  drawn. 
Sees  in  heaven  the  light  of  London  flaring 

like  a  dreary  dawn  ; 

And  his  spirit  leaps  within  him  to  be  gone 

before  him  then. 
Underneath  the  light  ho  looks  at,  in  among 

the  throngs  of  men — 

Men,  my  brothers,  men  the  workers,  ever 

reaping  something  new  : 
That  which  they  have  done  but  earnest  of  the 

things  that  they  shall  do ; 

For  I  dipt  into  the  future,  far  as  human  eye 
could  see — 

Saw  the  vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  won- 
der that  would  be — 


2  OS 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Saw  the  heavens  fill  with  commerce,  argosies 

of  magic  sails, 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  clown 

with  costly  hales — 

Heard  the  heavens  fill  with  shouting,  and 

there  rained  a  ghastly  dew 
From  the  nations'  airy  navies  grappling  in 

the  central  hlue ; 

Far  along  the  world-wide  whisper  of   the 

south-wind  rushing  warm, 
"Witli  the  standards  of  the  peoples  plunging 

through  the  thunder-storm ; 

Till  the  war-drum  throbbed  no  longej",  and 

the  battle-fiags  were  furled 
In  the  ])arliament  of  man,  the  federation  of 

the  world. 

There  the  ccMuinon  sense  of  most  shall  hold  a 

fretful  realm  in  awe, 
And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapt  in 

universal  law. 

So  I  triumphed,  ere   my  passion   sweeping 

through  me, left  me  dry, 
Left  nie  with  the  palsied  heart,  and  left  me 

witli  the  jaundiced  eye — 

Eye,  to  which  all  order  festers,  all  things  here 

are  out  of  joint. 
Science  moves,  but  slowly,  slowly,  creeping 

on  from  point  to  point ; 

Slowly  comes  a  hungry  people,  as  a  lion, 

creeping  nigher. 
Glares  at  one  that  nods  and  winks  behind  a 

slowly-dying  fire. 

Yet  I  doubt  nottlirough  the  ages  one  increas- 
ing purpose  runs. 

And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with 
the  process  of  the  suns. 

What  is  that  to  him  that  reaps  not  harvest  of 

liis  vouthful  jovs, 
Though  the  deep  heart  of  existence  beat  for 

ever  like  a  boy's  ? 


Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers;  and  1 

linger  on  the  shore, 
And  the  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is 

more  and  more. 

Knowledge  comes,  hut  wisdom  lingers,  and 

he  bears  a  laden  breast. 
Full  of  sad  experience  moving  toward  the 

stillness  of  his  rest. 

Hark !  my  merry  comrades  call  me,  sounding 
on  the  bugle  horn — 

They  to  whom  my  foolish  passion  were  a  tar- 
get for  their  scorn ; 

Shall  it  not  be  scorn  to  me  to  harp  on  such  a 

mouldered  string  ? 
I  am  shamed  through  all  my  nature  to  have 

loved  so  slight  a  thing. 

"Weakness    to    be    wroth    with    weakness ! 

woman's  pleasure,  woman's  pain — 
Nature  made  them  blinder  motions  bounded 

in  a  shallower  brain  ; 

• 

Woman  is  the  lesser  man,  and  all  thy  pas- 
sions, matched  with  mine, 

Are  as  moonlight  unto  sunlight,  and  as  water 
unto  wine — 

Here  at  least,  where  nature  sickens,  nothing. 

Ah,  for  some  retreat 
Deep  in  yonder  shining  orient,  where  my  life 

began  to  beat ! 

Where  in  wild  Mahratta-battle  fell  my  father, 

evil-starred ; 
I  was  left  a  trampled  orphan,  and  a  selfish 
uncle's  ward. 

Or  to  burst  all  links  of  habit — there  to  wan- 
der far  away. 

On  from  island  unto  island  at  the  gateways 
of  the  day — 

Larger  constellations  burning,  mellow  moons 

and  happy  skies, 
Breadths  of  tropic  shade  and  palms  in  cluster, 

knots  of  Pai'adise. 


ORPHEUS    TO    BEASTS. 


299 


"jTever  comes  the  trader,  never  floats  an  Eu- 
ropean flag — 

Slides  the  bu-d  o'er  lustrous  woodland,  droops 
the  trailer  from  the  crag — 

Droops  the  heavy-blossomed  bov/er,  hangs 

the  heavy -fruited  tree — 
Summer  isles  of  Eden  lying  in  dark -purple 

sphei'es  of  sea. 

There,  methinks,  would  be  enjoyment  more 
than  in  this  march  of  mind — 

In  the  steamship,  in  the  railway,  in  the 
thoughts  that  shake  mankind. 

There  the  passions,  cramped  no  longer,  shall 
have  scope  and  breathing-space ; 

I  will  take  some  savage  woman,  she  shall  rear 
my  dusky  race. 

Iron-jointed,  supple-sinewed,  they  shall  dive, 

and  they  shall  run. 
Catch  the  wild  goat  by  the  hair,  and  hurl 

their  lances  in  the  sun. 

Wliistle  back  the  parrot's  call,  and  leap  the 
rainbows  of  the  brooks, 

ISTot  with  blinded  eyesiglit  poz-ing  over  mis- 
erable books — 

Fool,  again  the  dream,  the  fancy !  but  I  know 

my  Avords  are  wild. 
But  I  count  the  gray  barbarian  lower  than 

the  Christian  child. 

I.  to  herd  with  narrow  foreheads,  vacant  of 

our  glorious  gains. 
Like  a  beast  with  lower  pleasures,  like  a  beast 

with  lower  pains ! 

Mated  with  a  squalid  savage — what  to  me 

were  sun  or  clime? 
I,  the  heir  of  all  the  ages,  in  the  foremost  files 

of  time — 

I,  that  rather  held  it  better  men  showld  perish 

one  by  one, 
Tlian  tliat  earth  should  stand  at  gaze  like 

Joshua's  moon  in  Ajalon ! 

Not  in  vain  tlie  distance  beacons.     Forward, 

forward  let  us  range; 
Let  the  great  world  spin  forever  down  the 

ringing  grooves  of  change. 


Through  the  shadow  of  the  globe  we  sweep 

into  the  younger  day : 
Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of 

Cathay. 

Mother-age,  (for  mine  I  knew  not,)  help  me 

as  when  life  begun — 
Rift  the  hills,  and  roll  the  waters,  flash  the 

lightnings,  weigh  the  sun — 

Oh,  I  see  the  crescent  promise  of  my  spirit 

hath  not  set ; 
Ancient  founts  of  inspiration  well  through  all 

my  fancy  yet. 

Howsoever  these  things  be,  a  long  farewell  to 

Locksley  Hall ! 
Now  for  me  the  woods  may  wither,  now  for 

me  the  roof-tree  fall. 

Comes  a  vapor  from  the  margin,  blackening 

over  heath  and  holt. 
Cramming  all  the  blast  l:»efore  it,  in  its  breast 

a  thunderbolt. 

Let  it  fall  on  Locksley  Hall,  with  rain  or  hail, 

or  fire  or  snow ; 

For  the  mighty  wind  arises,  roaring  seaward. 

and  I  go. 

Alfred  Tenntson. 


ORPHEUS  TO  BEASTS. 

Here,  here,  oh  here,  Eurydice — 

Here  was  she  slain — • 
Her  soul  'stilled  through  a  vein ; 

The  gods  knew  less 
That  time  divinity. 

Than  ev'n,  ev'n  these 

Of  brutislmess. 

Oh  could  you  view  the  melody 

Of  every  grace. 
And  music  of  her  face, 

You  'd  drop  a  tear ; 
Seeing  more  harmony 

In  her  bright  eye. 

Than  now  you  hear. 

ElCnASD   LOVELAOK 


800                                                       POEM  SO  F    LOVE. 

And  the  woodland  echo  rings 

on  THAT  'T  WERE  POSSIBLE. 

In  a  moment  we  shall  meet ; 

She  is  singing  in  the  meadow, 

I. 

And  the  rivulet  at  her  feet 

Oh  that 't  were  possible, 

Ripples  on  in  light  and  shadow- 

After  long  grief  aud  pain, 

To  the  ballad  that  she  sings. 

To  find  the  arms  of  ray  true  love 

Round  me  once  again ! 

VII. 

Do  I  hear  her  sing  as  of  old. 

II. 

My  bird  with  the  shining  head. 

When  I  was  wont  to  meet  her 

My  own  dove  with  the  tender  eye? 

In  the  silent  woody  places 

But  there  rings  on  a  sudden  a  passionate 

Of  the  land  that  gave  me  birth. 

cry — 

We  stood  tranced  in  long  embraces 

There  is  some  one  dying  or  dead  ; 

Mixt  with  kisses  sweeter,  sweeter 

And  a  sullen  thunder  is  rolled  ; 

Than  anything  on  earth. 

For  a  tumult  shakes  the  city. 

And  I  wake— my  dream  is  fled; 

III. 

In  the  shuddering  dawn,  behold. 

A  shadow  flits  before  me, 

Without  knowledge,  without  pity. 

IsTot  thou,  but  like  to  thee  ; 

By  the  curtains  of  ray  bed 

Ah  Christ,  that  it  were  possible 

That  abiding  phantom  cold ! 

For  one  short  hour  to  see 

The  souls  we  loved,  that  they  might  tell  us 

VIII. 

What  and  where  they  be  ! 

Get  thee  hence,  nor  come  again ! 

Mix  not  memory  with  doubt, 

IV. 

Pass,  thou  deathlike  type  of  pain, 

It  leads  me  forth  at  evening, 

Pass  and  cease  to  move  about  ! 

It  lightly  winds  and  steals 

'T  is  the  blot  upon  the  brain 

In  a  cold  white  robe  before  me. 

That  will  show  itself  without. 

When  aU  my  spirit  reels 

At  the  shouts,  the  leagues  of  lights. 

IX. 

And  the  roaring  of  the  wheels. 

Then  I  rise;  the  eave-drops  fall. 

And  the  yellow  vapors  choke 

V. 

The  great  city  sounding  wide '. 

Half  the  night  I  waste  in  sighs. 

The  day  comes— a  dull  red  ball 

Half  in  dreams  I  sorrow  after 

Wrapt  in  drifts  of  lurid  smoko 

The  delight  of  early  skies ; 

On  the  misty  river-tide. 

In  a  wakeful  doze  I  sorrow 

For  the  hand,  the  lips,  the  eyes 

X. 

For  the  meeting  of  the  morrow. 

Through  the  hubbub  of  the  market 

The  delight  of  happy  laughter, 

I  steal,  a  wasted  frame ; 

The  delight  of  low  replies. 

It  crosses  here,  it  crosses  there. 

Through  aU  that  crowd  confused  and  loud 

TI. 

The  shadow  still  the  same ; 

'T  is  a  morning  pure  and  sweet. 

And  on  my  heavy  eyelids 

And  a  dewy  splendor  falls 

My  anguish  hangs  like  shame. 

On  the  little  flower  that  clings 

To  the  turrets  and  the  walls ; 

XI. 

'Tis  a  morning  pure  and  sweet. 

Alas  for  her  that  met  me, 

And  the  light  and  shadow  fleet ; 

That  heard  me  softly  call. 

She  is  walking  in  the  meadow, 

Came  glimmering  through  the  laurels 

THE    BLOOM    HATH    FLED    THY    CHEEK,    MARY.                    301 

At  the  quiet  evenfall, 

In  the  garden  by  the  turrets 

THE  BLOOM  HATH  FLED  THY  CHEEK, 

Of  the  old  manorial  hall! 

aiARY. 

XII. 

The  bloom  hath  fled  thy  cheek,  Maiy, 

"Would  the  happy  spirit  descend 

As  spring's  rath  blossoms  die ; 

From  the  realms  of  light  and  song, 

And  sadness  hath  o'ershadowed  now 

In  the  chamber  or  the  street, 

Thy  once  bright  eye ; 

As  she  looks  among  the  blest, 

But  look !  on  me  the  prints  of  grief 

Should  I  fear  to  greet  my  friend 

Still  deeper  lie. 

Or  to  say  "Forgive  the  wrong," 

Farewell ! 

Or  to  ask  her,  "  Take  me,  sweet. 

To  the  regions  of  thy  rest  ? " 

Thy  lips  are  pale  and  mute,  Mary  ; 

Thy  step  is  sad  and  slow ; 

XIII. 

The  morn  of  gladness  hath  gone  by 

But  the  broad  light  glares  and  beats, 

Thou  erst  did  know ; 

And  the  shadow  flits  and  fleets 

I,  too,  am  changed  like  thee,  and  weep 

And  will  not  let  me  be  ; 

For  very  woe. 

And  I  loathe  the  squares  and  streets, 

Farewell ! 

And  the  faces  that  one  meets, 

Hearts  with  no  love  for  me ; 

It  seems  as  'twere  but  yesterday 

Always  I  long  to  creep 

We  were  the  happiest  twain. 

Into  sotae  still  cavern  deep, 

When  murmured  sighs  and  joyous  tears, 

There  to  weep,  and  weep,  and  weep 

Dropping  like  rain, 

My  whole  soul  out  to  thee. 

Discoursed  my  love,  and  told  how  loved 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

I  was  again. 

Farewell ! 
'T  was  not  in  cold  and  measured  phrase 

SOJTNET. 

We  gave  our  passion  name ; 

Scorning  such  tedious  eloquence. 

Why  art  thou  silent !     Is  thy  love  a  plant 

Our  hearts'  fond  flame 

Of  such  weak  fibre  that  the  treacherous  air 

And  long-imprisoned  feelings  fast 

Of  absence  withers  what  was  once  so  fair  ? 

In  deep  sobs  came. 

Is  there  no  debt  to  pay,  no  boon  to  grant  ? 

Farewell ! 

Yet  have  my  thoughts  for  thee  been  vigilant 

Would  that  our  love  had  been  the  love 

(As  would  my  deeds  have  been)  with  hourly 

That  merest  worldlings  know, 

care, 

When  passion's  draught  to  our  doomed  lipa 

The  mind's  least  generous  wish  a  mendicant 

Turns  utter  woe. 

For  nought  but  what  thy  happiness  could 

And  our  poor  dream  of  happiness 

spare. 

Vanishes  so ! 

Farewell ! 

Si)eak!  though  this  soft  warm  heart,  once  free 

to  hold 

But  in  the  wreck  of  all  our  hopes 

A  thousand  tender  pleasures,  thine  and  mine, 

There 's  yet  some  touch  of  bliss. 

Be  left  more  desolate,  more  dreary  cold 

Since  fate  robs  not  our  wretchedness 

Than  a  forsaken  bird's-nest,  filled  with  snow 

Of  this  last  kiss : 

'Mid  its  own  bush  of  leafless  eglantine  ; 

Despair,  and  love,  and  madness  meet 

Speak,  that  my  torturing  doubts  their  end 

In  this,  in  this. 

may  know  I 

Farewell ! 

"William  "Woedswokth. 

William  MoxnKKTreLL. 

302 


rOEAIS    OF    LOYE. 


WALY,  WALY,  BUT  LOVE  BE  BONNY. 


On  walj,  waly  up  the  bank, 
And  waly,  waly  down  the  brao, 

And  waly,  waly  yon  burn  side, 
"Where  I  and  mj-  love  wont  to  gae. 

I  leaned  my  back  unto  an  aik, 
I  thought  it  was  a  trusty  tree  ; 

But  first  it  bowed,  and  syne  it  brak — 
Sae  my  true  love  did  lightly  me ! 

Oh  waly,  waly,  but  love  be  bonny, 

A  little  time  while  it  is  new  ; 
But  when  'tis  auld  it  waxeth  cauld, 

And  fades  away  like  the  morning  dew. 

Oh  wherefore  should  I  busk  my  head  ? 

Or  wherefore  should  I  kame  my  hair  ? 
For  my  true  love  has  me  foi'sook. 

And  says  he  '11  never  love  me  mair. 

Now  Arthur-Seat  shall  be  my  bed ; 

The  sheets  shall  ne'er  be  fyled  by  me ; 
Saint  Anton's  well  shall  be  my  drink, 

Since  my  true  love  has  forsaken  me. 

Martinmas  wind,  when  wilt  thou  blaw, 
And  shake  the  green  leaves  off  the  tree  ? 

O  gentle  death,  when  wilt  thou  come  ? 
For  of  my  life  I  'm  weary. 

'T  is  not  the  frost  that  freezes  fell. 
Nor  blawing  snaw's  inclemency ; 

'T  is  not  sic  cauld  that  makes  me  cry. 
But  my  love's  heart  grown  cauld  to  me. 

When  we  came  in  by  Glasgow  town, 
"We  were  a  comely  sight  to  see  ; 

My  love  was  clad  in  the  black  velvet. 
And  I  my  sell  in  cramasie. 

But  had  I  wist,  before  I  kissed. 
That  love  had  been  sae  ill  to  win, 

[  'd  locked  my  heart  in  a  case  of  gold. 
And  pinned  it  with  a  silver  pin. 

Oh,  oh,  if  my  young  babe  Avere  born, 
And  set  upon  the  nurse's  knee, 

And  I  my  sell  were  dead  and  gane. 
And  the  green  grass  growin'  over  me ! 

ANONYMOUS. 


JEANIE  MORRISON. 

I  'vE  wandered  east,  I  've  \vandered  west, 

Through  raony  a  weary  way ; 
But  never,  never  can  forget 

The  luve  o'  life's  young  day ! 
The  fire  that 's  blawn  on  Beltane  e'en 

May  weel  be  black  gin  Yule ; 
But  blacker  fa'  awaits  the  heart 

"Where  first  fond  luve  grows  cule. 

0  dear,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 
The  thochts  o'  bygane  years 

Still  fling  their  shadows  ower  my  path, 

And  blind  my  een  wi'  tears  : 
They  blind  my  een  wi'  saut,  saut  tears, 

And  sair  and  sick  I  pine. 
As  memory  idly  summons  up 

The  blithe  blinks  o'  langsyne. 

'Twas  then  we  liivit  ilk  ither  weel, 

'T  was  then  we  twa  did  part  ] 
Sweet  time — sad  time!  twa  bairns  at  sciile, 

Twa  bairns,  and  but  ae  heart ! 
'T  was  then  we  sat  on  ae  laigh  bink, 

To  leir  ilk  ither  lear ; 
And  tones  and  looks  and  smiles  were  shed, 

Remembered  evermair. 

1  wonder,  Jeanie,  aften  yet, 
"When  sitting  on  that  bink, 

Cheek  touchin'  cheek,  loof  locked  in  loof, 
"What  our  wee  heads  could  think. 

"When  baith  bent  doun  ower  ae  braid  page, 
"Wi'  ae  bulk  on  our  knee. 

Thy  lips  were  on  thy  lesson,  but 
My  lesson  was  in  thee. 

Oh,  mind  ye  how  we  hung  our  heads, 

How  cheeks  brent  red  wi'  shame, 
"Whene'er  the  scule-weans,  laughin',  said 

"We  cleeked  thegither  hame  ? 
And  mind  ye  o'  the  Saturdays, 

(The  scule  then  skail't  at  noon,) 
"When  we  ran  off  to  speel  the  braes, — 

The  broomy  braes  o'  June  ? 

My  head  rins  round  and  round  about — 

My  heart  flows  like  a  sea, 
As  ane  by  ane  the  thochts  rush  back 

O'  scule-time  and  o'  thee. 


MY    HEID    IS    LIKE    TO     KEND,     WILLIE. 


203 


Ob  mornin'  life !  oh  mornin'  luve ! 

Oil  liclitsome  days  and  lang, 
When  hinnied  hopes  around  our  hearts 

Like  simmer  blossoms  sprang ! 

Oh,  mind  ye,  luve,  how  aft  we  left 

The  deavin'  dinsome  toun, 
To  wander  by  the  green  biirnside, 

And  hear  its  waters  croon  ? 
The  simmer  leaves  hung  ower  our  heads, 

The  flowers  burst  round  our  feet, 
And  in  the  gloamin  o'  the  wood 

The  throssjl  whusslit  sweet ; 

The  throssil  whusslit  in  the  wood, 

The  burn  sang  to  the  trees — 
And  we,  with  nature's  heart  in  tunc, 

Concerted  harmonies ; 
And  on  the  knowe  abune  the  burn 

For  hours  thegither  sat 
Tn  the  silentiiess  o'  joy,  till  baith 

Wi'  very  gladness  grat. 

Ay,  ay,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 

Tears  trinkled  doun  your  cheek 
Like  dew-beads  on  a  rose,  yet  nane 

Had  ony  power  to  speak ! 
That  was  a  time,  a  blessed  time. 

When  hearts  were  fresh  and  young. 
When  freely  gushed  all  feehngs  fortli, 

Unsyllabled — unsung ! 

I  marvel,  Jeanie  Morrison, 

Gin  I  hae  been  to  thee 
As  closely  tw  ined  wi'  earliest  thochts 

As  ye  hae  been  to  me  ? 
Oh,  tell  me  gin  their  music  fills 

Thine  ear  as  it  does  mine ! 
Oh,  say  gin  e'er  your  heart  grows  grit 

Wi'  dreamings  o'  langsyne  ? 

I  've  wandered  east,  I  've  wandered  west, 

I  've  borne  a  weary  lot ; 
But  in  my  wanderings,  far  or  near, 

Ye  never  were  forgot. 
The  fount  tliat  first  burst  frae  this  heart 

Still  travels  on  its  way ; 
And  channels  deeper,  as  it  rins, 

The  luve  o'  life's  young  day. 


0  dear,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 
Since  we  were  sindered  young 

1  've  never  seen  your  face  nor  heard 

The  music  o'  your  tongue  ; 
But  I  could  hug  all  wretchedness, 

And  happy  could  I  die. 
Did  I  but  ken  your  heart  still  dreamed 

O'  bygone  days  and  me ! 

"William  Motherwell. 


MY  HEID  IS  LIKE  TO  EEXD,  WILLIE. 

Mt  heid  is  like  to  rend,  Willie — 

My  heart  is  like  to  break  ; 
I  'm  wearin'  aff  my  feet,  Willie — 

I  'm  dyin'  for  your  sake  ! 
Oh,  lay  your  cheek  to  mine,  Willie, 

Your  hand  on  my  briest-bane, — 
Oh,  say  ye  '11  think  on  me,  Willie, 

When  I  am  deid  and  gane  ! 

It 's  vain  to  comfort  me,  Willie — 

Sair  gi-ief  maun  ha'e  its  will ; 
But  let  me  rest  upon  your  briest 

To  sab  and  greet  my  fill. 
Let  me  sit  on  your  knee,  Willie — 

Let  me  shed  by  your  hair. 
And  look  into  the  face,  Willie, 

I  never  sail  see  mair ! 

I  'm  sittin'  on  your  knee,  Willie, 

For  the  last  time  in  my  life, — 
A  puir  heart-broken  thing,  Willie^ 

A  mither,  yet  nae  wife. 
Ay,  press  your  hand  upon  my  heart, 

And  press  it  mair  and  mair, — 
Or  it  will  burst  the  silken  twine, 

Sae  Strang  is  its  despair. 

Oh,  wae  's  me  for  the  hour,  Willie, 

When  we  thegither  met — 
Oh,  wae  's  me  for  the  time,  Willie, 

That  our  first  tryst  was  set ! 
Oh,  wae  's  me  for  the  loanin'  green 

Where  we  were  wont  to  gae, — 
And  wae  's  me  for  the  destinie 

That  gart  me  luve  thee  sae ! 


804 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Oh,  dinna  mind  ray  words,  Willie — 

I  down  a  seek  to  blame ; 
But  oh,  it 's  hard  to  live,  Willie, 

And  dree  a  warld's  shame  ! 
Het  tears  are  hailin'  ower  your  cheek. 

And  hailin'  ower  your  chin : 
Why  weep  ye  sao  for  worthlessness. 

For  sorrow,  and  for  sin  ? 

I  'm  weary  o'  this  warld,  Willie, 

And  sick  wi'  a'  I  see, 
I  canna  live  as  I  ha'e  lived, 

Or  be  as  I  should  be. 
But  fauld  unto  your  heart,  Willie, 

The  Jieart  that  still  is  thine, — 
And  kiss  ance  mair  the  Avhite,  white 
cheek 

Ye  said  was  red  langsyne. 

A  stoun'  gaes  through  my  held,  Willie — 

A  sair  stoun'  through  my  heart ; 
Oh,  hand  me  up  and  let  me  kiss 

Thy  brow  ere  we  twa  pairt. 
Anither,  and  anitlier  yet ! — 

How  fast  my  life-strings  break ! — 
Fareweel !  fareweel !  through  yon  kirk- 
yard 

Step  lichtly  for  my  sake ! 

The  lav'rock  in  the  lift,  Willie, 

That  lilts  far  ower  our  heid. 
Will  sing  the  morn  as  merrilie 

Abune  the  clay-cauld  deid ; 
And  this  green  turf  we  're  sittin'  on, 

Wi'  dew-draps  shimmerin'  sheen. 
Will  hap  the  heart  that  luvit  thee 

As  warld  has  seldom  seen. 

Bat  oh,  remember  me,  Willie, 

On  land  where'er  ye  be — 
And  oh,  think  on  the  leal,  leal  heart, 

That  ne'er  luvit  ane  but  thee ! 
And  oh,  think  on  the  cauld,  cauld  mools 

That  file  my  yellow  hair, — 
That  kiss  the  cheek,  and  kiss  the  chin 

Ye  never  sail  kiss  mair ! 

William  Motheewell. 


THE  KOSE  AND  THE  GAUNTLET. 

Low  spake  the  knight  to  the  peasant-girl,— 
"  I  tell  thee  sooth,  I  am  belted  earl ; 
Fly  with  me  from  this  garden  small. 
And  thou  shalt  sit  in  my  castle's  hall ; 

''Thou  shalt  have  pomp,  and  wealth,  and 

pleasure, 
Joys  beyond  thy  fancy's  measure ; 
Here  with  my  sword  and  horse  I  stand. 
To  bear  thee  away  to  my  distant  land. 

"  Take,  thou  fairest !  this  full-blown  rose, 
A  token  of  love  that  as  ripely  blows." 
With  his  glove  of  steel  he  plucked  the  token, 
But  it  fell  from  his  gauntlet  crushed  and 
broken. 

The  maiden  exclaimed, — "  Thou  seest,  sir 
knight, 

Thy  fingers  of  iron  can  only  smite ; 

And,  like  the  rose  thou  hast  torn  and  scat- 
tered, 

I  in  thy  grasp  should  be  wrecked  and  shat- 
tered." 

She  trembled  and  blushed,  and  her  glances 

fell; 
But  she  turned  from   the  knight,  and  said, 

"Farewell!" 
"  Not  so,"  he  cried,  "  will  I  lose  my  prize ; 
I  heed  not  thy  words,  but  I  read  thine  eyes." 

He  lifted  her  up  in  his  grasp  of  steel. 

And  he  mounted  and  spurred  with  furious 

heel ; 
But  her  cry  drew  forth  her  hoary  sire, 
Who  snatched  his  bow  from  above  the  fire. 

Swift  from  the  valley  the  warrior  fled. 
Swifter  the  bolt  of  the  cross-bow  sped ; 
And  the  weight  that  pressed  on  the  fleet- 
foot  horse 
Was  the  living  man,  and  the  woman's  corse. 

That  morning  the  rose  was  bright  of  hue; 
That  morning  the  maiden  Avas  foir  to  view ; 
But  the  evening  sun  its  beauty  shed 
On  the  withered  leaves,  and  the  maiden  dead, 

John  Steeling. 


MAUD    MULLER. 


305 


MAUD  MULLER. 

Maud  Mtiller,  on  a  summer's  day, 
Raked  the  meadow  sweet  with  hay. 

Beneath  her  torn  hat  glowed  the  wealth 
Of  simple  beauty  and  rustic  health. 

Singing,  she  wrought,  and  her  merry  glee 
The  mock-bird  echoed  from  his  tree. 

But,  when  she  glanced  to  the  far-off  town, 
White  from  its  hUl-slope  looking  down. 

The  sweet  song  died,  and  a  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  filled  her  breast — 

A  wish,  that  she  hardly  dared  to  own, 
For  something  better  than  she  had  known. 

The  judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane. 
Smoothing  his  horse's  chestnut  mane. 


He  drew  his  bridle  in  the  shade 

Of  the  apple-trees,  to  greet  the  maid, 

And   ask   a  draught  from  the   spring  that 

flowed 
Til  rough  the  meadow,  across  the  road. 

She  stooped  where  the  cool  spring  bubbled 

up, 
And  filled  for  him  her  small  tin  cup, 

And  blushed  as  she  gave  it,  looking  down 
On  her  feet  so  bare,  and  her  tattered  gown. 

"Thanks!"   said    the    judge,    "a    sweeter 

draught 
From  a  fairer  hand  was  never  quaffed." 

lie  spoke  of  the  grass  and  flowers  and  trees. 
Of  the  singing  birds  and  the  humming  bees; 

TliC'ii  talked  of  the  haying,   and  wondered 

whether 
riie    cloud  in  the  west  would  bring  foul 

weather. 

43 


And  Maud  forgot  her  brier-torn  gown, 
And  her  graceful  ancles,  bare  and  brown. 

And  listened,  while  a  pleased  surprise 
Looked  from  her  long-lashed  hazel-eyes. 

At  last,  like  one  who  for  delay 
Seeks  a  vain  excuse,  he  rode  away. 

Maud  MuUer  looked  and  sighed  :  "  Ah  me ! 
That  I  the  judge's  bride  might  be! 

"  He  would  dress  me  up  in  silks  so  fine, 
And  praise  and  toast  me  at  his  wine. 

"  My  father  should  wear  a  broadcloth  coat. 
My  brother  should  sail  a  painted  boat. 

"I  'd  di'ess  my  mother  so  grand  and  gay. 
And  the  baby  should  have  a  new  toy  each 
day. 

"  And  I  'd  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the 

poor. 
And  all  should  bless  me  who  left  our  door." 

The  judge  looked  back  as  he  climbed  the  hill, 
And  saw  Maud  Muller  standing  still : 

"  A  form  more  fair,  a  face  more  sweet, 
Ne'er  hath  it  been  my  lot  to  meet. 

"  And  her  modest  answer  and  graceful  air 
Show  her  wise  and  good  as  she  is  fair. 

"  Would  she  were  mine,  and  I  to-day. 
Like  her,  a  harvester  of  hay. 

"  No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
N"or  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues, 

"  But  low  of  cattle,  and  song  of  birds. 
And  health,  and  quiet,  and  loving  words." 

But  he  thought  of  his  sister,  proud  and  cold, 
And  his  mother,  vain  of  her  rank  and  gold. 

So,  closing  his  heart,  the  judge  rode  on, 
And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone. 

But  the  lawyers  smiled  that  afternoon. 
When  he  hummed  in  court  an  old  love  tune; 


30G 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


And  the  youug  girl  mused  beside  tlie  well, 
Till  the  rain  on  the  unraked  clover  fell. 

He  wedded  a  wife  of  richest  dower, 
^\"llo  lived  for  fashion,  as  he  for  power. 

Yet  oft,  in  his  marble  hearth's  bright  glow. 
He  watched  a  picture  come  and  go; 

And  sweet  Maud  Muller's  hazel  eyes 
Looked  out  in  their  innocent  surprise. 

Oi't,  when  the  wine  in  his  glass  was  red, 
lie  longed  for  the  wayside  well  instead, 

And  closed  his  eyes  on  his  garnished  rooms. 
To  di'eam  of  meadows  and  clover  blooms ; 

And  the  proud  man  sighed  with  a  secret  pain, 
"  Ah,  that  I  were  free  again ! 

"  Free  as  when  I  rode  that  day 

"Where  the  barefoot  maiden  raked  the  hay." 

She  wedded  a  man  unlearned  and  poor, 
And  many  children  played  round  her  door. 

But  care  and  sorrow,  and  child-birth  pain, 
Left  their  traces  on  heart  and  brain. 

And  oft,  when  the  summer  sun  shone  hot 
On  the  new-mown  hay  in  the  meadow  lot. 

And  she  heai'd  the  little  spring  brook  fall 
Over  the  roadside,  through  the  wall. 

In  the  shade  of  the  a])ple-tree  again 
She  saw  a  rider  draw  his  rein, 

And,  gazing  down  with  a  timid  grace. 
She  felt  his  pleased  eyes  read  her  face. 

Sometimes  her  narrow  kitchen  walls 
Stretched  away  into  stately  halls; 

The  weary  wheel  to  a  spinnet  turned, 
The  tallow  candle  an  astral  burned; 

And  for  him  who  sat  by  the  chimney  lug, 
Dozing  and  grumbling  o'er  pipe  and  mug. 


A  manly  form  at  her  side  she  saw, 
And  joy  was  duty  and  love  was  law. 

Then  she  took  up  her  burden  of  life  again, 
Saiydng  only,  "It  might  have  been." 

Alas  for  maiden,  alas  for  Judge, 

For  rich  repiner  and  household  drudge ! 

God  pity  them  both !  and  pity  us  all. 
Who  vainly  the  dreams  of  youth  recall ; 

For  of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen. 

The  ?addest  are  these:  "  It  might  have  been!  * 

Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes ; 

And,  in  the  hereafter,  angels  may 
Eoll  the  stonp  from  its  grave  away ! 

JiHN  GrKEENLEAF  WniTTIER. 


AULD  EOBIN"  GKAY. 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  ami  the  kye 

at  hame, 
And  a'  the  warld  to  sleep  are  gane; 
The  wacs  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my 

ee. 
When  my  gudeman  lies  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  loo'd  me  weel,  and  socht  me  for 
his  bride ; 

But,  saving  a  croun,  he  had  naething  else  be- 
side. 

To  mak  that  croun  a  pund,  young  Jamie  gaed 
to  sea ; 

And  the  croun  and  the  pund  were  baith  for 
me! 

He  hadna  been  awa  a  week  but  only  twa. 
When  my  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  the  cow 

was  etown  awa ; 
My  father  brak  his  arm,  and  young  Jamie  at 

the  sea— 
And  auld  Kobin  Gray  cam'  a-courtin'  me. 


BERTHA    IX    THE    LxiNE. 


307 


My  fatlier  cou'dna  work,  and   my  mother 

cou'dna  spin ; 
I  toiled  day  and  niclit,  but  tlicir  bread  I 

cou'dna  win ; 
Auld  Kob  maintained  them  baith,  and,  wi' 

tears  in  his  ee, 
Said,  "  Jenny,  for  their  sakes,  oh  marry  me !  " 

My  heart  it  said  nay,  for  I  looked  for  Jamie 

back; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it 

was  a  wrack ; 
The  ship  it  was  a  wrack !     Why  didna  Jamie 

dee? 
Or,  why  do  I  live  to  say,  Wae  's  me  ? 

My  father   argued  sair — my  mother  didna 

speak, 
But  she  lookit  in  my  face  till  my  heart  was 

like  to  break ; 
Sae  they  gied  him  my  hand,  though  my  heart 

was  in  the  sea ; 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  was  gudeaian  to  me. 


I  hadna  been  a  wife,  a  week  but  only  four. 
When,  sitting  sae  mournfully  at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  for  I  cou'dna  think 

it  he, 
Till  he  said,  "  I  'm  come  back  for  to  marry 

thee!" 


Oh  sair,  sau*  did  wo  greet,  and  muckle  did 

we  say ; 
We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  wo  tore  ourselves 

away: 
I  wish  I  were  dead,  but  I  'm  no  like  to  dee ; 
And  why  do  I  live  to  say,  Wae  's  me  ? 


1  gaug  hke  a  ghaist,  and  I  carcna  to  spin  ; 
I  daurna  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  wad  be  a 

sin; 
But  I  '11  do  my  best  a  gudc  wife  to  be. 
For  auld  Robin  Gray  is  kind  unto  me. 

Lady  Anne  Baenaed. 


BERTHA  IN"  THE  LANE. 

Put  the  broidery-frame  away, 

For  my  sewing  is  all  done! 
The  last  thread  is  used  to-day. 

And  I  need  not  join  it  on. 

Though  the  clock  stands  at  the  noon, 

I  am  weary !     I  have  sewn, 

Sweet,  for  thee,  a  wedding-gown. 

Sister,  help  me  to  the  bed, 

And  stand  near  me,  deai'est-sweet! 

Do  not  shrink  nor  be  afraid, 
Blushing  with  a  sudden  heat! 
No  one  standcth  in  the  street ! — 
By  God's  love  I  go  to  meet, 
Love  I  thee  with  love  complete. 

Lean  thy  face  down  !  drop  it  in 
These  two  hands,  that  I  may  hold 

'Twixt  their  palms  thy  cheek  and  chin, 
Stroking  back  the  cui'ls  of  gold. 
'T  is  a  fair,  lair  face,  in  sooth — 
Larger  eyes  and  redder  mouth 
Than  mine  were  in  my  first  youth ! 

Thou  art  younger  by  seven  years — 
Ah! — so  bashful  at  my  gaze 

That  the  lashes,  hung  with  tears, 
Grow  too  heavy  to  upraise  ? 
I  would  wound  thee  by  no  touch 
"Which  thy  shyness  feels  as  such — 
Dost  thou  mind  me,  dear,  so  much  ? 

Have  I  not  been  nigh  a  mother 
To  thy  sweetness — tell  me,  dear  ? 

Have  we  not  loved  one  another 
Tenderly,  from  year  to  year? 
Since  our  dying  mother  mild 
Said,  with  accents  undefiled, 
"  Child,  be  mother  to  this  child !  " 

Mother,  mother,  up  in  heaven. 
Stand  up  on  the  jasper  sea, 

And  be  witness  I  have  given 
All  the  gifts  requu-ed  of  me  ; — 
Hope  that  blessed  me,  bliss  that  crowned, 
Love  that  left  me  with  a  wound, 
Life  itself,  that  turned  around  ! 


SOS 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Mother,  mother,  thou  art  kind, 
Thou  art  standing  in  the  room, — 

In  a  molten  glory  shrined. 
That  rays  oiT  into  the  gloom ! 
But  thy  smile  is  bright  and  bleak, 
Like  cold  waves — I  cannot  speak ; 
I  sob  in  it,  and  gro^v  weak. 

Ghostly  mother,  keep  aloof 

One  hour  longer  from  my  soul — 

For  I  still  am  thinking  of 
Earth's  warm-beating  joy  and  dole ! 
On  my  finger  is  a  ring 
"Wliicli  I  still  see  glittering, 
When  the  night  hides  every  thing. 

Little  sister,  thou  art  pale ! 

Ah,  I  have  a  wandering  brain — 
But  I  lose  that  fever-bale, 

And  my.  thoughts  grow  calm  again. 

Lean  down  closer — closer  still ! 

I  have  words  thine  ear  to  fill, — 

And  would  kiss  thee  at  my  will. 

Dear,  I  heard  thee  in  the  spring, 

Thee  and  Eobert — through  the  trees, — 

When  we  all  went  gathering 
Boughs  of  May-bloom  for  the  bees. 
Do  not  start  so!  think  instead 
How  the  sunshine  overhead 
Seemed  to  trickle  through  the  shade. 

What  a  day  it  was,  that  day ! 

Hills  and  vales  did  openly 
Seem  to  heave  and  throb  away, 

At  the  sight  of  the  great  sky ; 

And  the  silence,  as  it  stood 

In  the  glory's  golden  flood. 

Audibly  did  bud — and  bud ! 

Through  the  winding  hedgerows  green, 
How  we  wandered,  I  and  you, — 

With  the  bowery  tops  shut  in. 
And  the  gates  that  showed  the  view — 
How  we  talked  there !  thrushes  soft 
Sang  our  pauses  out, — or  oft 
Bleatings  took  them,  from  the  croft. 

Till  the  pleasure,  grown  too  strong. 

Left  me  muter  evermore ; 
And,  the  winding  road  being  long, 

I  walked  out  of  sight,  before ; 


And  so,  wrapt  in  musings  fond. 
Issued  (past  the  wayside  pond) 
On  the  meadow-lands  beyond. 

I  sat  down  beceath  the  beech 
Which  leans  over  to  the  lane. 

And  the  far  sound  of  your  speech 
Did  not  promise  any  pain ; 
And  I  blessed  you,  full  and  free, 
With  a  smile  stooped  tenderly 
O'er  the  May-flowers  on  my  knee. 

But  the  sound  grew  into  word 
As  the  speakers  drew  more  near — 

Sweet,  forgive  me  that  I  heard 
What  you  wished  me  not  to  hear. 
Do  not  weep  so — do  not  shake — 
Oh, — I  heard  thee,  Bertha,  make 
Good  true  answers  for  my  sake. 

Yes,  and  he  too !  let  him  stand 

In  thy  thoughts,  untouched  by  blamo. 

Could  he  help  it,  if  my  hand 
He  had  claimed  with  hasty  claim ! 
That  was  wrong  perhaps — but  then 
Such  things  be — and  will,  again ! 
Women  cannot  judge  for  men. 

Had  he  seen  thee,  when  he  swore 
He  would  love  but  me  alone  ? 

Thou  wert  absent — sent  before 
To  our  kin  in  Sidmouth  town. 
When  he  saw  thee,  who  art  best 
Past  compare,  and  loveliest, 
He  but  judged  thee  as  the  rest. 

Could  we  blame  him  with  grave  words. 
Thou  and  I,  dear,  if  we  might  ? 

Thy  brown  eyes  have  looks  like  birds 
Flying  straightway  to  the  light ; 
Mine  ai-e  older. — Hush! — look  out — 
Up  the  street !     Is  none  without  ? 
How  the  poplar  swings  about ! 

And  that  hour — beneath  the  beech — 
When  I  listened  in  a  dream. 

And  he  said,  in  his  deep  speech. 
That  he  owed  me  all  esteem — 
Each  word  swam  in  on  my  brain 
With  a  dim,  dilating  pain. 
Till  it  burst  with  that  last  strain — 


BERTHA    IN    THE    LANE. 


309 


T  fell  flooded  with  a  dark, 
In  the  silence  of  a  swoon — 

When  I  rose,  still,  cold  and  stark, 
There  was  night — I  saw  the  moon ; 
And  the  stars,  each  in  its  place, 
And  the  May-hlooms  on  the  grass. 
Seemed  to  wonder  what  I  was. 

And  I  walked  as  if  apart 

From  myself  when  I  could  stand — 

And  I  pitied  my  own  heart, 
As  if  I  held  it  in  my  hand — 
Somewhat  coldly — with  a  sense 
Of  fulfilled  benevolence. 
And  a  "  Poor  thing  "  negligence. 

And  I  answered  coldly  too, 
"When  you  met  me  at  the  door ; 

And  I  only  heard  the  dew 
Dripping  from  me  to  the  floor ; 
And  the  flowers  I  bade  you  see, 
"Were  too  withered  for  the  bee — 
As  my  life,  henceforth,  for  me. 

Do  not  weep  so — dear — heart- warm ! 
It  was  best  as  it  befell ! 

If  I  say  he  did  me  harm, 

I  speak  wild — I  am  not  well. 
All  his  words  were  kind  and  good- 
He  esteemed  me !     Only  blood 
Runs  so  faint  in  womanhood. 

Then  I  always  was  too  grave — 
Liked  the  saddest  ballads  sung — 

With  that  look,  besides,  we  have 
In  our  faces,  who  die  young. 
I  had  died,  dear,  all  the  same — 
Life's  long,  joyous,  jostling  game 
Is  too  loud  for  my  meek  shame. 

We  are  so  unlike  each  other, 
Thou  and  I ;  that  none  could  guess 

We  were  children  of  one  mother, 
But  for  mutual  tenderness. 
Thou  art  rose-lined  from  the  cold, 
And  meant,  verily,  to  hold 
Life's  pure  pleasures  manifold. 

I  am  pale  as  crocus  grows 
Close  beside  a  rose-tree's  root ! 

Whosoe'er  would  reach  the  rose. 
Treads  the  crocus  underfoot — 


I,  like  May-bloom  on  thorn  tree- 
Thou,  like  merry  summer-bee ! 
Fit,  that  I  be  plucked  for  thee. 

Yet  who  plucks  me  ? — no  one  mourns — 
I  have  lived  my  season  out — 

And  now  die  of  my  own  thorns, 
Which  I  could  not  live  without. 
Sweet,  be  merry !     How  the  light 
Comes  and  goes !     If  it  be  night, 
Keep  the  candles  in  my  sight. 

Are  there  footsteps  at  the  door  ? 
Look  out  quickly.     Yea,  or  nay  ? 

Some  one  might  be  waiting  for 
Some  last  word  that  I  might  say. 
Nay  ?     So  best ! — So  angels  would 
Stand  ofl:'  clear  from  deathly  road — 
Not  to  cross  the  sight  of  God. 

Colder  grow  my  hands  and  feet — 
When  I  wear  the  shroud  I  made, 

Let  the  folds  lie  straight  and  neat, 
And  the  rosemary  be  spread — 
That  if  any  friend  should  come, 
(To  see  thee,  sweet!)  all  the  room 
May  be  lifted  out  of  gloom. 

And,  dear  Bertha,  let  me  keep 
On  my  hand  this  little  ring, 

Which  at  nights,  Avhen  others  sleep, 
I  can  still  see  glittering. 
Let  me  wear  it  out  of  sight, 
In  the  grave — where  it  will  light 
All  the  dark  up,  day  and  night. 

On  that  grave,  drop  not  a  tear ! 

Else,  though  fathom-deep  the  place. 
Through  the  Avoollen  shroud  I  wear 

I  sliall  feel  it  on  my  face. 

Rather  smile  there,  blessed  one, 

Thinking  of  me  in  the  sun — 


Or  forget  me- 


-smiling  on ! 


Art  thou  near  me  ?  nearer  ?  so ! 
Kiss  me  close  upon  the  eyes, 

That  the  earthly  light  may  go 
Sweetly  as  it  used  to  rise — 
When  I  watched  the  morning  gray 
Strike,  betwixt  the  liills,  the  way 
He  was  sure  to  come  that  day. 


310                                                      POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

So — no  more  vain  words  be  said ! 

The  hosannas  nearer  roll — 

THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN. 

Mother  smile  now  on  thy  dead — 

Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away ! 

I  am  death-strong  in  my  soul ! 

Down  and  away  below. 

Mystic  Dove  alit  on  cross, 

Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay ; 

Guide  the  poor  bird  of  the  snows 

Now  the  great  winds  shorewards  blow; 

Througli  the  snow-wind  above  loss ! 

Now  tlie  salt  tides  seaward  flow  ; 

Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 

Jesus,  victim,  comprehending 

Champ  and  cliaff"  and  toss  in  the  spray. 

Love's  divine  self-abnegation — 

Ciiildren  dear,  let  ns  away ; 

Cleanse  my  love  in  its  self-spending. 

This  way,  this  way. 

And  absorb  the  poor  libation  ! 

Wind  my  thread  of  life  up  higher. 

Call  her  once  before  you  go. 

Up  through  angels'  hands  of  fire ! — 

Call  once  yet. 

I  aspire  while  I  expire ! — 

In  a  voice  that  she  will  know  : 

Elizabetd  Bakrett  Beownijig. 

"  Margaret !  Margaret !  " 

Children's  voices  should  be  dear 

(Call  once  more)  to  a  mother's  ear; 
Children's  voices  wild  with  pain. 

THEN. 

Surely,  slie  Avill  come  again. 

Call  her  once,  and  come  away ; 

JL  GIVE  thee  treasures  hour  by  hour. 

This  way,  this  way. 

That  old-time  princes  asked  in  vain. 

"Mother  dear,  we  cannot  stay," 

And  pined  for  in  their  useless  power, 

Tlie  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret, 

Or  died  of  passion's  eager  pain. 

Margaret !  Margaret ! 

Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down. 

I  give  thee  love  as  God  gives  ligiit, 

7                                                                  J                                                 */ 

Call  no  more. 

Aside  from  merit,  or  from  prayer. 

One  last  look  at  the  white-walled  town, 

Rejoicing  in  its  own  delight, 

7 

And  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  shore, 

And  freer  than  the  lavish  air. 

O        i/                                                                  */                     J 

Then  come  down. 

I  give  thee  prayers,  hke  jewels  strung 
On  golden  threads  of  hope  and  fear ; 

She  will  not  come,  though  you  call  all  day. 
Come  away,  come  away. 

And  tenderer  thoughts  than  ever  hung 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 

In  a  sad  angel's  pitying  tear. 

We  heard  the  sweet  bells  over  the  bay  ? 

In  the  caverns  where  we  lay. 

As  earth  pours  freely  to  the  sea 

Through  the  surf  and  through  the  swell, 

Her  thousand  streams  of  wealth  tmtold, 

The  far-ofi:"  sound  of  a  silver  bell  ? 

So  flows  my  silent  life  to  thee. 

Sand-strewn  caverns  cool  and  deep, 

Glad  that  its  very  sands  are  gold. 

Where  the  winds  arc  all  asleep  ; 

Where  the  spent  lights  quiver  and  gleam ; 

What  care  I  for  thy  carelessness  ? 

Where  the  salt  weed  sways  in  the  stream ; 

I  give  from  depths  that  overflow. 

Where  the  sea-beasts  ranged  all  around 

Regardless  that  their  power  to  bless 

Feed  in  the  ooze  of  their  pasture  ground ; 

Thy  spirit  cannot  sound  or  know. 

Where  the  sea-snakes  coil  and  twine. 

Dry  their  mail,  and  bask  in  the  brine ; 

Far  lingering  on  a  distant  dawn 

Where  great  whales  come  sailing  by. 

My  triumph  shines,  more  sweet  than  late ; 

Sail  and  sail,  with  imshut  eye. 

When  from  these  mortal  mists  withdrawn. 

Round  the  world  forever  and  aye? 

Thy  heart  shall  know  me — I  can  wait. 

When  did  music  come  this  way  ? 

KosK  Tekrt. 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ? 

THE    FORSAKEN"    MERMAN, 


311 


Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 
(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away  ? 
Once  she  sat  with  you  and  me, 

On  a  red  gold  throne  in  the  heai't  of  tlie 

sea, 
And  the  youngest  sat  on  her  knee. 
She  combed  its  bright  hair  and  she  tended  it 

well, 
"When  down  swung  the  sound  of  the  far-off 

hell ; 
She  sighed,  she  looked  up  through  the  clear 

green  sea ; 
She  said,  "  I  must  go,  for  my  kinsfolk  pray 
In  the  little  gray  church  on  the  shore  to-day. 
'T  will  be  Easter-time  in  the  world — ah  me  ! 
And  I  lose  my  poor  soul,  merman,  here  with 

thee." 
I  said,  "  Go  up,  dear  heart,  through  the  waves ; 
Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the  kind 

sea-caves." 
She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the  surf  in 

the  bay ; 
Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ? 

Children  dear,  were  we  long  alone? 
"  The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones  moan ; 
Long  prayers,"  I  said,  "  in  the  world  they  say. 
Come,"  I  said,  and  we  rose  through  the  surf 

in  the  bay. 
"We  went  up  the  beach  in  the  sandy  down 
"Where  the  sea-stocks  bloom,  to  the  white- 
walled  town, 
Tlirough  the  narrow-paved  streets,  where  all 

was  still. 
To  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  hill. 
From  the  church  came  a  murmur  of  folk  at 

their  prayers. 
But  we  stood  without  in  the  cold  blowing  airs. 
"We  climbed  on  the  graves,  on  the  stones  worn 

with  rains. 
And  we  gazed  up  the  aisle  through  the  small 
leaded  panes. 
She  sat  by  the  pillar ;  we  saw  her  clear ; 
"  Margaret,  hist !  come  quick,  we  are  here. 
Dear  heart,"  I  said,  "  we  are  here  alone. 
The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones 
moan." 
But  ah,  she  gave  me  never  a  look, 
?ov  her  eyes  were  sealed  to  the  holy  book. 
"  Loud  prays  the  priest ;  shut  stands  the 
door." 


Come  away,  children,  call  no  more, 
Come  away,  conm  down,  call  no  more. 

Down,  down,  down, 

Down  to  the  depths  of  the  sea ; 
She  sits  at  her  wheel  in  the  humming  town 

Singing  most  joyfully. 
Hark  what  she  sings :  "  Oh  joy,  oh  joy, 
For  the  humming  street,  and  the  child  with 

its  toy. 
For  the  priest  and  the  bell,  and  the  holy 
well. 

For  the  wheel  where  I  spun. 

And  the  blessed  light  of  the  sun." 

And  so  she  sings  her  fill. 

Singing  most  joyfully, 

TiU  the  shuttle  falls  from  her  hand. 

And  the  whizzing  wheel  stands  stiU. 
She  steals  to  the  window  and  looks  at  the 
sand ; 

And  over  the  sand  at  the  sea ; 

And  her  eyes  are  set  in  a  stare ; 

And  anon  there  breaks  a  sigh, 

And  anon  there  drops  a  tear. 

From  a  sorrow-clouded  eye. 

And  a  heart  sorrow-laden, 
A  long,  long  sigh. 
For  the  cold  strange  eyes  of  a  httle  mermaiden, 
And  the  gleam  of  her  golden  hair. 

Come  away,  away,  children. 
Come,  children,  come  down. 
The  hoarse  wind  blows  colder  ; 
Lights  shine  in  the  town. 
She  will  start  from  her  slumber 
"When  gusts  shake  the  door ; 
She  will  hear  the  winds  howling, 
"Will  hear  the  waves  roar ; 
"We  shall  see,  while  ab-ove  us 
The  waves  roar  and  whirl, 
A  ceiling  of  amber, 
A  pavement  of  pearl. 
Singing,  "  Here  came  a  mortal, 
But  faithless  was  she. 
And  alone  dwell  forever 
The  kings  of  the  sea." 

But  children,  at  midnight, 
"When  soft  the  winds  blow, 
"When  clear  falls  the  moonlight, 
"When  spring-tides  are  low, 


512 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Wlieu  sweet  airs  come  seaward 
From  licaths  starred  with  broom, 
And  higli  rocks  throw  miklly 
On  the  bhinched  sands  a  gloom ; 
Up  the  still,  glistening  beaches, 
Up  the  creeks  we  Avill  hie ; 
Over  bauks  of  bright  seaweed 
The  ebb-tide  leaves  dry. 
We  will  gaze  from  the  sand-hills, 
At  tlic  white  sleeping  town  ; 
At  the  church  on  the  hill-side — 
And  then  come  back,  down. 
Singing,  "  There  dwells  a  loved  one, 
But  cruel  is  she ; 
She  left  lonely  forever 


The  kings  of  the  sea." 


Matthew  Abnold. 


EXCUSE. 

I  TOO  have  suifered.     Yet  I  know 
She  is  not  cold,  though  she  seems  so; 
She  is  not  cold,  she  is  not  light ; 
But  our  ignoble  souls  lack  might. 

She  smiles  and  smiles,  and  will  not  sigh, 
TThile  we  for  hopeless  passion  die; 
Yet  she  could  love,  those  eyes  declare, 
Were  but  men  nobler  than  they  are. 

Eagerly  once  her  gracious  ken 
Was  turned  upon  the  sons  of  men ; 
But  light  the  serious  visage  grew — 
She  looked,  and  smiled,  and  saw  them  through. 

Our  petty  souls,  our  strutting  wits, 
Our  labored  puny  passion-fits — 
Ah,  may  she  scorn  them  still,  till  we 
Scorn  them  as  bitterly  as  slie ! 

Yet  oh,  that  Fate  would  let  her  see 
One  of  some  worthier  race  than  we — 
One  for  whose  sake  she  once  might  prove 
How  deeply  she  who  scorns  can  love. 

[lis  eyes  be  like  the  starry  lights — 
His  voice  like  sounds  of  summer  nights — 
In  all  his  lovely  mien  let  pierce 
The  magic  of  the  universe  ! 

And  she  to  him  will  reach  her  hand, 
And  gazing  in  his  eyes  will  stand. 
And  know  hc-r  friend,  and  weep  for  glee. 
And  cry — ^Long,  long  I  've  looked  for  thee ! 


Then  will  she  weep — with  smiles,  till  then 
Coldly  she  mocks  the  sons  of  men. 
Till  then  her  lovely  eyes  maintain 
Their  gay,  unwavering,  deep  disdain. 

Matthew  Akkolu. 


INDIFFEKENCE. 

I  MUST  not  say  that  thou  wert  true, 
Yet  let  me  say  that  thou  wert  fair ; 
And  they  that  lovely  face  who  view, 
They  will  not  ask  if  truth  be  there. 

Truth — what  is  truth  ?  Two  bleeding  hearta 
Wounded  by  men,  by  fortune  tried, 
Outwearied  with  their  lonely  parts. 
Vow  to  beat  henceforth  side  by  side. 

The  world  to  them  was  stern  and  drear ; 
Their  lot  was  but  to  weep  and  moan. 
Ah,  let  them  keep  their  faith  sincere, 
For  neither  could  subsist  alone ! 

But  souls  whom  some  benignant  breath 
Has  charmed  at  birth  from  gloom  and  care, 
These  ask  no  love — these  plight  no  faith, 
For  they  are  happy  as  they  are. 

The  world  to  them  may  homage  make, 
And  garlands  for  their  forehead  weave ; 
And  what  the  world  can  give,  they  take — 
But  they  bring  more  than  they  receive. 

They  smile  upon  the  world ;  their  ears 
To  one  demand  alone  are  coy. 
They  will  not  give  us  love  and  tears — 
They  bring  us  light,  and  warmth,  and  joy. 

It  was  not  love  that  heaved  thy  breast. 
Fair  child !  it  was  the  bliss  within. 
Adieu  !  and  say  that  one,  at  least, 
Was  just  to  what  he  did  not  win. 

Matthew  Abnoldu 


SONG. 


My  silks  and  fine  array, 

My  smiles  and  languished  air, 

By  love  are  driven  away, 
And  mournful  lean  despair 

Brings  me  yew  to  deck  my  grave ; 

Such  end  true  lovers  have. 


ALLAN    PERCY. 


5ia 


His  face  is  fair  as  heaven' 

"When  springing  buds  unfold ; 

Oh,  why  to  liim  was 't  given, 
"Whose  heart  is  wintry  cold  ? 

His  breast  is  love's  all-worshipped  tomb 

Where  all  love's  pilgrims  come. 

Bring  me  an  axe  and  spade, 

Bring  me  a  ■winding-sheet ; 
When  I  my  grave  have  made, 

Let  winds  and  tempests  beat ! 
Then  down  I  'U  lie,  as  cold  as  clay, 
True  love  doth  pass  away ! 

"William  Blake. 


ALLAN  PERCY. 

It  was  a  beauteous  lady  richly  dressed ; 

Around  her  neck  are  chains  of  jewels  rare ; 
A  velvet  mantle  shrouds  her  snowy  breast, 
And  a  young  child  is  softly  slumbering 
there. 
In  her  own  arms,  beneath  that  glowing  sun. 
She  bears  him  onward  to  the  greenwood 
tree; 
Is  the  dun  heath,  thou  fair  and  thoughtless 
one, 
The  place  where  an  earl's  son  should  cra- 
dled be  ? 

Lullaby! 

Though  a  proud  earl  be  father  to  my  cliild, 

Yet  on  the  sward  my  blessed  babe  shall  lie  ; 
Let  the  winds  lull  him  Avith  their  murmurs 
wild. 
And  toss  the  green  boughs  upward  to  the 
sky. 
Well  knows  that  earl  how  long  my  spirit 
pined. 
I  loved  a  forester,  glad,  bold,  and  free ; 
And  had  I  wedded  as  my  heart  inclined, 
My  child  were  cradled  'neath  the  green- 
wood tree. 

Lullaby. 

Slumber  thou  still,  my  innocent — mine  ov,-n. 
While  I  call  back  the  dreams  of  other  days. 
In  tlie  deep  forest  I  feel  less  alone 
Than  when  those  palace  splendors  mock 
my  gaze. 

44 


Fear  not !  my  arm  shall  bear  thee  safely  back 
I  need  no  squire,  no  page  with  bended  knee. 

To  bear  my  baby  through  the  wildwood  tracl^ 
Where  AUan  Percy  used  to  roam  with  me 
Lullaby ! 

Here  I  can  sit ;  and  while  the  fresh  wind  blows, 

Waving  the  ringlets  of  thy  shining  hair. 
Giving  thy  cheek  a  deeper  tinge  of  rose, 
I  can  dream  dreams  that  comfort  my  de- 
spair ; 
I  can  make  visions  of  a  different  home, 

Such  as  we  hoped  in  other  days  might  be; 
There  no  proud  earl's  unwelcome  footsteps 
come — 
There,  Allan  Percy,  I  am  safe  with  thee ! 
Lullaby! 

Thou  art  mine  own — I  '11  bear  thee  where  I 
list. 
Far  from  the  dull,  prcud  tov.'er  and  donjon 
keep ; 
From  my  long  hair  the  pearl  chains  I  'U  un- 
twist, 
And  with  a  peasant's  heart  sit  down  and 
weep. 
Thy  glittering  broidered  robe,  my  precious 
one. 
Changed  for  a  simpler  covering  shall  be; 
And  I  will  dream  thee  Allan  Percy's  son. 
And  think  poor  Allan  guards  thy  sleep 
with  me. 

Lullaby! 

Caroline  Noktox. 


CHANGES. 

WnoM  first  we  love,  you  know,  we -seldom 

wed. 
Time  rules  us  all.     And  life,  indeed,  is  not 
The  thing  we  planned  it  out  ere  hope  was 

dead. 
And  then,  we  women  cannot  choose  our  lot. 

Much  must  be  borne  which  it  is  hard  to  bear ; 
Much   given  away  which  it  were  sweet  to 

keep. 
God  help  us  all !  who  need,  indeed,  His  cai*e. 
And  yet,  I  know  the   Slicpherd  loves  His 

sheep. 


314                                                       POEMS    OF    LOVE. 

My  little  boy  begins  to  babble  now 

Thou  wast  lovelier  than  the  roses 

Upon  my  knee  bis  earliest  infant  prayer. 

In  their  prime ; 

lie  lias  his  lathers  eager  eyes,  I  know ; 

Thy  voice  excelled  the  closes 

And,  they  say,  too,  his  mother's  sunny  hair. 

Of  sweetest  rhyme ; 

Thy  heart  was  as  a  river 

But  when  he  sleeps  and  smiles  npon  my  knee. 

Without  a  main. 

And  I  can  feel  his  light  breath  come  and  go. 

Would  I  had  loved  thee  never, 

I  tliink  of  one  (Heaven  help  and  pity  me !) 

Florence  Vane ! 

AVho  loved  me,  and  whom  I  loved,  long  ago  ; 

But,  fairest,  coldest  wonder  I 

Who  might  have  been  .  .  .  ah,  Avhat  I  dare 

Thy  glorious  clay 

not  think ! 

Lietli  the  green  sod  under — 

"We  are  all  changed.     God  judges  for  us  best. 

Alas,  the  day ! 

God  help  us  do  our  duty,  and  not  shrink, 

And  it  boots  not  to  remember 

And  trust  in  Heaven  humbly  for  the  rest. 

Thy  disdain. 

To  quicken  love's  pale  ember, 

But  blame  us  women  not,  if  some  appear 

Florence  Vane. 

Too  cold  at  times ;  and  some  too  gay  and  light. 

Some  griefs  gnaw  deep.     Some  woes  are  hard 

The  lilies  of  the  valley 

to  bear. 

By  young  graves  weep ; 

Who  knows  the  past  ?  and  who  can  judge  us 

The  daisies  love  to  dally 

right? 

Where  maidens  sleep. 

May  their  bloom,  in  beauty  vying, 

Ah,  were  we  judged  by  what  we  miglit  have 

Never  wane 

been. 

Whdre  thine  earthly  part  is  lying. 

And  not  by  what  we  are — too  apt  to  fall ! 

Florence  Vane  1 

My  little  child — he  sleeps  and  smiles  between 

Philip  Pendleton  Cooki. 

These  thoughts  and  me.     In  heaven  we  shall 

know  all ! 

EOBEKT  BULWEB   LyTTON. 

. 

• 

MINSTEEL'S  SONG. 

On,  sing  unto  my  roundelay ! 

FLOEEXCE  VANE. 

Oh,  di'op  the  briny  tear  with  me  I 

I  LOVED  thee  long  and  dearly, 
Florence  Vane ; 

Dance  no  more  at  holiday ; 

Like  a  running  river  be. 

My  life's  bright  dream  and  early 

My  love  is  dead, 

Hath  come  again ; 

Oone  to  his  death  led, 

i  renew,  in  my  fond  vision. 

All  under  the  willow  tree. 

My  heart's  dear  pain — 

My  hopes,  and  thy  derision. 

Florence  Vane. 

Black  his  hair  as  the  winter  night, 

White  his  neck  as  the  summer  snow, 

The  ruin,  lone  and  hoary. 

Kuddy  his  face  as  the  morning  light ; 

The  ruin  old. 

Cold  he  lies  in  the  grave  below. 

"Where  thou  didst  hark  my  story. 

My  love  is  dead, 

At  even  told — 

Gone' to  his  death  T)cd, 

That  spot— the  hues  Elysian 

All  under  the  willoio  tree. 

Of  sky  and  plain — 

I  treasure  in  my  vision, 

Sweet  his  tongue  as  the  throstle's  note ; 

Florence  Vane. 

Quick  in  dance  as  thought  can  be ; 

ANNABEL     LEE. 


ns 


Deft  his  tabor,  cudgel  stout ; 
Oh,  he  hes  by  the  willow-tree  ! 
My  love  is  dead^ 
Gone  to  his  death  ied^ 
All  under  the  willow  tree. 

Hark !  the  raven  flaps  his  wing 

In  the  briered  dell  below ; 
Hai'k!  the  death-owl  loud  doth  sing 
To  the  nightmares  as  they  go. 
My  love  is  dead^ 
Gone  to  his  death  Ited^ 
All  under  the  willow  tree. 

See !  the  white  moon  shines  on  high  ; 

"Whiter  is  my  true-love's  shroud, 
"Whiter  than  the  morning  sky, 
"Whiter  than  the  evening  cloud. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death  hed, 
All  under  the  willow  tree 

Here,  upon  my  true-love's  grave 

Shall  the  barren  flowers  be  laid, 
Nor  one  holy  saint  to  save 
All  the  coldness  of  a  maid. 
My  love  is  dead. 
Gone  to  Ms  death  hed, 
All  under  the  willoio  tree. 

"With  my  hands  I'll  bind  the  briers 

Round  his  holy  corse  to  gre ; 
Ouphant  fairy,  light  your  fires; 
Here  my  body  still  shall  be. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death  ied, 
All  under  the  willow  tree. 

Come,  with  acorn-cup  and  thorn, 
Drain  my  heart's  blood  away  ; 
Life  and  all  its  good  I  scorn, 
Dance  by  night,  or  feast  by  day. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death  led, 
All  under  the  willow  tree. 

Water-witches,  crowned  with  reytes. 

Bear  me  to  your  lethal  tide. 
I  die !  I  come !  my  true  love  waits. 

Thus  the  damsel  spake,  and  died. 

TuoMAS  Chatterton. 


ANNABEL  LEE. 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea. 
That  a  maiden  lived,  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no   other 
thought 

Than  to  love,  and  be  loved  by  me. 

I  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child. 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than 
love, 
I  and  my  Annabel  Lee — 
"With   a  love   that  the  winged  seraphs  of 
heaven 
Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chUling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsmen  came, 

And  bore  her  away  from  me. 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  so  happy  in  heaven, 

"Went  envying  her  and  me. 
Yes  !  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know) 

In  tliis  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by 
night, 

Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the 
love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we. 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we ; 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven,  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 

For  the  moon  never  beams  without  bringing 
me  dreams 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee, 
And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I  feel  the  bright 
eyes 
Of  tlie  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 


316 


POEMS     OF     LOVE. 


iViid  so,  all  tlie  night-tide  I  lie  down  by  the 

side 
Of  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  life,  and  my 

bride, 

In  her  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea, 

lu  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea, 

Edgak  Allan  Pob. 


EYELYI^  HOPE. 

Beautiful  Evelyn  Hope  is  dead ! 

Sit  and  watch  by  her  side  an  hour. 
That  is  her  book-shelf,  this  her  bed; 

She  plucked  that  piece  of  geranium-flower. 
Beginning  to  die,  too,  in  the  glass. 

Little  has  yet  been  changed,  I  think ; 
The  shutters  are  shut — no  light  may  pass. 

Save  two  long  rays  thro'  the  hinge's  chink. 

Sixteen  years  old  when  she  died ! 

Perhaps  she  had  scarcely  heard  my  name — 
It  was  not  her  time  to  love ;  beside. 

Her  life  had  many  a  hope  and  aim. 
Duties  enough  and  little  cares ; 

And  now  was  quiet,  now  astii* — 
Till  God's  hand  beckoned  unawares. 

And  the  sweet  white  brow  is  all  of  her. 

Is  it  too  late,  then,  Evelyn  Hope? 

"What !  your  soul  was  pure  and  true ; 
The  good  stars  met  in  your  horoscope. 

Made  you  of  spirit,  fire  and  dew ; 
And  just  because  I  was  thrice  as  old, 

zVnd  our  paths  in  the  world  diverged  so 
wide. 
Each  was  naught  to  each,  must  I  be  told? 

We  were  fellow -mortals — naught  beside  ? 

ISTo,  indeed !  for  God  above 

Is  great  to  grant,  as  mighty  to  make, 
And  creates  the  love  to  reward  the  love; 

I  claim  yon  still,  for  my  own  love's  sake  ! 
Delayed,  it  may  be,  for  more  lives  yet. 

Through  worlds  I  shall  traverse,  not  a  few ; 
Much  is  to  learn  and  much  to  forget 

Ere  the  time  be  come  for  taking  you. 

But  the  time  will  come — at  last  it  will — 
"When,  Evelyn  Hope,  what  meant,  I  shall 

say, 
In  the  lower  earth — in  the  years  long  still — 
That  body  and  soul  so  gay  ? 


Why  your  hair  was  amber  I  shall  divine, 
And  your  mouth  of  your  own  geranium's 
red — 

And  what  you  would  do  with  me,  in  fine, 
In  the  new  life  come  in  the  old  one's  stead. 

I  have  lived,  I  shall  say,  so  much  since  then, 

Given  up  myself  so  many  times. 
Gained  me  the  gains  of  various  men. 

Ransacked  the  ages,  spoiled  the  climes; 
Yet  one  thing — one — in  my  soul's  full  scope, 

Either  I  missed  or  itself  missed  me — 
And  I  want  and  find  you,  Evelyn  Hope ! 

"Wliat  is  the  issue?  let  us  see  !  * 

I  loved  you  Evelyn;  all  the  while ; 

My  heart  seemed  full  as  it  could  hold — 
There  was  place  and  to  spare  for  the  frank 
young  smile 
And  the  red  young  mouth  and  the  hair's 
young  gold. 
So,  hush !  I  will  give  you  this  leaf  to  keep  ; 
See,  I  shut  it  inside  the  sweet,  cold  hand. 
Tliere,  that  is  our  secret !  go  to  sleep  ; 

You  will  wake,  and  remember,  and  under- 
stand. 

EoBEKT  Browsing. 


HIGHLAND  MAEY. 

Yk  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie ! 
There  simmer  first  unfald  her  robes 

And  there  she  langest  tarry ! 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloomed  the  gay  gi-een  birk  1 

IIoAV  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom ! 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings. 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  monie  a  vow  and  locked  embrace 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender ; 
And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder ; 


AUX    ITALIEXS. 


317 


But,  oil  I  fell  death's  untimely  frost, 
That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early  !    • 

Xow  green  's  the  sod,  and  cauld  's  the  clay, 
That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary ! 

Oh  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips 

I  aft  hae  kissed  sae  fondly ! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly ! 
And  mould'ring  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 

EOBEET  BCTENS. 


his 


TO  MARY  m  HEAVEN". 

TnoD  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usherest  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
0  Mary !  dear,  departed  shade ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Ilear'st    thou    the  groans  that  rend 
breast? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget. 

Can  I  forget  the  hallowed  grove, 
"WTiere  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  will  not  efface^ 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past — 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace ! 

Ah  I  little  thought  we  't  was  our  last ! 


Ayr,  gurgling,  kisced  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild    woods,   thickening, 
green ; 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar. 

Twined  amorous  round  the  raptured  scene. 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest. 

The  birds  sang  love  on  every  spray. 
Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

Proclaimed  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  memory  wakes, 
And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care; 

Time  but  th'  impression  deeper  makes, 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 


My  Mary !    dear,  departed  shade ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st    thou  the    groans  that  rend 
breast  ? 


his 


EoBEBT  Bgass. 


AUX  ITALIENS. 

At  Paris  it  was,  at  tlie  opera  there ; 

And  she  looked  like  a  queen  in  a  book  that 
night, 
With  the  wreath  of  pearl  in  her  raven  hair. 

And  the  brooch  on  her  breast  so  bright. 

Of  all  the  operas  that  Verdi  wrote, 
The  best,  to  my  taste,  is  the  Trovatore ; 

And  Mario  can  soothe,  with  a  tenor  note. 
The  souls  in  purgatory. 

The  moon  on  the  tower  slept  soft  as  snow ; 
And  who  was  not  thrilled  in  the  strangest 
way. 
As  we  heard  him  sing,  while  the  gas  burned 
low, 
"  A'b^i  ti  scordar  di  me?  " 

The  emperor  there,  in  his  box  of  state, 
Looked  grave  ;  as  if  he  had  just  then  seen 

The  red  flag  Avave  from  the  city  gate. 
Where  his  eagles  in  bronze  had  been. 

The  empress,  too,  had  a  tear  in  her  eye : 
You  'd  have  said  that  her  fancy  had  gone 
back  again, 

For  one  moment,  under  the  old  blue  sky, 
To  the  old  glad  hfe  in  Spain. 

Well !  there  in  our  front  row  box  we  sat. 
Together,  my  bride  betrothed  and  I ; 

My  gaze  v,^as  fixed  on  my  opera  hat. 
And  hers  on  the  stage  hard  by. 

And  both  were  silent,  and  both  Avcrc  sad ; — 
Like  a  queen  slic  leaned  on  her  full  white 
arm. 

With  that  regal,  indolent  air  she  had; 
So  confident  of  her  charm ! 


31S 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


I  have  not  a  doubt  slic  was  tliiukiiig  then 
Of  her  former  lord,  good  soul  that  he  Avas, 

"Who  died  the  richest  and  roundest  of  men, 
The  Marquis  of  Carabas. 

I  hope  that,  to  get  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
Through  a  needle's  eye  he  had  not  to  i^ass ; 

I  wish  him  -well,  for  the  jointure  given 
To  ray  lady  of  Carabas. 

Meanwliile,  I  was  thinking  of  my  tirst  love. 
As  I  had  not  been  thinking  of  aught  for 
yeai-s ; 

Till  over  my  eyes  there  began  to  move 
Something  that  felt  like  tears. 

I  thought  of  the  dress  that  she  wore  last  time, 
"When  we  stood,  'neath  the  cypress  trees 
together, 

In  that  lost  land,  in  that  soft  clime, 
In  the  crimson  evening  weather  ; 

Of  that  muslin  dress  (for  the  eve  was  hot) ; 

And  her  warm  white  neck  in  its  golden 
chain ; 
And  her  full,  soft  hair,  just  tied  in  a  knot. 

And  falling  loose  again ; 

And  the  jasmine  flower  in  her  fair  young 
breast ; 
(Oh  the  faint,  sweet  smell  of  that  jasmine 
flower !) 
And  the  one  bird  singing  alone  to  his  nest ; 
And  the  one  star  over  the  tower. 

I  thought  of  our  little  quarrels  and  strife. 
And  the  letter  that  brought  me  back  my 
rmg; 

And  it  all  seemed  then,  in  the  w^aste  of  life, 
Such  a  very  little  thing ! 

For  I  thought  of  her  grave  below  the  hill, 
Which  the  sentinel  cypress  tree  stands  over ; 

And  I  thought,  "  Were  she  only  living  still. 
How  I  could  forgive  her  and  love  her ! '' 

And  I  swear,  as  I  thought  of  her  thus,  in  that 
hour. 

And  of  how,  after  all,  old  things  are  best, 
That  I  smelt  the  smell  of  that  jasmine  flower 

Which  she  used  to  wear  in  her  breast. 


It  smelt  so  faint,  and  it  smelt  so  sweet, 
It  made  me  creep,  and  it  made  mc  cold  ! 

Like  the  scent  that  steals  from  the  crumbling 
sheet 
Where  a  mummy  is  half  unrolled. 

And  I  turned,  and  looked :  she  was  sitting 
til  ere. 

In  a  dim  box  over  the  stage ;  and  drest 
In  that  muslin  dress,  with  that  full,  soft  hair. 

And  that  jasmine  in  her  breast! 

I  was  here,  and  she  was  there ; 

And  the  glittering  horse  shoe  curved  be- 
tween : — 
From  my  bi'ide  betrothed,  "with  her  raven 
hair 
And  her  sumptuous,  scornful  mien, 

To  my  early  love,  witli  her  eyes  downcast, 
And  over  lier  primrose  face  the  shade, 

(In  short,  from  the  future  back  to  the  past) 
There  was  but  a  step  to  be  made. 

To  my  early  love  from  my  future  bride 
One  moment  I  looked.    Then  I  stole  to  the 
door, 
I  traversed  the  passage;   and  down  at  her 
side 
I  was  sitting,  a  moment  more. 

My  thinking  of  her,  or  the  music's  strain. 
Or  something  which  never  will  be  exprest, 

Had  brought  her  back  from  the  grave  again. 
With  the  jasmine  hi  her  breast. 

She  is  not  dead,  and  she  is  not  wed  1 

liut  she  loves  me  now,  and  she  loved  me 
then ! 
And  the  very  first  word  that  her  sweet  lips 
said. 
My  heart  grew  youtliful  again. 

The  marchioness  there,  of  Carabas, 
She  is  wealthy,  and  young,  and  handsome 
still ; 

And  hut  for  her  . . .  well,  we  'II  let  that  pass  ; 
She  may  marry  wliomever  slie  will. 

But  I  will  marry  my  own  first  love. 

With  lier  primrose  face,  for  old  things  are 
best; 


LAODAMIA. 


Slfi 


And  the  flower  ia  lier  bosom,  I  prize  it  above 
The  brooch  in  my  lady's  breast. 

The  workl  is  filled  with  folly  and  sin, 
And  love  must  cling  where  it  can,  I  say : 

For  beauty  is  easy  enough  to  win ; 
But  one  is  n't  loved  every  day. 

And  I  think,  in  the  lives  of  most  women  and 


men 


There's  a  moment  when    all  would    go 
smooth  and  even, 
If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back  and  be  forgiven. 

But  oh  the  smell  of  that  jasmine  flower ! 

And  oh  that  music !  and  oh  the  way 
That  voice  rang  out  from  the  donjon  tower, 

Non  ti  scorclar  di  me^ 
Non  ti  scordar  di  me  ! 

EOBEET  BCLWEE  LtTTON. 


TOO  LATE. 

"  Dowglas,  Dowglas,  tendir  and  treu." 

Could  ye  come  back  to  me,  Douglas,  Douglas, 
In  the  old  likeness  that  I  knew, 

I  would  be  so  faithful,  so  lo%ang,  Douglas, 
Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true. 

Never  a  scornful  word  should  grieve  ye, 
I  'd  smile  on  ye  sweet  as  the  angels  do  ; — 

Sweet  as  your  smile  on  me  shone  ever, 
Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true. 

Oh,  to  call  back  the  days  that  arc  not ! 

My  eyes  were  blinded,  your  words  were  few: 
Do  you  know  the  triith  now,  up  in  heaven, 

Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true  ? 

I  never  was  worthy  of  you,  Douglas ; 

Not  half  worthy  the  like  of  you : 
Now  all  men  beside  seem  to  mc  like  shadows — 

I  love  you,  Douglas,  tender  and  true. 

Stretch  out  your  hand  to  me,  Douglas,  Douglas, 

Drop  forgiveness  from  heaven  like  dew; 
As  I  lay  my  heart  on  your  dead  heart,  Dou- 
glas, 

Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true ! 

Dinah  Mabia  Mulock. 


LAODAMIA. 

"  With  sacrifice,  before  the  rising  morn, 

Yows  have  I  made  by  fruitless  hope  insphed ; 

And  from  th'  infernal  gods,  'mid  shades  for- 
lorn 

Of  night,  my  slaughtered  lord  have  I  re- 
quired ; 

Celestial  pity  I  again  implore; — 

Eestore  him  to  my  sight — great  Jove,  restore ! " 

So  speaking,  and  by  fervent  love  endowed 
TTith   faith,  the  suppliant  heavenward   lifts 

her  hands ; 
While,  like  the  sun  emerging  from  a  cloud, 
Her  countenance  brightens  and  her  eye  ex- 
pands ; 
Her  bosom  heaves  and  spreads,  her  stature 

grows ; 
And  she  expects  the  issue  in  repose. 

Oil  terror !  what  hath  slie  perceived  ? — oh  joy ! 
What  doth  she  look  on  ? — whom  doth  she  be- 
hold ? 
Her  hero  slain  upon  the  beach  of  Troy  ? 
His  vital  presence  ?  his  corporeal  mould? 
It  is — if  sense  deceive  her  not — 't  is  he ! 
And  a  god  leads  him — winged  Mercury ! 

Mild  Hermes  spake — and  touched  her  with 
his  wand 

That  calms  all  fear :  "  Such  grace  hath  crown- 
ed thy  prayer, 

Laodamia !  that  at  Jove's  command 

Thy  husband  walks  the  paths  of  upper  air; 

He  comes  to  tarry  with  thee  three  hours' 
space ; 

Accept  tlie  gift,  behold  him  face  to  face !  " 

Forth  sprang  the  impassioned  queen  her  lord 

to  clasp ; 
Again  that  consummation  she  essayed ; 
But  unsubstantial  form  eludes  her  grasp 
As  often  as  that  eager  grasp  was  made. 
The  phantom  parts — but  parts  to  reunite, 
And  reiissume  his  place  before  her  sight. 

"  Protesilaus,  lo !  thy  guide  is  gone ! 
Confirm,  I  pray,  the  vision  with  thy  voice: 
This  is  our  palace, — yonder  is  thy  throne ; 
Speak  !  and  the  floor  thou  trcad'st  on  M'ill  re- 
joice. 


320 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Not  to  appal  mo  have  the  gods  bestowed 
This  precious  boon,  and  blest  a  sad  abode." 

"  Great  Jove,  Laodamia,  doth  not  leave 
His  gifts  imperfect : — spectre  though  I  be, 
I  am  not  sent  to  scare  thee  or  deceive ; 
But  in  reward  of  thy  fidelity. 
And  something  also  did  my  worth  obtain ; 
For  fearless  virtue  bringeth  boundless  gain. 

"Thou  know'st,  the  Delphic  oracle  foretold 
That  the  first  Greek  who  touched  the  Trojan 

strand 
Should  die ;   but  me  the  threat  could  not 

withhold — 
A  generous  cause  a  victim  did  demand ; 
And  forth  I  leapt  upon  the  sandy  plain ; 
A  self-devoted  chief,  by  Hector  slain." 

"  Supreme  of  heroes  !  bravest,  noblest,  best ! 
Thy  matcliless  courage  I  bewail  no  more. 
Which  then,  when  tens  of  thousands  were 

deprest 
By  doubt,  propelled  thee  to  the  fatal  shore ; 
Thou  found'st — and  I  forgive  thee — here  thou 

art — 
A  nobler  counsellor  than  my  poor  heart. 

"  But  thou,  though  capable  of  sternest  deed, 
"Wert  kind  as  resolute,  and  good  as  brave ; 
And  he  whose  power  restores  thee  hath  de- 
creed 
Tliou  shouldst  elude  the  malice  of  the  grave ; 
Redundant  are  thy  locks,  thy  lips  as  fair 
As  when  their  breath  enriched  Thessalian  air. 

"  No  spectre  greets  me, — no  vain  sliadow 

this ; 
Come,  blooming  hero,  place  thee  by  my  side! 
Give,  on  this  well-known  couch,  one  nuptial 

kiss 
To  me,  this  day  a  second  time  thy  bnde !  " 
Jove  frowned  in  heaven ;  the  conscious  Parcte 

threw 
Upon  those  roseate  lips  a  Stygian  hue. 

"  Thisjisage  tells  thee  that  my  doom  is  past ; 
Nor  should  the  change  be  mourned,  even  if 

the  joys 
Of  sense  were  able  to  return  as  fost 
And  surely  as  they  vanish.    Earth  destroys 
Those  raptures  duly — Erebus  disdains ; 
Calm  pleasures  there  abide — majestic  pains. 


"  Be  taught,  O  f;aithful  consort,  to  control 
Rebellious  passion  :  for  the  gods  approve 
Tlic  depth,  and  not  the  tumult,  of  the  soul ; 
A  fervent,  not  ungovernable,  love. 
Thy  transports  moderate ;  and  meekly  mourn 
When  I  depart,  for  brief  is  my  sojourn — " 

"  Ah,  wherefore? — Did  not  Hercules  by  force 
Wrest  from  the  guardian  monster  of  the  tomb 
Alcestis,  a  reanimated  corse. 
Given    back  to   dwell    on   earth  in  vernal 

bloom? 
Medea's  spells  dispersed  the  weight  of  years. 
And  ^son  stood  a  youth  'mid  youthful  peers. 

"  The  gods  to  ns  are  merciful,  and  they 
Yet  further  may  relent;  for  mightier  far 
Than  strength  of  nerve  and  sinew,  or  the 

sway 
Of  magic  potent  over  sun  and  star, 
Is  love,  though  oft  to  agony  distrest, 
And  though  his  favorite  seat  be  feeble  wo- 
man's breast. 

"  But  if  thou  goest,  I  follow—"     "  Peace !  " 

he  said; —  ■ 
She  looked  upon  him  and  was  calmed  and 

cheered ; 
The  ghastly  color  from  his  hps  had  fled  ; 
In  his  deportment,  shape,  and  mien  appeared 
Elysian  beauty,  melancholy  grace, 
Brought  from  a  pensive,  though  a  happy 

place. 

He  spake  of  love,  such  love  as  spirits  feel 
In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure  ; 
No  fears  to  beat  away — ^no  strife  to  heal — 
The  past  unsighed  for,  and  the  future  sure ; 
Spake  of  heroic  arts  in  graver  mood 
Revived,  with  finer  harmony  pursued ; 

Of  all  that  is  most  beauteous,  imaged  there 
In  happier  beauty  ;  more  pellucid  streams. 
An  ampler  ether,  a  divine  air. 
And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams ; 
Climes  which  the  sun,  who  sheds  the  brightest 

day 
Earth  knows,  is  all  unworthy  to  survey. 

Yet  there  the  soul  shall  enter  which  hatli 

earned 
That  privilege  by  virtue. — "  111,"  said  he, 


LOVE'S    LAST    MESSAGES. 


321 


"  The  ead  of  man's  existence  I  discerned, 
Who  from  ignoble  games  and  revelry 
Could  draw,  when  we  had  parted,  vain  de- 
light, 
While  tears  were  thy  best  pastune,  day  and 
night ; 

"And  while  my  youthful  peers  before  my 

eyes 
(Each  hero  following  his  peculiar  bent) 
Prepared  themselves  for  glorious  enterprise 
By  martial  sports, — or,  seated  in  the  tent. 
Chieftains  and  kings  in  council   were   de- 
tained, 
"What  time  the  fleet  at  Aulis  lay  enchained. 

"  The  wished-for  wind  was  given  ; — I  then 

revolved 
The  oracle,  upon  the  silent  sea; 
And,  if  no  worthier  led  the  way,  resolved 
That,  of  a  thousand  vessels,  mine  should  be 
The  foremost  prow  in  pressing  to  the  strand — 
Mine  the  first  blood  that  tinged  the  Trojan 
sand. 

"  Yet  bitter,  ofttimes  bitter,  was  the  pang 
When  of  thy  loss  I  thought,  beloved  wife ! 
On  thee  too  fondly  did  my  memory  hang. 
And  on  the  joys  we  shared  in  mortal  life — 
The  paths  which  we  had  trod — these  foun- 
tains, flowers — 
My  new-planned  cities,  and  unfinished  towers, 

"  But  sliould  suspense  permit  the  foe  to  cry, 
'  Behold  they  tremble ! — haughty  their  array. 
Yet  of  their  number  no  one  dares  to  die  ? ' 
In  soul  I  swept  th'  indignity  away. 
Old  frailties  then  recurred ; — but  lofty  thought, 
In  act  embodied,  my  deliverance  wrought. 

"And  thou,  though  strong  in  love,  art  all 

too  weak 
In  reason,  in  self-government  too  slow ; 
I  counsel  thee  by  fortitude  to  seek 
Our  blest  reunion  in  the  shades  below. 
Tlie  invisible  world  with  thee  hath  sympa- 

tliized ; 
Be  thy  affections  raised  and  solemnized. 

"  Learn,  by  a  mortal  yearning,  to  ascend, — 
Seeking  a  higher  object.     Love  was  given, 
45 


Encouraged,  sanctioned,  chiefly  for  that  end ; 
For  this  the  passion  to  excess  was  driven, — 
That  self  uaight  be  annulled — her  bondage 

prove 
The  fetters  of  a  dream,  opposed  to  love." 

Aloud  she  shrieked !  for  Hermes  reappears ! 
Round  the  dear  shade  she  would  have  clung, 

— 't  is  vain ;    • 
The  hours  are  past, — too  brief  had  they  been 

years ; 
And  him  no  mortal  effort  can  detain. 
Swift,   toward  the  realms    that  know  not 

earthly  day. 
He  through  the  portal  takes  his  silent  way. 
And  on  the  palace  floor  a  lifeless  corse  she 

lay. 

Thus,  all  in  vain  exhorted  and  reproved, 
She  perished ;  and,  as  for  wilful  crime, 
By  the  just  gods,  whom  no  weak  pity  moved. 
Was  doomed  to  wear  out  her  appointed  time. 
Apart  from  happy  ghosts,  that  gather  flowers 
Of  blissful  quiet  'mid  unfading  bowers. 

— ^Yet  tears  to  human  suffering  are  due; 
And  mortal  hopes  defeated  and  o'erthrown 
Are  mourned  by  man,  and  not  by  man  alone, 
As  fondly  he  believes, — Upon  the  side 
Of  Hellespont  (such  faith  was  entertained) 
A  knot  of  spiry  trees  for  ages  grew 
From  out  the  tomb  of  him  for  Avhom  she 

died; 
And  ever,  when  such  stature  they  had  gained 
That  Ilium's  walls  were  subject  to  their  view. 
The  trees'  tall  summits  withered  at  the  sight; 
A  constant  interchange  of  growth  and  blight! 

WiLUAlI   WORDSWOETH. 


LOVE'S  LAST  MESSAGES. 

Meeet,  merry  little  stream, 
Tell  me,  hast  thou  seen  my  dear  ? 

I  left  him  with  an  azure  dream, 
Calmly  sleeping  on  his  bier — 
But  he  has  fled!  ■ 

"I  passed  him  in  his  church-yard  bed- 
A  yew  is  sighing  o'er  his  head, 
And  grass-roots  mingle  with  his  hair," 
What  doth  he  there  ? 


QOO 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


Oil  cruel !  can  he  lie  alone  ? 

Or  in  tlio  arms  of  one  more  dear  ? 
Or  hides  he  in  the  bower  of  stone, 

To  cause  and  kiss  aAvay  my  fear  ? 

"He  doth  not  speak,  he  doth  not  moan — 

Blind,  motionless  he  lies  alone ; 

But,  ere  the  grave-snake  fleshed  his  sting, 

This  one  warm  tear  he  bade  mi  bring 
And  lay  it  at  thy  feet 
Among  the  daisies  sweet." 

^Moonlight  whisp'rer,  summer  aii", 

Songster  of  the  groves  above, 
Tell  the  maiden  rose  I  Avear 

"Whether  thoii  hast  seen  my  love. 
"This  night  in  heaven  I  saw  him  lie. 

Discontented  with  his  bliss  ; 

And  on  my  lips  he  left  this  kiss, 
For  thee  to  taste  and  then  to  die." 

TnoMAS  LoTELL  Beddoes. 


THE     FAIREST    THING    IN    MORTAL 
EYES. 

To  make  my  lady's  obsequies 

My  love  a  minster  wrought, 
And,  in  the  chantry,  service  there 

"Was  sung  by  doleful  thought ; 
The  tapers  were  of  burning  sighs, 

That  light  and  odor  gave ; 
And  sorrows,  painted  o'er  with  tears, 

Enlumined  her  grave ; 
And  round  about,  in  quaintest  guise, 
Was  carved :  "  "Within  this  tomb  there  lies 
The  fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes." 

Above  lier  heth  spread  a  tomb 

Of  gold  and  sapphires  blue : 
The  gold  doth  show  her  blessedness, 

The  sapphires  mark  her  true  ; 
For  blessedness  and  truth  in  her 

"Were  livelily  portrayed, 
"^^hen  gracious  God  with  both  His  hands 

Her  goodly  substance  made. 
He  framed  her  in  such  wondrous  wise, 
She  was,  to  Sfjeak  without  disguise, 
The  fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes. 

No  more,  no  more  !  my  heart  doth  faint 
"^'hen  I  the  hfe  recall 


Of  her,  who  lived  so  free  from  taint, 

So  virtuous  deemed  by  all — 
That  in  herself  was  so  comi)]ete, 

I  think  that  she  was  ta'en 
By  God  to  deck  Ilis.jjaradise, 

And  with  His  saints  to  reign  ; 
"V\liom,  while  on  earth,  each  one  did  prize, 
The  fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes. 

But  naught  our  tears  avail,  or  cries ; 

All  soon  or  late  in  death  shall  sleep  ; 

Nor  living  wight  long  time  may  keep 
The  fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes. 

Charles  Duke  of  Orleans.    (French.) 
Translation  of  Henky  Tkancis  Cakt. 


THE  BURIAI.  OF  LOVE. 

Two  dark-eyed  maids,  at  shut  of  day, 
Sat  where  a  river  rolled  away, 
"With  calm,  sad  brows  and  raven  hair ; 
And  one  was  pale  and  both  were  fair. 

Bring  flowers,  they  sang,  bring  flowers  un« 

blown ; 
Bring  forest  blooms  of  name  unknown  ; 
Bring  budding  sprays  from  wood  aud  wild, 
To  strew  the  bier  of  Love,  the  child. 

Close  softly,  fondly,  v/hile  ye  weep, 
His  eyes,  that  death  may  seem  like  sleep : 
And  fold  his  hands  in  sign  of  rest, 
His  waxen  hands,  across  his  breast. 

And  make  his  grave  vvhere  violets  hide, 
"Where  star-flowers  strew  the  rivulet's  side, 
And  blue-birds,  in  the  misty  spring. 
Of  cloudless  skies  and  summer  sing. 

Place  near  him,  as  ye  lay  him  low, 
His  idle  shafts,  his  loosened  bow. 
The  silken  fillet  that  around 
His  waggish  eyes  in  sport  he  wound. 

But  we  shall  mourn  him  long,  and  miss 

His  ready  smile,  his  ready  kiss, 

The  patter  of  his  little  feet. 

Sweet  frowns  and  stammered  phrases  sweet 

And  graver  looks,  serene  and  higli, 
A  hght  of  heaven  in  that  young  eye : 
All  these  shall  haunt  us  till  the  heart 
Shall  ache  and  ache — and  tears  will  start. 


WINIFREDA. 


323 


The  bow,  the  band,  shall  fall  to  dust ; 
The  shining  arrows  waste  with  rust ; 
And  all  of  Love  that  earth  can  claim, 
Be  but  a  memory  and  a  name. 

Xot  thus  his  nobler  part  shall  dwell, 
A  prisoner  in  this  narrow  cell; 
But  he  whom  now  we  hide  from  men 
In  the  dark  ground,  shall  live  again— 

Shall  break  these  clods,  a  form  of  light, 
AVith  nobler  mien  and  purer  sight. 
And  in  th'  eternal  glory  stand. 
Highest  and  nearest  God's  right  hand. 

WlLLIAU   CULLEX  BkYANT. 


LOVE  NOT. 

Love  not,  love  not!  ye  hapless  sons  of  clay! 
Hope's  gayest  wreaths  are  made  of  earthly 

flowers — 
Things  that  are  made  to  fade  and  fall  away 
Ere  they  have  blossomed  for  a  few  sliort  hours. 

Love  not ! 

Love  not !  the  thing  ye  love  may  change  ; 
The  rosy  lip  may  cease  to  smile  on  you, 
The  kindly-  beaming  eye  grow  cold  and  strange, 
The  heart  still  warmly  beat,  yet  not  be  true. 

Love  not ! 

Love  not !  the  thing  you  love  may  die — 
;May  perish  from  the  gay  and  gladsome  earth ; 
The  silent  stars,  the  blue  and  smiling  sky, 
Beam  o'er  its  grave,  as  once  upon  its  birth. 

Love  not ! 

Love  not!  oh  warning  vainly  said 
la  present  hours  as  in  years  gone  by ; 
Love  flings  a  halo  round  the  dear  ones'  head, 
Faultless,  immortal,  till  they  change  or  die. 

Love  not ! 

Caeoline  Noeton. 


SONNET. 

The  doubt  which  ye  misdeem,  fair  love,  is 
vain, 
That  fondly  fear  to  lose  your  liberty; 
When,  losing  one,  two  liberties  ye  gain. 
And  make  him  bound  that  bondage  erst 
did  fly. 


Sweet  be  the  bands,  the  which  true  love  doth 
tye 
Without  constraint,  or  dread  of  any  ill : 
The  gentle  bird  feels  no  captivity 

Within  her  cag^e ;  but  sings  and  feeds  her 
fill; 
There  pride  dare  not  approach,  nor  discord 
spill 
Tl\e  league  'twixt  them,  that  loyal  love  hath 
bound ; 
But  simple  truth,  and  mutual  good-will, 
Seeks,   with   sweet  peace,  to  salve  each 
other's  wound ; 
There  faith  doth  fearless  dwell  in  brazen 
tower, 

xVnd  spotless  pleasure  builds  her  sacred  bower. 

Edmund  Spknsee. 


WINIFREDA. 

Away  !  let  nau^it  to  love  displeasing. 
My  Winifreda,  move  your  care ; 

Let  naught  delay  the  heavenly  blessing. 
Nor  squeamish  pride,  nor  gloomy  fear. 

Wliat  though  no  grants  of  royal  donors 
With  pompous  titles  grace  our  blood ; 

We  '11  shine  in  more  substantial  honors, 
And  to  be  noble  we  '11  be  good. 

Our  name,  while  virtue  thus  we  tender, 
Will  sweetly  sound  where'er  't  is  spoke  : 

And  all  the  great  ones,  they  shall  wonder 
How  they  respect  such  little  folk. 

What  though  from  fortune's  lavish  bounty 
No  mighty  treasures  we  possess ; 

We  '11  find  within  our  pittance  plenty, 
And  be  content  without  excess. 

Still  shall  each  kind  returning  season 

Sufficient  for  our  wishes  give ; 
For  we  will  live  a  life  of  reason, 

And  that 's  the  only  life  to  live. 

Through  youth  and  age  in  love  excelling, 
We'll  hand  in  hand  together  tread; 

Sweet-smiling  peace  shall  crown  our  dwelling, 
And  babes,  sweet-smiling  babes,  our  bed. 

How  sliould  I  love  the  pretty  creatures, 
While  'round  my  knees  they  fondly  clung, 

To  see  them  look  their  mother's  features, 
To  hear  them  lisp  their  mother's  tongue  I 


S24                                                         riM'MS     0 

1'     lOVK. 

A»ul  \v)>ou  with  oiwy,  tu\\v\  trrt»>siHM'tv\l, 

Shall  iliink  to  i\^h  us  i^'our  jovs. 

KrmiAl.AMlON. 

\vM»  Ml  u»  your  s:;irls  jvjyjUu  ho  oourtovl. 

Ai\il  I  Ml  riv»  ;\-\voou>j^  in  my  hovs. 

Yk  learned  siste>"s,  which  have  i^ttentimes 

ANvvNvvivna. 

InH-ne  to  the  ayding  others  to  adorno. 

^\  hon\  yo  thought  worthy  i»t"  vvMir  gracet\d 

SONTv. 

rynies. 

That  even  tho  greatest  did  uv>t  greatly  scorno 

Gatukn  yo  nxs^^huils  ns  yo  »uj\,v, 

To  hearo  theyr  nauios  sung  in  u>ur  siniplo 

(.Mvl  'nn\o  is  still  a-tlyiuir; 

lays. 

Auvl  this  s^iuK*  tlowor  that  su\ilos  to-ilay 

But  ji\vod  in  theyr  praise; 

To-uiwnnv  will  ho  tlviug. 

An  J    \vheu    ye   list    your   onv  n    mishaps   to 

The  glos'ioHs  lamp  of  luwvou,  the  sun. 

inourno, 
W  hieh  death,  or  hne,  or  tortvnie's  wreck  did 

Tho  hi^hov  ho 's  a-g^^tting, 

ray  so. 

Tho  stvuor  w  ill  his  rrti><^  ho  vm>, 

Your  string  couhl    svunio  to   sadder   toiior 

And  noaivr  ho's  to  sottujg. 

turno, 

rho  ai;v  is  host  whioh  is  tho  tlrst. 

And  teach  tho  wixxls  ,iud  waters  to  lament 

N\  hon  youth  ami  hloixl  aro  w armor; 

Your  iU>let\d  drerjiment; 

Hut  hoin^  spont,  tho  worst^  j»«vl  worst 

Now  lay  thoso  sorrowt\ill  coujplaints  aside ; 

Tirao  still  s«ooooil  tho  tl>n\\or. 

And,  having  all  your  beads  witb  girhmds 

Thou  h^  wot  coy,  but  «so  yonv  timo. 

crowned. 

Auvl  whilo  yo  may,  go  lujun-y  ; 

Holpo  mo  mine  owno  love's  prayses  to  ri*- 

For  havinjj  lost  hut  ouoo  yoiir  primo. 

sound. 

Yvni  may  tor  ovor  twry. 

\o  let  the  s^nuo  of  a\iy  be  envidtw 

K<V(iRSV   JlKltKiV^K. 

S.>  Orpheus  did  tor  his  owno  bride; 

So  1  unto  my  solto  alone  will  sing ; 

The  woihIs  shall  to  iuo  answer,  and  my  echo 

BRIDAL  SONG. 

ring. 

To  tho  sonml  of  timbrx>ls  s»wot?t 

Moving  slow  our  soloran  tV<>t, 

Eeu-ly,  befoiv  tbo  world's  light-giving  lampe 

"Wo  havo  horno  thoo  on  tho  nvul 

His  golden  boame  «pon  the  bils  dotb  spnnl. 

To  iho  virgin's  West  aKxlo  ; 

Having     disporst     tlie     nii^ht's    \incheevIuL 

"NYith  tljv-  yollow  torehos  gleaming. 

dampo. 

Ami  thy  soarlot  mantlo  streaming, 

1\h>  yo  awake ;  and  with  fresli  Instyluxl 

Ami  tho  canopy  above 

Go  to  the  bowre  of  my  belove<l  lovo> 

Swaying  as  wo  slowly  movo. 

My  truest  turtle  dove; 

Thou  hast  lott  tho  joyous  toast. 

l>id  bor  awjiko;  for  Hymen  is  awake. 

Ami  tho  mirth  wul  wiuo  havo  o<»aso<l ; 

,Vnd  loug  sinw  ready  forth  bis  masko  to 

Ami  now  wo  sot  thoo  ilown  l>oforo 

move, 

Tho  joalously-unchvsing  ihM>r, 

\\  ith  his  bright  toreh  that  flames  with  many 

That  the  tavorvxl  youth  admits 

a  tlake. 

Whoro  the  Yoiloil  virg'm  sits 

Aod  many  a  bachelor  to  waite  on  Imu, 

la  tb©  bliss  of  miUilou  foar. 

In  tbeyr  fresh  gjunnents  trim.                              ' 

Waiting  our  soft  trv'ail  to  hoar. 

Bid  her  awake  tbort^fore,  and  soono  her  digbt ; 

Ami  tho  juusic's  brisker  ilin 

For  Kk'!  the  wislied  day  is  ivmo  .Ht  kst,             : 

At  ibo  bridegroom's  entering  iu. 

That  shall,  for  tdl  the  payuos  and  sorrow  es 

Eutoriug  in,  a  welcome  guest. 

pjist,                                                        1 

To  tb©  chamber  of  his  rest. 

Pay  to  her  nsury  of  long  delight !                        ' 

HUSKT    IljkKT  MlUHAN. 

And,  whylest  site  doth  her  dight, 

1 

EI'ITIIALAMION. 


i'/it 


])■)(!  ye  to  lior  of  joy  and  ko1;u;<j  nlnir, 
That  all  tlic  woodn  may  uriHwcr,  and  your 
echo  rinff, 

iiriijf,'  with  you  all  the  nyrnphes  that  you  can 
heare, 

lioth  of  the  rivers  and  the  forestH  (^eene, 

Aud  of  the  »ea  that  iieighhourH  to  her  neare; 

All  with  irny  girlandw  (roodly  wel  boHcene, 

And  let  them  alho  with  them  bring  in  liund 

Another  gay  girland, 

For  my  fayrc  love,  of  lillyes  and  of  roHCS, 

JJound,  true-love-wiHe,  with  a  bine  silk 
riband. 

And  let  them  make  great  Bt^^re  of  brjdale 
posies ; 

And  let  them  eke  bring  store  of  other  flow- 
ers, 

To  deck  the  bridale  Lowers. 


A;id  the  wylde  woIvch,  wijith  seeke  th<'m  t' 
devoure, 

With  your  Steele  darts  doe  chace  from  com- 
ing neare — 

He  al-,o  present  bere, 

I'o  helf<e  to  deeke  her,  and  to  help  to  sing, 

'J'bat  all  the  woods  uiay  answer,  and  your 
echo  ring. 

Wake  now,  rny  love,  awake ;  for  it  is  time: 
'i'he  rosy  rnorne  long  since  left  Tithon's  l>ed, 
All  rawly  to  her  silver  coaehe  i/>  clyme; 
And  ]'lio;bus  'gins  to  shew  his  glorious  bed. 
Jlarkl  how  the  cheerfull    birds  do  cbaunt 

theyr  laies. 
And  (tarroll  of  love's  prai^^I 
'J  he  njerry  kirke  his  mattins  sings  aloft; 
The  thrush    replyes;    the    maviu     des<';ant 

playes ; 


,       ^    ,     ,    ,,    The  ouzell  shrills:  the  ruddock  warbles  solt; 
And  let  the  ground  whereas  her  foot  shall'.  i,      ,,  ... 

,    ^  bo  goodly  all  agree,  witii  sweet  consent. 


To  this  daye's  merriment. 

Ah !  my  deare  love,  why  do  ye  sleepe  thus 

long  ? 
When  meeter  were  that  ye  should  now  awake, 
T'  awayt  the  commingof  your  joyous  make; 


tread. 
For  feare  the  stones  her  tender  foot  should 

wrong, 

Tie  strewed  with  fragrant  flowers  all  along. 

And  diapred  lyke  the  discolored  mead. 

Which  done,  doe  at  her  chamber  dore  awayt,  *   ",""•' "  7'    T"'!"  t^-  V  ^\"'  *','*'•'""  "' 

...       ,  ' ,  And  hearken  it)  the  bjrds'  love-learne<l  song, 

Tor  she  will  waken  strayt;  „,,      ,         ,  , 

, ,,      ,  ..  ,    ,        .  1  he  dewy  leaves  among! 

1  he  whiles  do  ye  this  song  unt<^>  her  sing,  t-     ^i         i- ■  i    i 

,    „  ^  ,  Jor  they  of  loy  and  olea-ance  lo  •.im  -uiv^, 

The  woods  shall  to  you  answer,  and  your  ,,.,    .,,,,,;,  ,  ., 

'  *^  1  hat  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  theyr 

echo  ring.  , 

"  ecJio  ring. 

Ye  nymphes  of  Mulla,  which  with  carefull  ,  ;^fy  i^ve  is  now  awake  out  of  her  dreame; 

'";';d  And  her  fayre  eyes,  like  stars  tliat  dimmed 

The  Kilvcr-K^;aly  trouts  do  tend  full  well,  I  were 

And   greedy   pikes    w],]<-},    n-cd    lb(r<-in    to    With  darksome  cloud,  now  f-.hew  theyr  goodly 

feed,  beame, 

("I'hose  trouts  and  pikes  all  others  doe  ex-  j  More  bright  than  Hesperus  his  hea^l  doth 

cAiW; )  reare. 

And   ye,  likewise,  which   keepe  liie   rushy    O^me  now,  ye  damsels,  daught^srs  of  delight, 

lake,  Jleipe  (quickly  her  to  dight  I 


Where  uone  do  fishes  take — 

Bynd  up  the  locks  the  which  hang  scattered 

light, 
And  in  liis  waters,  which  your  rnirror  make, 
I'ehold  your  faces  as  the  christall  bright. 
That  when  you  come  whereas  my  love  doth 

lie 
No  blemish  she  may  spie. 
And  eke,  ye  lightfoot  mayds.  which  keepe 

the  dore  • 

Tli.'it  on  the  hoary  rnountayne  nsed  to  towre — 


But  first  cwme,  ye  fayre  houres,  which  were 

begot 
In  .Jove's  sweet  para^lis*}  of  day  and  night; 
V/hioh  do  the  seasons  of  tli^j  year  allot; 
And  all  that  ever  in  this  world  is  fayre, 
Do  make  and  still  repayre ! 
And  ye,  three  handmayds  of  the  Cyprian 

queene, 
The   which    do   still    adorn   her  beauteous 

pride, 
Ilelpe  to  tulorn  rny  beautifuUest  bride; 


i 


326 


rOEMS    OF    LOVE. 


And,  as  ye  her  array,  still  throw  between 

Some  graces  to  be  seene ; 

And,  as  ye  nscd  to  Venns,  to  her  sing. 

The  whiles  the  woods  shal  answer,  and  your 


echo  ring. 


Xow  is  my  love  all  ready  forth  to  come — 

Let  all  the  virgins,  therefore,  well  awayt ; 

And  ye  fresh  boys,  that  tend  upon  her  groome. 

Prepare  yourselves;  for  he  is  comming  strayt. 

Set  all  your  things  in  seemely-good  ai-ay, 

Fit  for  so  joyfull  day — 

Tlie  joyfulest  day  that  ever  sun  did  see. 

Fair  sun !  shew  forth  thy  favourable  ray, 

And  let  thy  lifull  heat  not  fervent  be, 

For  feare  of  burning  her  sunshyny  face, 

Her  beauty  to  disgrace. 

O  fayrest  Phoebus!  father  of  the  Muse! 

If  ever  I  did  honour  thee  aright, 

Or  sing  the  thing  that  mote  thy  minde  de- 
light, 

Do  not  thy  servant's  simple  boone  refuse  ; 

But  let  this  day,  let  this  one  day,  be  mine  ; 

Let  all  the  rest  be  thine. 

Then  I  thy  soverayne  prayeses  loud  will  sing. 

That  all  the  woods  shal  answer,  and  theyr 
echo  ring. 

Harke !  how  the  minstrels  'gin  to  shrill  aloud 
Their  merry  musick  that  resounds  from  far — 
The  pipe,  the  tabor,  and  the  trembling  croud 
That  well  agree  withouten  breach  or  jar. 
But  most  of  all  the  darazels  do  delite 
When  they  their  tymbrels  smyte. 
And  thereunto  do  daunce  and  carrol  sweet. 
That  all  the  sences  they  do  ravish  quite  ; 
The  whiles  the  boyes  run  up  and  doune  the 

street. 
Crying  aloud  with  strong,  confused  noyce. 
As  if  it  Avere  one  voyce  : 
Hymen,  lo  Hymen,  Hymen !  they  do  shout, 
That  even    to  tlie   heavens  theyr  shouting 

shrill 
Doth  reach,  and  all  the  firmament  doth  fill ; 
To  which  the  people  standing  all  about, 
As  in  approvance,  do  thereto  applaud. 
And  loud  advaunce  her  laud  ; 
And  evermore  they  Hymen,  Hymen  !  sing. 
That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  theyr 

echo  ring. 


Loe  !  where  she  comes  along  with  portly  pace, 
Lyke  Phciebe,  from  her  chamber  of  the  east, 
Arysing  forth  to  run  her  mighty  race. 
Chid  all  in  white,  that  seems  a  virgin  best. 
So  well  it  her  beseems  that  ye  would  weene 
Some  angell  she  had  beene. 
Her  long,   loose,   yellow  locks,  lyke  golden 

wyre. 
Sprinkled  with  perle,    and  perling  flowres 

atweene. 
Do  lyke  a  golden  mantle  her  attyre ; 
And,  being  crowned  Avith  a  girland  greene, 
Seem  lyke  some  mayden  queene. 
Her  modest  eyes,  abashed  to  behold 
So  many  gazers  as  on  her  do  stare, 
Upon  the  lowly  ground  affixed  are  ; 
Ne  dare  lift  up  her  countenance  too  bold. 
But  blush  to  heare  her  prayses  sung  so  loud, 
So  farre  from  being  proud. 
Nathlesse  do  ye  still  loud  her  prayses  sing, 
That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your 

echo  ring.' 

Tell  me,  ye  merchants'  daughters,  did  ye  see 
So  fayre  a  creature  in  your  towne  before  ? 
So  sweet,  so  lovely,  and  so  mild  as  she, 
Adornd  with  beauty's   grace    and  vertue's 

store  ? 
Her  goodly  eyes  lyke  saphyres  chining  bright ; 
Her  forehead  ivory  Avliite  ; 
Her  cheekes  lyke  apples  which  the  sun  hath 

rudded  ; 
Her  lips  lyke  cherries  charming  men  to  byte 
Her  brest  lyke  to  a  bowl  of  cream  uncrudded  ; 
Her  paps  lyke  lyllies  budded ; 
Her  snowie  necke  lyke  to  a  marble  towre  ; 
And  all  her  body  like  a  pallace  fayre. 
Ascending  up  Avith  many  a  stately  stayre. 
To  honor's  seat  and  chastity's  sAveet  bowre. 
"Why  stand  ye  still,  ye  virgins,  in  amaze 
Upon  her  so  to  gaze. 

Whiles  ye  forget  your  former  lay  to  sing, 
To  Avhich  the  woods  did  answer,  and  your 

echo  ring  ? 

But  if  ye  saAV  that  which  no  eyes  can  see. 
The  inward  beauty  of  her  lively  spright, 
Garnisht  Avith  heavenly  gifts  of  high  degree, 
MucB  more  then  would  ye  wonder  at  that 
sight, 


EPITHALAMION, 


S21 


Aud  stand  astonislit,  lyke  to  those  which  red 

Medusae's  mazeful  hed. 

There  dwells  sweet  love,  and  constant  chas- 
tity, 

Unspotted  fayth,  and  comely  womanhood, 

Regard  of  honour,  and  mild  modesty ; 

There  vertue  raynes  as  queene  in  royal 
throne, 

Aud  giveth  lawes  alone. 

The  which  the  base  aifections  do  obey, 

And  yeeld  theyr  services  unto  her  will ; 

Ne  thought  of  things  uncomely  ever  may 

Thereto  approach,  to  tempt  her  mind  to  ill. 

Had  ye  once  scene  these  her  celestial  treas- 
ures, 

And  un  revealed  pleasures. 

Then  would  ye  wonder,  and  her  prayses 
sing. 

That  all  the  woods  should  answer,  and  your 
echo  ring. 

Open  the  temple  gates  unto  my  love! 
Open  them  wide,  that  she  may  enter  in ! 
And  all  the  postes  adorne  as  doth  behove, 
And  all  the  pillars  deck  with  girlands  trim. 
For  to  receyve  this  saynt  with  honour  dew, 
That  commeth  in  to  you ! 
With  trembling  steps  and  humble  reverence 
She  commeth  in  before  th'  Almighty's  view. 
Of  her,  ye  virgins,  learne  obedience, — 
When  so  ye  come  into  those  holy  places, 
To  humble  your  proud  faces. 
Bring  her  up  to  th'  high  altar,  that  she  may 
The  sacred  ceremonies  there  partake, 
The  which  do  endlesse  matrimony  make  ; 
And  let  the  roaring  organs  loudly  play 
The  praises  of  the  Lord  in  lively  notes ; 
The  wliiles,  with  hollow  throates, 
The  chorisiters  the  joyous  antheme  sing, 
That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  their 
echo  ring. 

Behold!  whiles  she  before  the  altar  stands, 
Hearing  the  holy  priest  that  to  her  speakes. 
And  blesseth  her  with  his  two  happy  hands. 
How  the  red  roses  flush  up  in  her  cheekes, 
And   the   pure  snow  wdth   goodly  vermill 

stayne. 
Like  crimson  dyde  in  grayne: 
That  even  the  angels,  which  continually 
About  the  sacred  altar  do  remainc. 


Forget  their  service  and  about  her  fly, 

Ofte  peeping  in  her  face,  that  seems  more 

fayre 
The  more  they  on  it  stare. 
But  her  sad  eyes,  still  fastened  on  the  ground. 
Are  governed  with  goodly  modesty. 
That  suffers  not  one  look  to  glaunce  awry 
Which  may  let  in  a  little  thought  unsound. 
Why  blush  ye,  love,  to  give  to  me  your  hand, 
The  pledge  of  all  our  band  ! 
Sing,  ye  sweet  angels,  alleluya  sing. 
That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your 

echo  ring! 

Now   all  is   done:    bring  home  the    bride 

again — 
Bring  home  the  triumph  of  our  victory ; 
Bring  home  with  you  the  glory  of  her  gaine — 
With  joyance  bring  her  and  with  jollity. 
Never  had  man  more  joyfuU  day  than  this, 
AVhom  heaven  would  heape  with  bliss. 
Make  feast  therefore  now  all  this  live-long 

day; 
This  day  for  ever  to  me  holy  is. 
Poure  out  the  wine  without  restraint  or  stay — 
Poure  not  by  cups,  but  by  the  belly-full — 
Poure  out  to  all  that  wuU  ! 
And  sprinkle  all  the  postes  and  walls  witli 

wine. 
That  they  may  sweat  and  drunken  be  withall. 
Crowne  ye  god  Bacchus  with  a  coronall. 
And  Hymen  also   crowne  with  wreaths  of 

vine; 
And  let  the  Graces  daunce  unto  the  rest, 
For  they  can  do  it  best ; 
The  whiles  the  may  dens    do    theyr    carrol 

sing, 
To  which  the  woods  shall  answer,  and  theyr 

echo  ring. 

Ring  ye  the  bells,  ye  yong  men  of  the  towne. 
And  leave  your  wonted  labors  for  this  day  : 
This  day  is  holy — do  ye  write  it  downe. 
That  ye  for  ever  it  remember  may, — 
This  day  the  sun  is  in  his  chiefest  bight. 
With  Barnaby  the  bright. 
From  whence  declining  daily  by  degrees, 
He  somewhat  loseth  of  his  heat  and  light, 
When  once  the  Crab  behind  his  back  he  sees, 
But  for  this  time  it  ill-ordained  was 


328 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


To  choose  the  longest  day  ia  all  the  yeare, 
And    shortest    night,    when    longest    fitter 

Aveare ; 
Yet  never  day  so  long  but  late  would  passe. 
Ring  ye  the  hells,  to  make  it  weare  away. 
And  bonfires  make  all  day ; 
And  dauuce  about  then),  and  about  them  sing, 
Tliat  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your 

echo  ring. 

Ah !  when  will  this  long  weary  day  have  end, 
And  lende  me  leave  to  come  unto  my  love  ? 
llow  slowly  do  the  houres  theyr  numbers 

spend ! 
How  slowly  does  sad  Time  his  feathers  move ! 
Hast  thee,  O  fayrest  planet,  to  thy  home, 
Within  the  westerne  foame ; 
Thy  tyred  steedes  long  since  have  need  of  rest. 
Long  though  it  be,  at  last  I  see  it  gloome. 
And    the    bright   evening-star  with   golden 

crest 
Appeare  out  of  the  east. 
Fayre  child  of  beauty!  glorious  lamp  of  love! 
That  all  the  host  of   heaven  in  rankes  dost 

lead. 
And  guidest  lovers  through  the  night's  sad 

dread, 
How  cherefully  thou  lookest  from  above. 
And  seem'st  to  laugh  atweene  thy  twinkling 

light. 
As  joying  in  the  sight 
Of  these  glad  many,  which  for  joy  do  sing, 
That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  their 

echo  ring. 

Now  cease,  ye  damsels,   your  delights  fore- 
past; 
Enough  it  is  that  all  the  day  was  youres. 
Now  day  is  done,  and  night  is  nighing  fast ; 
Now  bring  the  bryde  into  the  brydall  bowres. 
The  night  is  come,  now  soon  her  disarray, 
And  in  her  bed  her  lay  ; 
Lay  her  in  lyllies  and  in  violets ; 
And  silken  curtains  over  her  display, 
And  odourd  sheets,  and  arras  coverlets. 
Behold  how  goodly  my  faire  love  does  lye. 
In  proud  humility ! 

Like  unto  Maia,  when  as  Jove  her  took 
In  Tempe,  lying  on  the  flowry  grass, 
'Twixt  sleepe  and  wake,  after  she  weary  was, 
With  bathing  in  the  Acidalian  brooke. 


Now  it  is  night — ye  damsels  may  be  gone, 
And  leave  my  love  alone  ; 
And  leave  likewise  your  former  lay  to  sing : 
The  woods  no  more  shall  answer,  nor  your 


echo  ring. 


Noff-  welcome,    night!   thou  night  so  long 

expected. 
That  long  dale's  labour  doest  at  last  defray, 
And  all  my  cares  which  cruell  love  collected, 
Hast  summd  in  one,  and  cancelled  for  aye ! 
Spread  thy  broad  wing  over  my  love  and  me. 
That  no  man  may  us  see ; 
And  in  thy  sable  mantle  us  enwrap. 
From  feare  of  perill  and  foule  horror  free. 
Let  no  false  treason  seeke  us  to  entrap, 
Nor  any  dread  disquiet  once  annoy 
The  safety  of  our  joy ; 
But  let  the  night  be  calme,  and  quietsome. 
Without  tempestuous  storms  or  sad  afray : 
Lyke  as  when  Jove  with  fayre  Alcmena  lay, 
When  he  begot  the  great  Tirynthian  groome ; 
Or  lyke  as  when  he  with  thy  selfe  did  lye. 
And  begot  Majesty. 

And  let  the  mayds  and  yongmen  cease  to  sing; 
Ne  let  the  Avoods  them  answer,  nor  theyr 

echo  ring. 

Let  no  lamenting  cryes,  nor  doleful  teares. 
Be  heard  all  night  within,  nor  yet  without ; 
Ne  let  false  whispers,  breeding  hidden  feares, 
Breake  gentle  sleepe  with  misconceived  dout. 
Let  no  deluding  dreames,  nor  dreadful  sights. 
Make  sudden,  sad  affrights ; 
Ne  let   house-fyres,   nor  lightning's  heljjlea 

harmes, 
Ne  let  the  pouke,  nor  other  evill  sprights, 
Ne     let    mischievous    witches    with     their 

charmes, 
Ne  let  hob-goblins,  names  whose  sense  we 

see  not, 
Fray  us  with  things  that  be  not; 
Let  not  the  shriech-owle,  nor  the  storke,  be 

heard ; 
Nor  the  night  raven,  that  still  deadly  yells; 
Nor  damned  ghosts,  cald  up  with  mighty 

spells ; 
Nor  griesly  vultures  make  us  once  aflPeard. 
Ne  let  th'  unpleasant  quire  of  frogs  still  crok- 

ing 
Make  us  to  wish  theyr  choking. 


EPITHALAMION 


329 


Let  none  of  these  theyr  dreary  accents  sing  ; 
Ne  let  the  woods  them  answer,  nor  theyr 


echo  ring. 


But  let  stil  silence  true  night-watches  keepe, 
That  sacred  peace  may  in  assurance  rayne, 
And  tymely  sleep,  when  it  is  tyme  to  sleepe, 
May  poure  his  limbs  forth  on  your  pleasant 

playne; 
The  whiles  an  hundred  little  winged  Loves, 
Like  divers-fethered  doves, 
Shall  fly  and  flutter  round  about  the  bed. 
And  in  the  secret  darke,  that  none  reproves, 
Their  prety  stealthes  shall  worke,  and  snares 

shall  spread 
To  filch  away  sweet  snatches  of  delight, 
Conceald  through  covert  night. 
Ye  sonnes  of  Venus  play  your  sports  at  will! 
For  greedy  pleasure,  carelesse  of  your  toyes, 
Thinks  more  upon  her  paradise  of  joyes 
Than  what  ye  do,  albeit  good  or  ill. 
All  night  therefore  attend  your  merry  play, 
For  it  will  soone  be  day ; 
Now  none  doth  hinder  you,  that  say  or  sing ; 
Ne  will  the  woods  now  answer,  nor  your 

echo  ring. 

Who  is  the   same,   which    at  my  window 

peepes? 
Or  whose  is  that  fayre  face   that  shines  so 

bright? 
Is  it  not  Cinthia,  she  that  never  sleepes. 
But  walks  about  high  Heaven  all  the  night  ? 
O   fay  rest  goddesse,  do  thou  not  envy 
My  love  with  me  to  spy ; 
For  thou  likewise  didst  love,  though  now  un- 

thought, 
And  for  a  fleece  of  wool,  which  privily 
Tlie    l^atmian    shepherd     once    unto     thee 

brought. 
His  pleasures  with  thee  wrought. 
Tlierefore  to  us  be  favorable  now ; 
And  sith  of  women's  labours  thou  hast  charge, 
And  generation  goodly  dost  enlarge, 
Encline  thy  will  t'  effect  our  wishfull  vow, 
And  the  chast  womb  informe  with  timely 

seed, 
That  may  our  comfort  breed : 
Till  which  we  cease  our  hopefull  hap  to  sing; 
Ne  let  the  woods  us  answer,  nor  our  echo 

ring. 

46 


And  thou,  great  Juno !    which  with  awful 

might 
The  lawes  of  wedlock  still  dost  patronize ; 
And  the  religion  of  the  faith  first  plight 
"With  sacred  rites  hast  taught  to  solemnize ; 
And  eke  for  comfort  often  called  art 
Of  women  in  their  smart — 
Eternally  bind  thou  this  lovely  band. 
And  all  thy  blessings  imto  us  impart. 
And  thou,  glad  genius !  in  whose  gentle  hand 
The  brydale  bowre  and  geniall  bed  remaine. 
Without  blemish  or  staine ; 
And  the  sweet  pleasures  of  theyr  love's  delight 
With  secret  ayde  dost  succour  and  supply. 
Till  they  bring  forth  the  fruitful  progeny ; 
Send  us  the  timely  fruit  of  this  same  night ; 
And  thou,  fayre  Hebe!  and  thou,  Hymen  free! 
Grant  that  it  may  so  be ; 
Till  which  we  cease  your  further  praise  to  sing, 
Ne  any  wood  shall  answer,  nor  your  echo  ring. 

And  ye,  high  heavens,  the  temple  of  the  gods, 
In  which  a  thousand  torches  flaming  bright 
Do  burne,  that  to  us  wretched  earthly  clods 
In  dreadful  darknesse  lend  desired  light ; 
And  all  ye  powers  which  in  the  same  re- 

mayne, 
More  than  we  men  can  fayne — 
Poure  out  your  blessing  on  us  plentiously. 
And  happy  influence  upon  us  raine, 
That  we  may  raise  a  large  posterity. 
Which,  from  the  earth  which  they  may  long 

possesse 
With  lasting  happinesse, 
Up  to  your  haughty  pallaces  may  mount ; 
And,  for  the  guerdon  of  theyr  glorious  merit, 
May  heavenly  tabernacles  there  inherit. 
Of  blessed  saints  for  to  increase  the  count. 
So  let  us  rest,  sweet  love,  in  hope  of  this. 
And  cease  till  then  our  tymely  joyes  to  sing: 
The  woods  no  more  us  answer,  nor  our  echo 


Sovg  !  made  in  lieu  of  many  ornaments^ 

With  wliichmy  love  sTiouldduly  have  'been  decTct. 

Which  cutting  off  through  hasty  accidents^ 

Ye  trould  not  stay  your  due  time  to  expect, 

But  promist  both  to  recompens  ; 

Be  unto  her  a  goodly  ornament, 

And  for  short  time  an  endlesse  momiment ! 

Edmund  Spekser. 


880 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


EPITIIALAMIUM. 

I  SAW  two  clouds  at  morning, 

Tinged  by  the  rising  sun, 
And  in  the  dawn  they  floated  on, 

And  mingled  into  one ; 
T  tliouglit  that  morning  cloud  was  blest, 
It  moved  so  sweetly  to  the  west. 

I  saw  two  summer  currents 
Flow  smoothly  to  their  meeting, 

And  join  their  course  Avith  silent  force, 
In  peace  each  other  greeting ; 

Calm  was  their  course  through  banks  of 
green, 

"While  dimpling  eddies  played  between. 

Such  be  vour  gentle  motion, 

Till  life's  last  pulse  shall  beat ; 
Like  summer's  beam,  and  summer's  stream, 
.    Float  on,  in  joy,  to  meet 
A  calmer  sea,  where  storms  shall  cease — 
A  purer  sky,  w'here  all  is  peace. 

John  G.  C.  Beainaed. 


XOT  OURS  THE  VOWS. 

Not  ours  the  vows  of  such  as  plight 
Their  troth  in  sunny  weather, 

While  leaves  are  green,  and  skies  are  bright. 
To  walk  on  flowers  together. 

But  we  have  loved  as  those  who  tread 

The  thorny  path  of  sorrow, 
With  clouds  above,  and  cause  to  dread 

Yet  deeper  gloom  to-morrow. 

That  thorny  path,  those  stormy  skies. 
Have  drawn  our  spirits  nearer ; 

And  rendered  us,  by  sorrow's  ties, 
Each  to  the  other  dearer. 

Love,  born  in  hours  of  joy  and  mirth, 
With  mirth  and  joy  may  perish ; 

That  to  w^hich  darker  hours  gave  birth 
Still  more  and  more  we  cherish. 

ft  looks  beyond  the  clouds  of  time. 

And  through  dcatli's  shadowy  portal ; 

Hade  by  adversity  sublime. 

By  faith  and  hope  immortal. 

Bebnabd  Bakton. 


MY  LOVE  HAS  TALKED.    ' 

My  love  has  talked  with  rocks  and  trees ; 
He  finds  on  misty  mountain-ground 
llis  own  vast  shadow  glory-crowned — 

He  sees  himself  in  all  he  sees. 

Two  partners  of  a  married  life, — 

I  looked  on  these  and  thought  of  thee 
In  vastness  and  in  mystery, 

And  of  my  spirit  as  of  a  wife. 

These  two,  they  dwelt  with  eye  on  eye ; 

Their  hearts  of  old  have  beat  in  tune ; 

Their  meetings  made  December  June ; 
Their  every  parting  was  to  die. 

Their  love  has  never  passed  away; 
The  days  she  never  can  forget 
Are  earnest  that  he  loves  her  yet, 

Whate'er  the  faithless  people  say. 

Her  life  is  lone — he  sits  apart — 

He  loves  her  yet — she  will  not  weep, 
Though,  rapt  in  matters  dark  and  deep, 

He  seems  to  slight  her  simple  heart. 

He  thrids  the  labyrinth  of  the  mind ; 
He  reads  the  secret  of  the  star — 
He  seems  so  near  and  yet  so  far ; 

He  looks  so  cold  :  she  thinks  him  kind. 

She  keeps  the  gift  of  years  before — 
A  withered  violet  is  her  bliss ; 
She  knows  not  what  his  greatness  is ; 

For  that,  for  all,  she  loves  him  more. 

For  him  she  plays,  to  him  she  sings 
Of  early  faith  and  plighted  vows ; 
She  knows  but  matters  of  the  house ; 

And  he — he  knows  a  thousand  things. 

Her  faith  is  fixed  and  cannot  move ; 

She  darkly  feels  him  great  and  wise ; 

She  dwells  on  him  with  faithful  eyes : 
"  I  cannot  understand — I  love." 

Alfked  Tenntson. 


MY    WIFE  'S    A    WINSOME    WEE    TIII^'G. 


831 


IF  THOU  WERT  BY  MY  SIDE,  MY  LOYE. 

If  thou  wert  by  ruy  side,  my  love. 
How  fast  would  evening  fail 

In  green  Bengala's  palmy  grove, 
Tiistening  the  nightingale ! 

If  thou,  my  love,  wert  by  my  side, 

My  babies  at  my  knee, 
How  gayly  would  our  pinnace  glide 

O'er  Gunga's  mimic  sea  ! 

I  miss  thee  at  the  dawning  gray, 
When,  on  our  deck  rechued. 

In  careless  ease  my  limbs  I  lay 
And  woo  the  cooler  wind. 

I  miss  thee  when  by  Gunga's  stream 

My  twilight  steps  I  guide, 
But  most  beneath  the  lamp's  pale  beam 

I  miss  thee  from  my  side. 

I  spread  my  books,  my  pencil  try, 
The  lingering  noon  to  cheer. 

But  miss  thy  kind,  approving  eye. 
Thy  meek,  attentive  ear. 

But  when  at  morn  and  eve  the  star 

Beholds  me  on  my  knee, 
I  feel,  though  thou  art  distant  far. 

Thy  prayers  ascend  for  me. 

Tlien  on !  tlicn  on !  where  duty  leads. 

My  course  be  onward  still. 
O'er  broad  Hindostan's  sultry  meads, 

O'er  bleak  Almorali's  hill. 

That  course  nor  Delhi's  kingly  gates. 

Nor  mild  Malwah  detain  ; 
For  sweet  the  bliss  us  both  awaits 

By  yonder  western  main. 

Thy  towers,  Bombay,  gleam  bright,  tliey 
say. 
Across  the  dark  blue  sea ; 
But  ne'er  were  hearts  so  light  and  gay 
As  then  shaU  meet  in  thee ! 

Reginald  IIebee. 


A  WISH. 

MnfE  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill ; 

A  bee-hive's  hum  shall  soothe  my  ear ; 
A  willowy  brook,  that  turns  amiU, 

With  many  a  fall  shall  linger  near. 

The  swallow  oft  beneath  my  thatch 
Shall  twitter  from  her  clay-built  nest ; 

Oft  shall  the  pilgrim  lift  the  latch. 
And  share  my  meal,  a  welcome  guest. 

Around  my  ivied  porch  shall  spring 

Each  fragrant  flower  that  drinks  the  dew ; 

And  Lucy,  at  her  wheel,  shall  sing 
In  russet  gown  and  apron  blue. 

The  village  church  among  the  trees. 

Where  first  our  marriage  vows  were  given 

With  merry  peals  shall  swell  the  breeze 
And  point  with  taper  spire  to  heaven. 

Samttel  Eogees. 


MY  WIFE 'S  A  WINSOME  WEE  THING. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  tiling, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing. 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing. 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 

I  never  saw  a  fairer, 

I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer. 

And  neist  my  heart  I'll  wear  her, 

For  fear  my  jewel  tine. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing. 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  of  mine. 

The  warld's  wrack,  we  share  o  't, 
The  warstle  and  the  care  o  't, 
Wi'  her  I'll  blythely  bear  it. 
And  think  my  lot  divine. 

HoBEBT  Burns. 


jj32 


POEMS     OF    LOVE. 


THE  FIKESIDE. 

Dear  Chloc,  Avliile  the  busy  crowd, 
The  vain,  tho  wealthy,  and  the  proud, 

In  folly's  maze  advance ; 
Though  singularity  and  pride 
Be  called  our  choice,  we  '11  step  aside, 

Xor  join  the  giddy  dance. 


From  the  gay  world  we  '11  oft  retire 
lo  our  own  f;imily  and  fire, 

Where  love  our  hours  employs  ; 
No  noisy  neiglibor  enters  here, 
No  intermeddling  stranger  near, 

To  spoil  our  heartfelt  joys. 

If  solid  happiness  we  prize, 
Within  our  breast  tliis  jewel  lies. 

And  they  are  fools  who  roam  ; 
The  world  hath  nothing  to  bestow — 
From  our  own  selves  our  bliss  must  flow. 

And  that  dear  hut,  our  home. 

Though  fools  spurn  Hymen's  gentle  powers. 
We,  who  improve  his  golden  hours. 

By  sweet  experience  know 
That  marriage,  rightly  understood. 
Gives  to  the  tender  and  the  good 

A  paradise  below. 

Our  babes  shall  richest  comforts  bring; 
If  tutored  right,  they  '11  prove  a  spring 

Whence  pleasures  ever  rise ; 
We  '11  form  their  minds  with  studious  care 
To  all  that 's  manly,  good,  and  fair, 

And  train  them  for  the  skies. 


While  they  our  wisest  hours  engage, 
They'll  joy  our  youth,  support  our  age. 

And  crown  our  hoary  hairs; 
They  '11  grow  in  virtue  every  day. 
And  thus  our  fondest  loves  repay. 

And  recompense  our  cares. 

Ko  borrowed  joys,  they  're  all  our  own, 
While  to  the  world  we  live  unknown, 


Or  by  the  world  forgot ; 
Monarchs !   we  envy  not  your  state- 
We  look  with  pity  on  the  great, 

And  bless  our  humble  lot. 


Our  portion  is  not  large,  indeed ; 
But  then  how  little  do  we  need, 

For  nature's  calls  are  few  ; 
In  this  the  ai-t  of  living  lies, 
To  want  no  more  tlian  may  suffice, 

And  make  that  little  do. 


We  '11  therefore  relish  with  content 
Whate'er  kind  Providence  has  sent, 

Nor  aim  beyond  our  power ; 
For,  if  our  stock  be  very  small, 
'T  is  prudence  to  enjoy  it  all. 

Nor  lose  the  present  hour. 

To  be  resigned  when  ills  betide, 
Patient  Avhen  favors  are  denied. 

And  pleased  with  favors  given — 
Dear  Chloe,  this  is  wisdom's  part. 
This  is  that  incense  of  the  heart, 

Whose  fragrance  smells  to  heaven. 

We  '11  ask  no  long-protracted  treat. 
Since  winter-life  is  seldom  sweet ; 

But,  when  our  feast  is  o'er. 
Grateful  from  table  we  '11  arise, 
Nor  grudge  our  sons,  with  envious  eyes, 

The  relics  of  our  store. 


Thus  hand  in  hand  through  life  we  '11  go ; 
Its  chequered  paths  of  joy  and  woe 

With  cautious  steps  Ave  '11  tread ; 
Quit  its  vain  scenes  without  a  tear, 
Without  a  trouble,  or  a  fear, 

And  mingle  with  the  dead; 


While  conscience,  hke  a  faithful  friend. 
Shall  through  the  gloomy  vale  attend, 

And  cheer  our  dying  breath — 
Shall,  when  all  other  comforts  cease, 
Like  a  kind  angel  whisper  peace, 

And  smooth  the  bed  of  death. 

Nathaniel  Cotton. 


THE    POET'S    BRIDAL-DAY    SONG. 


333 


THE  POET'S  BEIDAL-DAY  SONG. 

On,  my  love 's  like  the  steadfast  sun, 
Or  streams  that  deepen  as  they  run ; 
Nor  hoary  hairs,  nor  forty  years, 
Nor  moments  between  sighs  and  tears, 
ISTor  nights  of  thought,  nor  days  of  pain, 
Nor  dreams  of  glory  dreamed  in  vain, 
Nor  mirth,  nor  sweetest  song  that  flows 
To  sober  joys  and  soften  woes. 
Can  make  my  heart  or  fancy  flee. 
One  moment,  my  sweet  wife,  from  thee. 

Even  while  I  muse,  I  see  thee  sit 

In  maiden  bloom  and  matron  wit; 

Fair,  gentle  as  when  first  I  sued, 

Ye  seem,  but  of  sedater  mood  ; 

Yet  my  heart  leaps  as  fond  for  thee 

As  when,  beneath  Arbiglaud  tree, 

"We  stayed  and  wooed,  and  thought  the  moon 

Set  on  the  sea  an  hour  too  soon ; 

Or  lingered  'mid  the  falling  dew, 

T7hen  looks  were  fond  and  words  were  few. 

Though  I  see  smiling  at  thy  feet 
Five  sons  and  ae  fair  daughter  sweet, 
And  time,  and  care,  and  birthtime  woes 
Have  dimmed  thine  eye  and  touched  thy  rose, 
To  thee,  and  thoughts  of  thee,  belong 
"Whate'er  charms  me  in  tale  or  song. 
When  words  descend  like  dews,  unsought, 
"With  gleams  of  deep,  enthusiast  thought. 
And  fancy  in  her  heaven  flies  free. 
They  come,  my  love,  they  come  from  thee. 

Oh,  when  more  thought  we  gave,  of  old, 
To  silver,  than  some  give  to  gold, 
'T  was  sweet  to  sit  and  ponder  o'er 
How  we  should  deck  our  humble  bower ; 
'T  was  sweet  to  pull,  in  hope,  with  thee, 
The  golden  fruit  of  fortune's  tree; 
And  sweeter  still  to  choose  and  twine 
A  garland  for  that  brow  of  thine — 
A  song-wreath  which  may  grace  my  Jean, 
"While  rivers  flow,  and  woods  grow  green. 

At  times  there  come,  as  come  there  ought, 
Grave  moments  of  sedater  thought. 
When  fortune  frowns,  nor  lends  our  night 
One  gleam  of  her  inconstant  light ; 


And  hope,  that  decks  the  peasant's  bower. 
Shines  like  a  rainbow  through  the  shower ; 
Oh  then  I  see,  while  seated  nigh, 
A  mother's  heart  shine  in  thine  eye, 
And  proud  resolve  and  purpose  meek. 
Speak  of  thee  more  than  words  can  speak. 
I  think  this  wedded  wife  of  mine. 
The  best  of  all  that 's  not  divine. 

Allan  CuNNrsGnAM. 


TO  SAEAH. 

OxE  happy  year  has  fled.  Sail, 

Since  you  were  all  my  own ; 
The  leaves  have  felt  the  autumn  blight. 

The  wintry  storm  has  blown. 
"We  heeded  not  the  cold  blast. 

Nor  the  winter's  icy  air ; 
For  we  found  our  climate  in  the  heart. 

And  it  was  summer  there. 

The  summer  sun  is  bright.  Sail, 

The  skies  are  pure  in  hue — - 
But  clouds  will  sometimes  sadden  them. 

And  dim  their  lovely  blue ; 
And  clouds  may  come  to  us.  Sail, 

But  sure  they  will  not  stay  ; 
For  there's  a  spell  in  fond  hearts 

To  chase  their  gloom  away. 

In  sickness  and  in  sorrow 

Thine  eyes  were  on  me  still, 
And  there  was  comfort  in  each  glance 

To  charm  the  sense  of  ill ; 
And  were  they  absent  now.  Sail, 

I  'd  seek  my  bed  of  pain, 
And  bless  each  pang  that  gave  mo  back 

Those  looks  of  love  again. 

Oh,  pleasant  is  the  Avelcome  kiss 

"When  day's  dull  round  is  o'er, 
And  sweet  the  music  of  the  step 

That  meets  me  at  the  door. 
Though  worldly  cares  may  visit  us, 

I  reck  not  when  they  faU, 
"While  I  have  thy  kind  lips,  my  Sail, 

To  smile  away  tlicm  all. 

Joseph  Eohman  Drake. 


83-i 


POEMS    OF    LOVE. 


THE  POETS  SOXG  TO  HIS  WIFE. 

l!ow  many  summers,  love, 

Have  I  been  thine? 
How  many  days,  thou  dove, 

Ilast  thou  been  mine  ? 
Time,  like  the  winged  Aviud 

When  't  bends  the  flowers. 
Hath  left  no  mark  behind. 

To  covmt  the  hours ! 

Some  weight  of  thought,  though  loth, 

On  thee  he  leaves ; 
Some  lines  of  care  round  both 

Perliaps  he  weaves ; 
Some  fears, — a  soft  regret 

For  joys  scarce  known ; 
Sweet  looks  we  half  forget ; — 

All  else  is  flown! 

Ah ! — "With  what  tliaukless  heart 

I  mourn  and  sing! 
Look,  where  our  children  start, 

Like  sudden  spring ! 
With  tongues  all  sweet  and  low, 

Like  a  pleasant  rhyme, 
They  tell  how  much  I  owe 

To  thee  and  tim.e ! 

Bap.ey  Cornwall. 


THE  BLISSFUL  DAY. 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns, 
Tlie  blissful  day  we  twa  did  meet ; 

Tho'  winter  wild  in  tempest  toiled, 
Xe'er  summer  sun  was  half  sae  sweet. 


Than  a'  the  pride  that  loads  the  tide, 
And  crosses  o'er  the  sultry  line — 

Than  kingly  robes,  and  crowns  and  globes. 
Heaven  gave  me  more ;  it  made  thee  mine. 

While  day  and  niglit  can  bring  delight. 

Or  nature  auglit  of  pleasure  give — 
While  joys  above  my  mind  can  move, 

For  thee  and  thee  alone  I  live ; 
When  that  grim  foe  of  life  below 

Comes  in  between  to  make  us  part, 
The  iron  hand  that  breaks  our  band, 

It  breaks  my  bliss — it  breaks  my  heart. 

EOBBET    BtTEKS. 


JOHN  ANDEESON. 

John  Andeeson,  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent. 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven. 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snow ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo ! 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither ; 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 

We  've  had  wi'  ane.  anither ; 
Now  we  maun  totter  doun,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we  '11  go. 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 


KOBERT  Burns. 


PART  V. 


POEMS       OF      AMBITION. 


Pateiots  have  toiled,  and  in  their  country's  cause 
Bled  nobly ;  and  their  deeds,  as  they  deserve, 
Receive  proud  recompense.     We  give  in  charge 
Their  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.     The  historic  Muse, 
Proud  of  the  treasure,  marches  with  it  down 
To  latest  times  ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  turn, 
Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever-during  brass 
To  guard  them,  and  to  immortalize  her  trust. 

COWPEE. 


■  On  courage !  there  he  comes  ; 

What  ray  of  honor  round  about  him  looms  ! 

Oh,  what  new  beams  from  his  bright  eyes  do  glance  I 

0  princely  port !  presageful  countenance 

Of  hap  at  hand  !     He  doth  not  nicely  prank 

In  clinquant  pomp,  as  some  of  meanest  rank, 

But  armed  in  steel  ;  that  bright  habiliment 

Is  his  rich  valor's  sole  rich  ornament. 

JOSUUA   Stlvbstei!. 


En  avantl  marchona 
Centre  leurs  canons ! 
A  travers  le  for,  le  feu  des  battaillons, 
Courons  a  la  victoire ! 

Casimik  de  la  Vigne. 


The  perfect  heat  of  that  celestial  fire. 
That  so  inflames  the  pure  heroic  breast. 
And  lifts  the  thought,that  it  can  never  rest 

Till  it  to  heaven  attain  its  prime  desire. 

LOED    TnUKLOW. 


POEMS    OF   AMBITION. 


-«-•-♦- 


HORATIUS. 


A.  LAY  MADE  ABOUT  THE  TEAR  OF   EOME  CCCLX. 


Lars  Porsena  of  Olusium, 

By  the  nine   gods  he  swore 
That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin 

Should  sufter  wrong  no  more. 
By  the  nhie   gods  he  swore  it, 

And  named  a  trysting  day, 
And  bade  his  messengers  ride  forth. 
East  and  west  and  south  and  north, 

To  summon  his  array. 


II. 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  messengers  ride  fast, 
And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 

Have  heard  the  trumpet's  blast. 
Shame  on  the  false  Etruscan 

Who  lingers  in  his  home, 
When  Porsena  of  Clusium 

Is  on  the  march  for  Rome ! 


III. 

The  horsemen  and  the  footmen 

Are  pouring  in  amain 
From  many  a  stately  market-place, 

From  many  a  fruitful  plain. 
From  many  a  lonely  hamlet, 

Which,  hid  by  beech  and  pine. 
Like  an  eagle's  nest  hangs  on  the  crest 

Of  ])urple  Apennine; 
47 


IT. 

From  lordly  Volaterrae, 

Where  scowls  the  far-famed  hold 
Piled  by  the  hands  of  giants 

For  godlike  kings  of  old ; 
From  sea-girt  Populonia, 

Whose  sentinels  descry 
Sardinia's  snowy  mountain-tops 

Fringing  the  southern  sky; 

v. 
From  the  proud  mart  of  Pisae, 

Queen  of  the  western  waves. 
Where  ride  Massilia's  triremes. 

Heavy  with  fair-haired  slaves; 
From  where  sweet  Clanis  wanders 

Through  corn  and  vines  and  flowers ; 
From  where  Cortona  lifts  to  heaven 

Her  diadem  of  towers. 


TI. 

Tall  are  the  oaks  whose  acorns 

Drop  in  dark  Auser's  rill ; 
Fat  are  the  stags  that  champ  the  boughs 

Of  the  Ciminian  hill ; 
Beyond  all  streams, Clitumnus 

Is  to  the  herdsman  dear; 
Best  of  all  pools  the  fowler  lovea 

The  great  Volsinian  mere. 

TII. 

But  now  no  stroke  of  woodman 

Is  heard  by  Auser's  rill ; 
No  hunter  tracks  the  stag's  green  path 

Up  the  Ciminian  hill ; 


888                                                   POEMS    or 

AMBITION. 

rnwatclied  along  Clituranus 

And  with  a  mighty  following, 

Crazes  the  milk-white  steer; 

To  join  the  muster,  came 

Unharmed  the  water-fowl  may  dip 

The  Tusculan  Mamilius, 

In  the  Volsinian  mere. 

Prince  of  the  Latian  name. 

Tin. 

XIII. 

The  harvests  of  Arrctium, 

But  by  the  yellow  Tiber 

This  year,  old  men  shall  reap ; 

Was  tumult  and  affright ; 

This  year,  young  boys  in  Umbro 

From  all  the  spacious  champaign 

Shall  plunge  the  struggling  sheep ; 

To  Eome  men  took  their  flight. 

And  in  the  vats  of  Luna, 

A  mile  around  the  city 

This  year,  the  must  shall  foam 

The  throng  stopped  up  the  ways; 

Round  the  white  feet  of  laughing  girls 

A  fearful  sight  it  Avas  to  see 

"Whose  sires  have  marched  to  Eome. 

Through  two  long  niglits  and  days. 

IX. 

XIV. 

There  be  thirty  chosen  prophets, 

For  aged  folk  on  crutches. 

The  wisest  of  the  land, 

And  women  great  with  child. 

Who  alway  by  Lars  Porsena 

And  mothers,  sobbing  over  babes 

Both  morn  and  evening  stand. 

That  clung  to  them  and  smiled, 

Evening  and  morn  the  thirty 

And  sick  men  borne  in  litters 

Have  turned  the  verses  o'er. 

High  on  the  necks  of  slaves. 

Traced  from  the  right  on  linen  white 

And  troops  of  sunburned  husbandmen 

By  mighty  seers  of  yore ; 

With  reaping-hooks  and  staves. 

X. 

And  with  one  voice  the  thirty 

XV. 

And  droves  of  mules  and  asses 

Have  their  glad  answer  given : 

Laden  with  skins  of  wine, 

"  Go  forth,  go  forth,  Lars  Porsena — 

And  endless  flocks  of  goats  and  sheep, 

Go  forth,  beloved  of  heaven ! 

And  endless  herds  of  kine, 

Go,  and  return  in  glory 

And  endless  trains  of  wagons, 

To  Clusium's  royal  dome. 

That  creaked  beneath  the  weight 

And  hang  round  Nurscia's  altars 

Of  corn-sacks  and  of  household  goods, 

The  golden  shields  of  Eome !  " 

Choked  every  roaring  gate. 

XI. 

XVI. 

And  now  hath  every  city 

Now,  from  the  rock  Tarpeian, 

Sent  up  her  tale  of  men ; 

Could  the  wan  burghers  spy 

The  foot  are  fourscore  thousand, 

The  line  of  blazing  villages 

The  horse  are  thousands  ten. 

Red  in  the  midnight  sky. 

Before  the  gates  of  Sutrium 

The  fathers  of  the  city. 

Is  met  the  great  array ; 

They  sat  all  night  and  day. 

A.  proud  man  was  Lars  Porsena 

For  every  hour  some  horseman  came 

Upon  the  trysting  day. 

With  tidings  of  dismay. 

XII. 

XVII. 

For  all  the  Etruscan  armies 

To  eastward  and  to  westward 

Were  ranged  beneath  his  eye, 

Have  spread  the  Tuscan  bands. 

And  many  a  banished  Roman, 

Nor  house,  nor  fence,  nor  dovecot, 

And  many  a  stout  ally ; 

In  Crustumerium  stands. 

1 


HORATIUS. 


33y 


Verbenna  down  to  Ostia 
Hath  -vrasted  all  the  plain  ; 

Astur  hath  stormed  Janiculum, 
And  the  stout  guards  are  slain. 

xvin. 

I  wis,  in  all  the  senate 

There  was  no  heart  so  bold 
But  sore  it  ached,  and  fast  it  beat, 

When  that  ill  news  was  told. 
Forthwith  up  rose  the  consul, 

Up  rose  the  fathers  all ; 
In  haste  they  girded  up  their  gowns, 

And  hied  them  to  the  wall. 


XIX. 

They  held  a  council,  standing 

Before  the  river-gate ; 
Short  time  was  there,  ye  well  may  guess, 

For  musing  or  debate. 
Out  spake  the  consul  roundly : 

"  The  bridge  must  straight  go  down ; 
For,  since  Janiculum  is  lost, 

Nought  else  can  save  the  town." 


XX. 

Just  then  a  scout  came  flying. 

Ail  wild  with  haste  and  fear : 
"  To  arras !  to  arms  !    sir  consul — 

Lars  Porsena  is  here." 
On  the  low  hills  to  westward 

The  consul  fixed  his  eye. 
And  saw  the  swarthy  storm  of  dust 

Rise  fast  along  the  sky. 

XXI. 

And  nearer  fast  and  nearer 

Doth  the  red  whirlwind  come ; 
And  louder  still,  and  still  more  loud, 
From  underneath  that  rolling  cloud. 
Is  lieard  the  trumpets'  war-note  proud. 

The  trampling  and  the  hum. 
And  plainly  and  more  plainly 

Now  through  the  gloom  appears. 
Far  to  left  and  far  to  right, 
In  broken  gleams  of  dark-blue  light, 
The  long  array  of  helmets  bright, 

The  long  array  of  spears. 


XXII. 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly. 

Above  that  glimmering  line, 
ISTow  might  ye  see  the  banners 

Of  twelve  fair  cities  shine ; 
But  the  banner  of  proud  Clusium 

Was  highest  of  them  all — 
The  terror  of  the  Umbrian, 

The  terror  of  the  Gaul. 

XXIII. 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly 

Xow  might  the  burghers  know. 
By  port  and  vest,  by  horse  and  crest, 

Each  warlike  Lucumo : 
There  Cilnius  of  Arretium 

On  his  fleet  roan  was  seen ; 
And  Astur  of  the  fourfold  shield, 
Girt  with  the  brand  none  else  may  wield; 
Tolumnius  with  the  belt  of  gold, 
And  dark  Verbenna  from  the  hold 

By  reedy  Thrasymene. 

XXIV. 

Fast  by  the  royal  standard, 

O'erlooking  all  the  war, 
Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 

Sat  in  his  ivory  car. 
By  the  riglit  wheel  rode  Mamilius, 

Prince  of  the  Latian  name : 
And  by  the  left  false  Sextus, 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame. 

XXV. 

But  when  the  face  of  Sextus 

Was  seen  among  the  foes, 
A  yell  that  rent  the  firmament 

From  all  the  town  arose. 
On  the  housetops  was  no  woman 

But  spat  towards  him  and  hissed, 
ISTo  child  but  screamed  out  curses. 

And  shook  its  little  fist. 

XXVI. 

But  the  consul's  brow  was  sad. 
And  the  consul's  speecli  was  low, 

And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall, 
And  darkly  at  the  foe  : 


340                                                     POEMS    OF 

AMBITION. 

"  Their  van  -will  be  upon  us 

For  Romans  in  Rome's  quarrel 

Before  the  bridge  goes  down ; 

Spared  neither  land  nor  gold, 

And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge, 

Nor  son  nor  wife,  nor  limb  nor  life, 

"What  hope  to  save  the  town  ? " 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

XXVII. 

XXXII. 

Then  out  spake  brave  Horatius, 

The  captain  of  the  gate : 

Then  none  was  for  a  party — 

"  To  every  man  upon  this  earth 

Then  all  were  for  the  state ; 

Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 

Then  the  great  man  helped  the  poor, 

And  how  can  man  die  better 

And  the  poor  man  loved  the  great; 

Than  facing  fearful  odds 

Then  lands  were  fairly  portioned! 

For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers, 

Then  spoils  were  fairly  sold : 

And  the  temples  of  his  gods? 

The  Romans  were  like  brothers 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

xxvni. 

"And  for  the  tender  mother 

XXXIII. 

Who  dandled  him  to  rest. 

And  for  the  wife  who  nurses 

Now  Roman  is  to  Roman 

His  baby  at  her  breast, 

More  hateful  than  a  foe. 

And  ft)r  the  holy  maidens 

And  the  tribunes  beard  the  high. 

Who  feed  the  eternal  flame — 

And  the  fathers  grind  the  low. 

To  save  them  from  false  Sextus 

As  we  wax  hot  in  faction. 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame  ? 

In  battle  we  wax  cold; 

Wherefore  men  fight  not  as  they  fought 

XXIX. 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

"  Hew  down  the  bridge,  sir  consul, 

With  all  the  speed  ye  may ; 

XXXIV. 

I,  with  two  more  to  help  me, 

Now  while  the  three  were  tightening 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play — 

Their  harness  on  their  backs. 

In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand 

The  consul  was  the  foremost  man 

May  well  be  stopped  by  three. 

To  take  in  hand  an  axe ; 

Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 

And  fathers,  mixed  with  commons, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  me  ? " 

Seized  hatchet,  bar,  and  crow, 

And  smote  upon  the  planks  above. 

XXX. 

And  loosed  tlie  props  below. 

Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius — 

A  Eamnian  proud  was  he : 

"  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 

XXXV. 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army, 

And  out  spake  strong  Herminius — 

Right  glorious  to  behold. 

Of  Titian  blood  was  he : 

Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  light. 

"  I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side, 

Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

Of  a  broad  sea  of  gold. 

Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 

XXXI. 

A  peal  of  warlike  glee. 

"Horatius,"  quoth  the  consul. 

As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread. 

"  As  thou  sayest,  so  let  it  be." 

And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread, 

And  straight  against  that  great  array 

Rolled  slowly  towards  the  bridge's  head, 

Forth  went  the  dauntless  three. 

Where  stood  the  dauntless  three. 

nORATIUS. 


341 


SXXVI. 

The  three  stood  calm  and  silent, 

And  looked  upon  the  foes, 
And  a  great' shout  of  laughter 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose ; 
And  forth  three  chiefs  came  spurring 

Before  that  deep  array ; 
To    earth  they  sprang,  their  swords  they 

drew, 
And  lifted  high  their  shields,  and  flew 

To  win  the  narrow  way. 

xxxvir. 
Annus,  from  green  Tifernum, 

Lord  of  the  hill  of  vines ; 
And  Seius,  whose  eight  hundred  slaves 

Sicken  in  Ilva's  mines ; 
And  Picus,  long  to  Clusium 

Vassal  in  peace  and  war, 
Who  led  to  fight  his  Umbrian  powers 
From    that    gray  crag    where,  girt    with 

towers, 
The  fortress  of  Nequinum  lowers 

O'er  the  pale  waves  of  Nar. 

XXXVIII. 

Stout  Lartius  hurled  down  Annus 

Into  the  stream  beneath ; 
Ilerminius  struck  at  Seius, 

And  clove  him  to  the  teeth  ; 
At  Picus  brave  Horatius 

Darted  one  fiery  thrust, 
And  the  proud  Umbrian's  gilded  arms 

Clashed  in  the  bloody  dust. 

XXXIX. 

Then  Ocnus  of  Falerii 

Pushed  on  the  Eoman  three ; 
And  Lausulus  of  Urgo, 

The  rover  of  the  sea  ; 
And  Aruns  of  Volsinium, 

Who  slew  the  great  wild  boar — 
The  great  wild  boar  that  had  his  den 

Amidst  the  reeds  of  Cosa's  fen. 
And  wasted  fiekL',  and  slaughtered  men. 

Along  Albinia's  shore. 

XL. 

Ilerminius  smote  down  Aruns ; 

Lartius  laid  Ocnus  low ; 
Right  to  the  heart  of  Lausulus 

Horatius  sent  a  blow : 


"Lie  there,"  he  cried,  "fell  pirate! 

ISTo  more,  aghast  and  pale. 
From  Ostia's  walls  the  crowd  shall  mark 

The  track  of  thy  destroying  bark  ; 
No  more  Campania's  hinds  shall  fly 
To  woods  and  caverns,  when  they  spy 

Thy  thrice-accursed  sail !  " 

XLI. 

But  now  no  sound  of  laughter 

Was  heard  among  the  foes ; 
A  wild  and  wrathful  clamor 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 
Six  spears'  lengths  from  the  entrance 

Halted  that  deep  array. 
And  for  a  space  no  man  came  forth 

To  win  the  narrow  way. 

XLII. 

But,  hark !  the  cry  is  Astur : 

And  lo  !  the  ranks  divide  ; 
And  the  great  lord  of  Luna 

Comes  with  his  stately  stride. 
Upon  his  ample  shoulders 

Clangs  loud  the  fourfold  shield. 
And  in  his  hand  he  shakes  the  brand 

Which  none  but  he  can  wield. 

XLIII. 

He  smiled  on  those  bold  Romans, 

A  smile  serene  and  high  ; 
He  eyed  the  flinching  Tuscans, 

And  scorn  was  in  his  eye. 
Quoth  he,  "  The  she-wolf's  litter 

Stand  savagely  at  bay ; 
But  will  ye  dare  to  follow. 

If  Astur  clears  the  way  ? " 

XLIV. 

Then,  whirling  up  his  broadsword 

With  both  hands  to  the  height, 
He  rushed  against  Horatius, 

And  smote  with  all  his  might. 
With  shield  and  blade  Horatius 

Right  deftly  turned  the  blow. 
The  blow,  though  turned,  came  yet  too  nigh. 
It  missed  his  helm,  but  gashed  his  thigh — 
The  Tuscans  raised  a  joyful  cry 

To  see  the  red  blood  flow. 


U2 


rOEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


XLV. 

He  reeled,  and  on  Herminius 

lie  leaned  one  breathing  space — 
Tlien,  like  a  wild-cat  mad  with  wounds, 

Sprang  right  at  Astiir's  face. 
Through  teeth,  and  skull,  and  helmet, 

So  fierce  a  thrust  he  sped. 
The  good  sword  stood  a  hand-breadth  out 

Behind  the  Tuscan's  head. 

XLvr. 

And  the  great  lord  of  Luna 

Fell  at  that  deadly  stroke, 
As  fulls  on  Mount  Avernus 

A  thunder-smitten  oak. 
Far  o'er  the  crashing  forest 

The  giant  arms  lie  si)read  ; 
And  the  pale  augurs,  muttering  low, 

Gaze  on  the  blasted  head. 

XLVII. 

On  Astur's  throat  Horatius 

Right  firmly  pressed  his  heel, 
And  thrice  and  four  times  tugged  amain, 

Ere  he  wrenched  out  the  steel. 
"And  see,"  he  cried,  "the  welcome, 

Fair  guests,  that  waits  you  here ! 
What  noble  Lucumo  comes  next 

To  taste  our  Roman  cheer  ? " 

XLVIII. 

But  at  his  haughty  challenge 

A  sullen  murmur  ran. 
Mingled  with  wrath,  and  shame,  and  dread, 

Along  that  glittering  van. 
There  lacked  not  men  of  prowess, 

Nor  men  of  lordly  race  ; 
For  all  Etruria's  noblest 

"Were  round  the  fatal  place. 

XLIX. 

But  all  Etruria's  noblest 

Felt  their  hearts  sink  to  see 
On  the  earth  the  bloody  corpses. 

In  the  path  the  dauntless  three  , 
And  from  the  ghastly  entrance, 

Where  those  bold  Romans  stood. 
All  shrank— like  boys  who,  unaware, 
Ranging  a  wood  to  start  a  hare. 


Come  to  the  mouth  of  the  dark  lair 
AVhere,  growling  low,  a  fierce  old  bear 
Lies  amidst  bones  and  blood. 


Was  none  n'ho  would  be  foremost 

To  lead  such  dire  attack ; 
But  those  behind  cried  "  Forward !  " 

And  those  before  cried  "  Back !  " 
And  backward  now,  and  forward. 

Wavers  the  deep  array  ; 
And  on  the  tossing  sea  of  steel 
To  and  fro  the  standards  reel. 
And  the  victorious  trumpet-peal 

Dies  fitfully  away. 

II. 

Yet  one  man  for  one  moment 

Strode  out  before  the  croT\  d ; 
Well  known  was  he  to  all  the  three, 

And  they  gave  him  greeting  loud  : 
"Now  welcome,  welcome,  Sextus! 

Now  welcome  to  thy  home ! 
Why  dost  thou  stay,  and  turn  away? 

Here  lies  the  road  to  Rome." 

LII. 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  city  ; 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  dead ; 
And  thrice  came  on  in  fury, 

And  thrice  turned  back  in  dread ; 
And,  white  with  fear  and  hatred, 

Scowled  at  the  narrow  way 
Where,  wallowing  in  a  pool  of  blood, 

The  bravest  Tuscans  lay. 

LIII. 

But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever 

Have  manfully  been  plied ; 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 

Above  the  boiling  tide. 
"  Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius !  " 

Loud  cried  the  fathers  aU — 
"Back,  Lartius!  back,  HerminiusI 

Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall  1 " 

LIV. 

Back  darted  Spur  ins  Lartius — 

Herminius  darted  back ; 
And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 

They  felt  the  timbers  crack. 


nORATIUS.                                                               34b 

But  when  they  turned  their  faces, 

So  he  spake,  and,  speaking,  sheathed 

And  on  the  farther  shore 

The  good  sword  by  his  side, 

Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone, 

And,  with  his  harness  on  his  back. 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more  ; 

Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 

LV. 

But  with  a  crash  like  thunder 

LX. 

Fell  every  loosened  beam, 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 

And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

"Was  heard  from  either  bank, 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream  ; 

But  friends  and  foes  in  dumb  surprise. 

And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

"With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes. 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 

Stood  gazing  where  he  sank ; 

As  to  the  highest  turret-tops 

And  when  above  the  surges 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

They  saw  his  crest  a])pear, 

All  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry. 

LVI. 

And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 

And  like  a  horse  unbroken. 

Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

"When  first  he  feels  the  rein. 

The  furious  river  struggled  hard, 

And  tossed  hi=  tawny  mane, 

LXI. 

And  burst  the  curb,  and  bounded. 

But  fiercely  ran  the  current. 

Rejoicing  to  be  free ; 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain, 

And  whirling  down,  in  fierce  career, 

And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing: 

Battlement,  and  plank,  and  pier. 

O    J 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain. 
And  heavy  with  his  armor. 

Rushed  headlong  to  the  sea. 

LVir. 

And  spent  with  changing  blows ; 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 

And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 

But  constant  still  in  mind — 

But  still  again  he  rose. 

Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before. 

And  the  broad  flood  behind. 

LXII. 

"  Down  with  him !  "  cried  false  Sextus, 

7 

"With  a  smile  on  his  pale  face : 

Never,  I  ween,  did  swimmer, 

1                              ' 

"  Now  yield  thee,"  cried  Lars  Porsena, 

In  such  an  evil  case. 

"  Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace  !  " 

Struggle  through  such  a  raging  flood 

Safe  to  the  landing  place  ; 

LVIII. 

But  his  limbs  were  borne  up  bravely 

Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 

By  the  brave  heart  within. 

Those  craven  ranks  to  see ; 

And  our  good  father  Tiber 

Nought  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

Bare  bravely  up  his  chin. 

To  Sextus  nought  spake  he  ; 

But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 

The  white  porch  of  his  home; 

LXIII, 

And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 

"  Curse  on  him!"  quoth  false  Sextus, — 

That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome  : 

"  Will  not  the  villain  drown  ? 

But  for  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day 

LIX. 

We  should  have  sacked  the  town !" 

"0  Tiber!   father  Tiber! 

"Heaven  help  him!"  quoth  Lars  Porsena, 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 

"  And  bring  him  safe  to  shore  ; 

A  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms. 

For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms 

Take  thou  in  cliarge  this  day !  " 

Was  never  .seen  before." 

•oU                                                POEMS    OF 

AMBITION. 

LXIV. 

LXIX. 

And  now  lie  feels  the  bottom ; 

"When  the  oldest  cask  is  opened. 

]Sro\A'  on  dry  earth  he  stands ; 

And  the  largest  lamp  is  lit ; 

Now  round  him  throng  the  fathers 

When  the  chestnuts  glow  in  the  embers, 

To  press  his  gory  hands ; 

And  the  kid  turns  on  the  spit ; 

And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

When  young  and  old  in  circle 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 

Around  the  firebrands  close; 

He  enters  through  the  river-gate, 

When  the  girls  are  weaving  baskets. 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

And  the  lads  are  shaping  bows ; 

LXV. 

They  gave  him  of  the  corn-land. 

rxx. 

When  the  goodman  mends  his  armor. 

That  was  of  public  right, 

And  trims  his  helmet's  plume  ; 

As  much  as  two  strong  oxen 

When  the  goodwife's  shuttle  merrily 

Could  plough  from  morn  till  night ; 

Goes  flashing  through  the  loom ; 

And  they  made  a  molten  image, 

With  weeping  and  with  laughter 

And  set  it  up  on  high — 

Still  is  the  story  told. 

And  there  it  stands  unto  this  day 

How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge 

To  witness  if  I  lie. 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

Lord  Macattla-v 

LXVI. 

It  stands  in  the  comitium, 
_  Plain  for  all  folk  to  see, — 

^ 

Horatius  in  his  harness. 

Halting  upon  one  knee  ; 

THE    DESTRUCTION    OF    SENNACHE- 

And underneath  is  written, 

RIB. 

In  letters  all  of  gold. 

How  valiantly  he  kept  the  bridge 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

the  fold. 

And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and 

LXVII. 

gold; 

And  still  his  name  sounds  stirring 

And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars 

Unto  the  men  of  Eome, 

on  the  sea. 

As  the  trumpet-blast  that  cries  to  them 

When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep 

To  charge  the  Volscian  home  ; 

Galilee. 

And  wives  still  pray  to  Juno 

For  boys  with  hearts  as  bold 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer 

As  his  who  kept  the  bridge  so  well 

is  green. 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were 

LXTIII. 

seen ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when    autumn 

And  in  the  nights  of  winter, 

hath  flown. 

"When  the  cold  north  winds  blow, 

That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and 

And  the  long  liowling  of  the  wolves 

strown. 

Is  heard  amidst  the  snow  ; 

When  round  the  lonely  cottage 

For  the  angel  of  death  spread  his  wings  on 

Eoars  loud  the  tempest's  din. 

the  blast. 

And  the  good  logs  of  Algidus 

And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he 

Pwoar  louder  yet  within  ;. 

passed ; 

IT    IS    GREAT    FOP.    OUR    COUNTRY    TO    DIE. 


345 


Aud  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly 

and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  hut  once  heaved,  and  for 

ever  grew  still ! 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all 

wide. 
But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  hreath 

of  his  pride ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on 

the  turf, 
And  cold  as   the  spray  of  the  rock-heating 

surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow  and  the  rust  on 

his  mail; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners 

alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their 

wail; 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal ; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by 

the  sword. 

Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the 

Lord! 

Lord  Byeon. 


HARMODIUS  AXD  ARISTOGEITOK 

I  'll  wreathe  my  sword  in  myrtle  bough, 
The  sword  that  laid  the  tyrant  low, 
"When  patriots  burning  to  be  free, 
To  Athens  gave  equality. 

Ilarmodius,  hail !  though  'reft  of  breath, 
Thou  ne'er  shalt  feel  the  stroke  of  death ; 
The  hei'oes'  happy  isles  shall  be 
The  bright  abode  allotted  thee. 

I  '11  wreathe  my  sword  in  myrtle  bough. 
The  sword  that  laid  Hipparchus  low, 
Wlien  at  Athena's  adverse  fane 
He  knelt,  and  never  rose  again. 

While  freedom's  name  is  understood, 
You  shall  delight  the  wise  and  good ; 
You  dared  to  set  your  country  free, 
And  gave  her  laws  equality, 

Trunslutlon  of  Lord  Desman.        Callistratiis  (Greek). 

48 


IT  IS  GREAT  FOR  OUR  COUNTRY 
TO  DIE. 

Oh  !  it  is  great  for  our  country  to  die,  where 
ranks  are  contending : 
Bright  is  the  wreath  of  our  fame  ;    glory 
awaits  us  for  aye — 
Glory,  that  never  is  dim,  shining  on  with 
light  never  ending — 
Gloiy  that  never   shall  fade,   never,  oh ! 
never  away. 

Oh !  it  is  sweet  for  our  couutry  to  die !     How 
softly  reposes 
Warrior  youth  on  his  bier,  wet  by  the 
tears  of  his  love, 
Wet  by  a  mother's  warm  tears ;  they  crown 
him  with  garlands  of  roses, 
Weep,    and    then   joyously    turn,    bright 
,  where  he  triumphs  above. 

Not  to  the  shades  shall  the  youth  descend, 
who  for  country  hath  perished  ; 
Hebe  awaits  him  in  heaven,  Avelcomes  him 
there  with  her  smile  ; 
There,    at  the  banquet  divine,    the  patriot 
spirit  is  cherished ; 
Gods  love  the  young  who  ascend  pure  from 
the  funeral  pile. 

Not  to  Elysian  fields,  by  the  still,  oblivious 
river ; 
Not   to    the  isles  of  the    blest,  over  the 
blue,  rolling  sea ; 
But  on  Olympian  heights  shall  dwell  the  de- 
voted for  ever ; 
There  shall  assemble  the  good,  there  the 
wise,  valiant,  and  free. 

Oh !  then,  how  great  for  our  country  to  die, 
in  the  front  rank  to  perish. 
Firm  with  our  breast  to  the  foe,  victory's 
shout  in  our  ear  1 
Long  they  our  statues  shall  crown,  in  songs 
our  memory  cherish  ; 
We    shall    look  forth   from   our  heaven, 
jjleased  the  sweet  music  to  hear. 

.James  Gates  Pebcival. 


3-1  tj 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


LEOXIDAS. 

Shout  foi-  tlie  mighty  men 

Wlio  died  along  this  shore, 

AVho  died  within  this  mountain's  glen ! 

For  never  nobler  chieftain's  head 

AVus  laid  on  valor's  crimson  bed, 
Xor  ever  prouder  gore  . 

Sprang  forth,  than  theirs  who  won  the  day 

Upon  thy  strand,  Thermopylfe  I 

Shout  for  the  mighty  men 

Who  on  the  Persian  tents, 
Like  lions  from  their  midnight  den 
Bounding  on  the  slumbering  deer, 
Rushed — a  storm  of  sword  and  spear ; 

Like  the  roused  elements. 
Let  loose  from  an  immortal  hand 
To  chasten  or  to  crush  a  land ! 


But  there  are  none  to  hear — 

Greece  is  a  hopeless  slave. 

Leonidas !  no  hand  is  near 

To  lift  thy  fiery  falchion  now ; 

ISTo  warrior  makes  the  warrior's  vow 
Upon  thy  sea-washed  grave. 

The  voice  that  should  be  raised  by  men 

Must  now  be  given  by  wave  and  glen. 

And  it  is  given ! — the  surge, 

The  tree,  the  rock,  the  sand 
On  freedom's  kneeling  spirit  urge, 
In  sounds  that  speak  but  to  the  free. 
The  memory  of  thine  and  thee ! 

The  vision  of  thy  band 
Still  gleams  within  the  glorious  dell 
Where  their  gore  hallowed  as  it  fell ! 

And  is  thy  grandeur  done  ? 

Mother  of  men  like  these ! 
lias  not  thy  outcry  gone 
Where  justice  has  an  ear  to  hear  ? — 
Be  holy !  God  shall  guide  thy  spear, 

Till  in  thy  crimsoned  seas 
Are  plunged  the  chain  and  scimitar. 
Greece  shall  be  a  new-born  star ! 

Geoege  Ceoly. 


PERICLES   AND  ASPASIA. 

This  was  the  ruler  of  the  land 
When  Athens  was  the  land  of  fame ; 

This  was  the  light  that  led  the  band 
When  each  was  like  a  living  flame ; 

The  centre  of  earth's  noblest  ring — 

Of  more  than  men  the  more  than  king. 

Yet  not  by  fetter,  nor  by  spear, 
His  sovereignty  was  held  or  won : 

Feared — but  alone  as  freemen  fear, 
Loved — but  as  freemen  love  alone, 

He  waved  the  sceptre  o'er  his  kind 

By  nature's  first  great  title — mind  ! 

Resistless  words  were  on  his  tongue — 
Then  eloquence  first  flashed  below  ; 

Full  armed  to  life  the  portent  sprung — 
Minerva  from  the  thunderer's  brow ! 

And  his  the  sole,  the  sacred  hand 

That  shook  her  tegis  o'er  the  land. 

And  throned  immortal  by  his  side, 
A  w^oman  sits  with  eye  sublime, — 

Aspasia,  all  his  spirit's  bride  ; 

But,  if  tlieir  solemn  love  were  crime. 

Pity  the  beauty  and  the  sage — 

Their  crime  was  in  their  darkened  age. 

He  perished,  but  his  wreath  was  won — 
He  perished  in  his  height  of  fame ; 

Then  sunk  the  cloud  on  Athens'  sun, 
Yet  still  she  conquered  in  his  name. 

Filled  with  his  soul,  she  could  not  die; 

Her  conquest  was  posterity ! 

Geoege  Ceoly 


BOADICEA. 

WnEN^  the  British  warrior  queen. 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 

Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien, 
Counsel  of  her  country's  gods. 

Sage  beneath  the  spreading  oak 
Sat  the  druid,  hoary  chief; 

Every  burning  word  he  spoke 
Full  of  rage  and  full  of  grief. 


THE    BULL-FIGHT    OF    GAZUL. 


347 


Princess !  if  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
'T  is  because  resentment  ties 

All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

Kome  shall  perish — write  that  word 
In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt ; 

Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorred, 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

Rome,  for  empire  far  renowned, 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states ; 

Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground — 
Hark !  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates ! 

Other  Romans  shall  arise, 
Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name ; 

Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize. 
Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land. 

Armed  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings, 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 

Regions  Csesar  never  knew 

Thy  posterity  shall  sway ; 
"Where  his  eagles  never  flew, 

None  invincible  as  they. 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words. 
Pregnant  with  celestial  fire. 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 
Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 

She,  with  all  a  monarch's  pride. 
Felt  tliem  in  her  bosom  glow  : 

Rushed  to  battle,  fought,  and  died  ; 
Dying,  hurled  them  at  the  foe. 

Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud. 

Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due  ; 
Empire  is  on  us  bestoAved, 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you. 

William  Cowpke. 


THE   BULL-FIGHT   OF    GAZUL. 

I. 

Ivi:SG  Almanzor  of  Granada,  he  hath  bid  the 

trumpet  sound. 
He  hath  summoned  all  the  Moorish  lords  from 

the  hills  and  plains  around ; 
From  Vega  and  Sierra,  from  Betis  and  Xenil, 
They  have  come  with  helm  and  cuirass  of 

gold  and  twisted  steel. 

II. 

'T  is  the  holy  Baptist's  feast  they  hold  in  roy- 
alty and  state. 

And  they  have  closed  the  spacious  lists  besido 
the  Alhambra's  gate ; 

In  gowns  of  black,  and  silver-laced,  within 
the  tented  ring, 

Eight  floors,  to  fight  the  bull,  are  placed  in 
presence  of  the  king. 

III. 

Eight  Moorish  lords  of  valor  tried,  with  stal- 
wart arm  and  true, 

The  onset  of  the  beasts  abide,  come  trooping 
furious  through  ; 

The  deeds  they  've  done,  the  spoils  tiiey  've 
won,  fiU  all  with  hope  and  trust ; 

Yet,  ere  high  in  heaven  appears  the  sun,  they 
all  have  bit  the  dust, 

IV. 

Then  sounds  the  trumpet  clearly ;  then  clangs 

the  loud  tambour : 
Make  room,   make  room  for    Gaznl— throw 

wide,  throw  wide  the  door  I 
Blow,  blow  the  trumpet  clearer  still,  more 

loudly  strike  the  drum — 
The  Alcayde  of  Algava  to  fight  the  bull  doth 

come ! 


And  first  before  the  king  he  passed,  with  rev- 
erence stooping  low. 

And  next  he  bowed  him  to  the  queen,  and 
the  infontas  all  a-rowe  ; 

Then  to  his  lady's  grace  ho  turned,  and  she  to 
him  did  throw 

A  scarf  from  out  her  balcony,  was  whiter 
than  the  snow. 


;-is 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


VI. 

Witli  the  life-blood  of  the  shiughtered  lords 

all  slippery  is  the  sand, 
Yet  itroudly  in  the  centre  bath  Gazul  ta'en 

bis  stand ; 
And  ladies  look  with  heaving  breast,  and 

lords  with  anxious  eye — 
But  the  lance  is  firmly  in  its  rest,  and  his 

look  is  calm  and  high. 

VII. 

Three  bulls  against  the  knight  are  loosed,  and 

two  come  roaring  on ; 
He  rises  high  in  stirrup,  forth  stretching  his 

rejon ; 
Each  furious  beast  upon  the  breast  he  deals 

him  such  a  blow. 
He  blindly  totters  and  gives  back,  across  the 

sand  to  go. 

VIII. 

"Turn,  Gazul,  turn,"  the  people  cry — "the 
tliird  comes  up  behind ; 

Low  to  the  sand  his  head  holds  he,  his  nos- 
trils snufF  the  wind  ;  " 

The  mountaineers  that  lead  the  steers  with- 
out stand  whispering  low, 

"Now  thinks  this  proud  Alcayde  to  stun 
Harpado  so  ? " 

IX. 

From  Guadiana  comes  he  not,  he  comes  not 

from  Xenil, 
From  Guadalarif  of  the  plain,  or  Barves  of 

the  hill ; 
But  where  from  out  the  forest  burst  Xarama's 

waters  clear, 
Beneath  the  oak  trees  was  he  nursed,  this 

proud  and  stately  steer. 


Dark  is  his  hide  on  either  side,  but  the  blood 

within  doth  boil ; 
And  the  dun  hide  glows,  as  if  on  fire,  as  he 

paws  to  the  turmoil. 
His  eyes  are  jet,  and  they  are  set  in  crystal 

rings  of  snow ; 
But  now  they  stare  with  one  red  glare  of 

brass  upon  the  foe. 


XI. 

Upon  the  forehead  of  the  bull  the  horns  stand 

close  and  near, 
From  out  the  broad  and  wrinkled  skull  like 

daggers  they  appear ; 
His  neck  is  massy,  like  the  trunk  of  some  old 

knotted  tree, 
"Whereon  the  monster's  shagged  mane,  like 

billows  curled,  ye  see. 

XII. 

His  legs  are  short,  his  hams  are  thick,  his 
hoofs  are  black  as  night. 

Like  a  strong  flail  he  holds  his  tail  in  fierce- 
ness of  his  might ; 

Like  something  molten  out  of  iron,  or  hewn 
from  forth  the  rock, 

Harpado  of  Xarama  stands,  to  bide  the  Al- 
cayde's  shock. 

XIII. 

Now  stops  the  drum — close,  close  they  come 
— thrice  meet,  and  thrice  give  back  ; 

The  white  foam  of  Harpado  lies  on  the  char- 
ger's breast  of  black — 

The  white  foam  of  the  charger  on  Harpado 'a 
front  of  dun  : 

Once  more  advance  upon  his  lance — once 
more,  thou  fearless  one  ! 

XIV. 

Once  more,  once  more — in  dust  and  gore  to 

ruin  must  thou  reel ; 
In  vain,  in  vain  thou  tearest  the  sand  with 

furious  heel — 
In  vain,  in  vain,  thou  noble  beast,  I  see,  I  see 

thee  stagger ; 
Now  keen  and  cold  thy  neck  must  hold  the 

stern  Alcayde's  dagger ! 

XV. 

They  have  slipped  a  noose  around  his  feet 
six  horses  are  brought  in. 

And  away  they  drag  Harpado  with  a  loud 
and  joyful  din. 

Now  stoop  thee,  lady,  from  thy  stand,  and 
the  ring  of  price  bestow 

Upon  Gazul  of  Algava,  that  hath  laid  Har- 
pado low. 

Anonymotts.  (Spanish.) 

Translation  of  John  Gibson  Lockhakt. 


CHEVY-CHASE. 


349 


CHEVY-CHASE. 

God  prosper  long  our  noble  king, 

Our  lives  and  safeties  all ; 
A  -woful  hunting  once  there  did 

In  Chevy-Chase  befall. 

To  drive  the  deer  "with  hound  and  horn 

Earl  Percy  took  his  Avay  ; 
The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn 

The  hunting  of  that  day. 

Tlie  stout  earl  of  ISTorthumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 

Three  summer  days  to  take — 

The  chiefest  harts  in  Chevy-Chase 

To  kill  and  bear  away. 
These  tidings  to  Earl  Douglas  came. 

In  Scotland  where  he  lay ; 

Who  sent  Earl  Percy  present  word 
He  would  prevent  his  sport. 

The  English  earl,  not  fearing  that. 
Did  to  the  woods  resort. 

With  fifteen  hundred  bowmen  bold, 

All  chosen  men  of  might. 
Who  knew  full  Avell  in  time  of  need 

To  aim  their  shafts  aright. 

Tlie  gallant  greyhounds  swiftly  ran 

To  chase  the  fallow  deer ; 
On  Monday  they  began  to  hunt 

AVhen  day-light  did  appear  ; 

And  long  before  high  noon  they  had 

A  liundred  fat  bucks  slain ; 
Then  having  dined,  the  drovers  went 

To  rouse  the  deer  again. 

The  bowmen  mustered  on  the  hills, 

Well  able  to  endure ; 
And  all  their  rear,  with  special  care, 

That  day  was  guarded  sure. 


The    hounds    ran  swiftly  through   the 
woods. 

The  nimble  deer  to  take, 
That  with  their  cries  the  hills  and  dales 

An  echo  shrill  did  make. 

Loi'd  Percy  to  the  quarry  went. 
To  view  the  slaughtered  deer ; 

Quoth  he,  "Earl  Douglas  promised 
This  day  to  meet  me  here ; 

But  if  I  thought  he  would  not  come, 

No  longer  would  I  stay ;  " 
With  that  a  brave  young  gentleman 

Thus  to  the  earl  did  say : 

"Lo,  yonder  doth  Earl  Douglas  come 

His  men  in  armor  bright ; 
Full  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears 

All  marching  in  our  sight ; 

All  men  of  pleasant  Teviotdale, 

Fast  by  the  river  Tweed ;  " 
"Then  cease  your  sports,"  Earl  Percj 
said, 

"And  take  your  bows  with  speed; 

And  now  with  me,  my  countrymen. 
Your  courage  forth  advance ; 

For  never  was  there  champion  yet, 
In  Scotland  or  in  France, 

That  ever  did  on  horseback  come, 

But  if  my  hap  it  were, 
I  durst  encounter  man  for  man, 

With  him  to  break  a  spear." 

Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Eode  foremost  of  his  company, 

Whose  armor  shone  like  gold. 

"Show  me,"  said  he,  "whoso  men  you 
be. 

That  hunt  so  boldy  here, 
That,  without  my  consent,  do  chase 

And  kill  mv  fallow-deer." 


350                                                    POEMS    OF 

AMBITION. 

The  first  man  that  did  answer  make, 

Was  nohle  Percy  he — 
Who  said,  "  We  list  not  to  declare, 

Nor  show  whose  men  we  be : 

His  host  he  parted  had  in  three, 
As  leader  ware  and  tried ; 

And  soon  his  spearmen  on  their  foes 
Bore  down  on  every  side. 

Yet  will  we  spend  our  dearest  blood 
Thy  chiefest  harts  to  slay." 

Tlicn  Douglas  swore  a  solemn  oath, 
And  thus  in  rage  did  say  : 

Throughout  the  English  archery 
They  dealt  full  many  a  wound ; 

But  still  our  valiant  Englishmen 
All  firmly  kept  their  ground. 

"  Ere  thus  I  Avill  out-braved  be, 

One  of  us  two  shall  die ; 
I  know  thee  well,  an  earl  thou  art — 

Lord  Percy,  so  am  I. 

And  throwing  straight  their  bows  away 
They  grasped  their  swords  so  bright ; 

And  now  sharp  blows,  a  heavy  shower, 
On  shields  and  helmets  light. 

But  trust  me,  Percy,  pity  it  were. 
And  great  offence,  to  kill 

Any  of  these  our  guiltless  men. 
For  they  have  done  no  iU. 

They  closed  full  fast  on  every  side — 
No  slackness  there  was  found  ; 

And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 
Lay  gasping  on  the  ground. 

Let  you  and  me  the  battle  try, 

And  set  our  men  aside." 
"  Accursed  be  he,"  Earl  Percy  said, 

"  By  whom  this  is  denied." 

In  truth,  it  was  a  grief  to  see 
How  each  one  chose  his  spear, 

And  how  the  blood  out  of  their  breasts 
Did  gush  like  water  clear. 

Then  stepped  a  gallant  squire  forth, 
Witherington  was  his  name. 

Who  said,.  "I  would  not  have  it  told 
To  Henry,  our  king,  for  shame. 

At  last  these  two  stout  earls  did  meet ; 

Like  captains  of  great  might, 
Like  lions  wode,  they  laid  on  lode, 

And  made  a  cruel  fight. 

That  e'er  my  captain  fought  on  foot, 

And  I  stood  looking  on. 
You  two  be  earls,"  said  Witherington, 

"  And  I  a  squire  alone ; 

They  fought  until  they  both  did  sweat, 
With  swords  of  tempered  steel, 

IJntil  the  blood,  like  drops  of  rain. 
They  trickling  down  did  feel. 

I  '11  do  the  best  that  do  I  may. 
While  I  have  power  to  stand; 

Wliile  I  have  power  to  wield  my  sword, 
I  '11  fight  with  heart  and  hand." 

"  Yield  thee,  Lord  Percy,"  Douglas  said 

"  In  faith  I  will  thee  bring 
Where  thou  shalt  high  advanced  be 

By  James,  our  Scottish  king. 

Our  English  archers  bent  their  bows — 
Theii"  hearts  were  good  and  true  ; 

At  the  first  flight  of  arrows  sent. 
Full  fourscore  Scots  they  slew. 

• 

Thy  ransom  I  will  freely  give, 

And  this  report  of  thee. 
Thou  art  the  most  courageous  knight 

That  ever  I  did  see." 

Yet  stays  Earl  Douglas  on  the  bent. 
As  chieftain  stout  and  good; 

As  valiant  captain,  all  unmoved. 
The  shock  he  firmly  stood. 

"  No,  Douglas,"  saith  Earl  Percy  then, 

"  Thy  proffer  I  do  scorn ; 
I  will  not  yield  to  any  Scot 

That  ever  yet  was  born." 

CHEVY-CHASE. 


351 


"With  that  there  came  au  arrow  keen 

Out  of  an  English  bow, 
Which  struck  Earl  Douglas  to  the  heart ; 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow ; 

"Who    never    spake    more    words    than 
these : 

"  Eight  on,  my  merry  men  all ; 
For  why,  my  life  is  at  an  end ; 

Eord  Percy  sees  my  fall." 

Then  leaving  life,    Earl  Percy  took 
The  dead  man  by  the  hand ; 

And  said,  "  Earl  Douglas,  for  thy  life 
"Would  I  had  lost  my  land. 

In  truth,  my  very  heart  doth  bleed 

"With  sorrow  for  thy  sake ; 
For  sure  a  more  redoubted  knight 

Mischance  did  never  take." 

A  knight  amongst  the  Scots  there  was 

"Who  saw  Earl  Douglas  die, 
"Who  straight  in  wrath  did  vow  revenge 

Upon  the  Earl  Percy. 

Sir  Hugh  Mountgomery  was  he  called, 
"Who,  with  a  spear  full  bright. 

Well  mounted  on  a  gallant  steed, 
Pan  fiercely  through  the  fight; 

And  past  the  English  archers  all, 

AVithout  a  dread  or  fear ; 
And  through  Earl  Percy's  body  then 

He  thrust  his  hateful  spear ; 

With  such  vehement  force  and  might 

1  le  did  his  body  gore. 
The  staff  ran  through  the  other  side 

A  large  cloth-yard  and  more. 

So  thus  did  both  these  nobles  die, 
Whose  courage  none  could  stain. 

An  English  archer  then  perceived 
The  noble  earl  was  slain, 

lie  had  a  bow  bent  in  his  hand, 

Made  of  a  trusty  tree ; 
An  arrow  of  a  cloth-yard  long 

To  the  hard  head  haled  he. 


Against  Sir  Hugh  Mountgomery 

So  right  the  shaft  he  set. 
The  gray  goose  wing  that  was  thereon 

In  his  heart's  blood  was  wet. 

This  fight  did  last  from  break  of  day 

Till  setting  of  the  sun : 
For  when  they  rung  the  evening-bell, 

The  battle  scarce  was  done. 

With  stout  Earl  Percy  there  were  slain 

Sir  John  of  Egerton, 
Sir  Robert  Patcliff,  and  Sir  John, 

Sir  James,  that  bold  baron. 


And 


Sii 


with    Sir  George  and  stout 
James, 
Both  knights  of  good  account, 
Good  Sir  Ealph  Eaby  there  was  slain. 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount. 

For  Witherington  my  heart  is  wo 
That  ever  he  slain  should  be. 

For  when  his  legs  were  hewn  in  two, 
He  knelt  and  fought  on  his  knee. 


And  with  Earl  Douglas  there  was  slain 

Sir  Hugh  Mountgomery, 
Sir  Charles  Murray,  that  from  the  field 

One  foot  would  never  flee. 

Sir  Charles  Murray  of  Ratcliff,  too — 

His  sister's  son  was  he  ; 
Sir  David  Lamb,  so  well  esteemed. 

But  saved  he  could  not  be. 

And  the  Lord  Maxwell  in  like  case 

Did  with  Earl  Douglas  die : 
Of  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears, 

Scarce  fifty-five  did  fly. 

Of  fifteen  hundred  Englishmen, 

Went  home  but  fifty-three ; 
The  rest  in  Chevy-Chase  were  slain, 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Next  day  did  many  widows  come, 

Their  husbands  to  bewail ; 
They  washed  their  wounds  in   brinisli 
tears, 

But  all  would  not  prevail. 


852 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


Their  bodies,  bathed  ia  purple  blood, 
They  bore  with  them  away ; 

They    kissed    them    dead    a    thousand 
times. 
Ere  they  were  clad  in  clay. 


The  news  was  brought  to  Edinburgh, 
Where  Scotland's  king  did  reign, 

That  bravo  Earl  Douglas  suddenly 
"Was  with  an  arrow  slain  : 

"  Oh  heavy  news,"  King  James  did  say ; 

"Scotland  can  witness  be 
I  have  not  any  captain  more 

Of  such  account  as  he." 

Like  tidings  to  King  Henry  came 

Within  as  short  a  space, 
That  Percy  of  IsTorthumberland 

"Was  slain  in  Chevy-Chase : 

"  Xow  God  be  with  him,"  said  our  king, 

"  Since  't  will  no  better  be  ; 
I  trust  I  have  within  my  realm 

Five  hundred  as  good  as  he : 

Yet  shall  not  Scots  or  Scotland  say 

But  I  will  vengeance  take  : 
I  '11  be  revenged  on  them  all, 

For  brave  Earl  Percy's  sake." 

This  vow  full  well  the  king  perfonned 

After  at  Ilumbledown ; 
In  one  day  fifty  knights  were  slain 

"With  lords  of  high  renown ; 

And  of  the  rest,  of  small  account. 

Did  many  hundreds  die  : 
Thus    endeth    the    hunting  of    Chevy- 
Chase, 

Made  by  the  Earl  Percy. 

God  save  the  king,  and  bless  this  land, 
"U^ith  plenty,  joy,  and  peace ; 

And  grant,  henceforth,  that  foul  debate 
'Twist  noblemen  may  cease ! 

Anonymous. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  AGINCOUKT. 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France, 
"When  we  our  sails  advance, 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 

Longer  will  tarry ; 
But  putting  to  the  main, 
At  Kaux,  the  mouth  of  Seine, 
"With  all  his  martial  train, 

Landed  King  Harry. 

■  And  taking  many  a  fort, 
Furnished  in  warlike  sort, 
Marched  towards  Agincourt 

In  happy  hour — 
Skirmishing  day  by  day 
"With  those  that  stopped  his  way. 
Where  the  French  gen'ral  lay 
With  all  his  power, 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride, 
King  Henry  to  deride. 
His  ransom  to  provide 

To  the  king  sending; 
Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  nation  vile. 
Yet,  with  an  angry  smile. 

Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  men, 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  then ; 
Though  they  to  one  be  ten. 

Be  not  amazed; 
Yet  have  we  well  begun — 
Battles  so  bravely  won 
Have  ever  to  the  sun 

By  fame  been  raised. 

And  for  myself,  quoth  he. 
This  my  full  rest  shall  be ; 
England  ne'er  mourn  for  m., 

Nor  more  esteem  me. 
"Victor  I  will  remain. 
Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain ; 
Never  shall  she  sustain 

Loss  to  redeem  me. 

Poitiers  and  Cressy  tell. 
When  most  tlieir  pride  did  swell, 
Under  our  swords  they  fell ; 
No  less  our  skiU  is 


THE    CAVALIER'S    SONG. 


So? 


Than  when  our  grandsire  great, 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 

Lopped  the  French  lilies. 

The  duke  of  York  so  dread 
The  eager  vaward  led ; ' 
"With  the  main  Henry  sped. 

Amongst  his  henchmen, 
Excester  had  the  rear — 
A  braver  man  not  there : 
O  Lord !  how  hot  they  were 

On  the  false  Frenchmen ! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone ; 
Armour  on  armour  shone  ; 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groan — 

To  hear  was  wonder ; 
That  with  the  cries  they  make 
The  very  earth  did  shake ; 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake, 

Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became, 
O  noble  Erpingham ! 
Which  did  the  signal  aim 

To  our  hid  forces  ; 
When,  from  a  meadow  by. 
Like  a  storm  suddenly. 
The  English  archery 

Struck  the  French  horses, 

With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 
Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long. 
That  like  to  serpents  stung. 

Piercing  the  weather ; 
None  from  his  fellow  starts. 
But  playing  manly  parts. 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 

Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  bilbows  drew, 
And  on  the  French  they  flew, 

Not  one  was  tardy : 
Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent ; 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent ; 
Down  the  French  peasants  went ; 

Our  men  were  hardy. 
49 


This  while  our  noble  king, 
His  broadsword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding. 

As  to  o'erwhelm  it ; 
And  many  a  deep  wound  lent. 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent. 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 

Bruised  his  helmet. 

Glo'ster,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood. 
For  famous  England  stood. 

With  his  brave  brother — 
Clarence,  in  steel  so  bright, 
Though  but  a  maiden  knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  fight 

Scarce  such  another. 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade ; 
Oxford  the  foe  invade. 
And  cruel  slaughter  made, 

Still  as  they  ran  up, 
Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply ; 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby 
Bare  them  right  doughtily, 

Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray, 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 

To  England  to  carry ; 
Oh,  when  shall  Englishmen 
With  such  acts  fill  a  pen. 
Or  England  breed  again 

Such  a  King  Harry  ? 

Michael  Deattom. 


THE  CAVALIER'S  SONG. 

A  STEED !  a  steed  of  matchlesse  speed, 

A  sword  of  metal  keene ! 
All  else  to  noble  heartes  is  drosse. 

All  else  on  earth  is  meane. 
The  neighyinge  of  the  war-horse  prowde. 

The  rowlinge  of  the  drum. 
The  clangor  of  the  trumpet  lowde. 

Be  soundcs  from  heaven  that  come ; 
And  oil !  the  thundering  pressc  of  knightes, 

Whenas  their  war  cryes  swell. 
May  tole  from  heaven  an  angel  bright, 

And  rouse  a  fiend  from  hell. 


S54                                                rOEMS     OF 

AMBITION. 

Theu  moimte!   then  mounte,  brave  gallants 

For  the  onslaught  all  were  eager 

all, 

When  the  word  sped  round  our  leaguer: 

Ami  don  your  lielines  amaine  : 

"Soon  as  the  clock  chimes  twelve  to-night 

DeatLe's  couriers,  fome  and  honor,  call 

Then,  bold  hearts,  sound  boot  and  saddle, 

Us  to  the  field  againe. 

Stand  to  your  arms,  and  on  to  battle. 

Ko  shrewish  teares  shall  fill  our  eye 

Every  one  that  has  hands  to  fight !  " 

"When  the  sword-liilt  's  in  our  hand — 

Heart  -whole  Ave  11  part,  and  no  whit  sigho 

For  the  fayrest  of  the  land  ; 

Musqueteers,  horse,  yagers,  forming, 

Let  piping  swaine,  and  craven  wight, 

Sword  in  hand  each  bosom  warming, 

Thus  wecpe  and  puling  crye  ; 

Still  as  death  we  aU  advance  ; 

Our  business  is  like  men  to  fight. 

Each  prepared,  come  blows  or  booty, 

iVnd  hero-like  to  die  ! 

German-like  to  do  our  duty. 

William  Motheewell. 

Joining  hands  in  the  gallant  dance. 

Our  cannoneers,  those  tough  old  heroes, 

Struck  a  lusty  peal  to  cheer  us, 

Firing  ordnance  great  and  small ; 

PRINCE  EUGENE. 

Piight  and  left  our  cannon  thundered, 

Till  the  pagans  quaked,  and  wondered, 

Pki:s-ce  EuGEifE,  our  noble  leader. 

And  by  platoons  began  to  fall. 

Made  a  vow  in  death  to  bleed,  or 

Win  the  emperor  back  Belgrade : 

"  Launch  pontoons,  let  all  be  ready 

On  the  right,  like  a  Hon  angered, 

To  bear  our  ordnance  safe  and  steady 

Bold  Eugene  cheered  on  the  bold  vanguard ; 

Over  the  Danube" — thus  he  said. 

Ludovic  spurred  up  and  down. 

Crying  "  On,  boys ;  every  hand  to 't ; 

Brother  Germans  nobly  stand  to  't ; 

There  was  mustering  on  the  border 

Charge  them  home,  for  our  old  renown !  " 

When  our  bridge  in  marching  order 

Breasted  first  the  roaring  stream ; 

Then  at  Semlin,  vengeance  breathing. 

Gallant  prince  !  he  spoke  no  more ;  he 

We  encamped  to  scourge  the  heathen 

Fell  in  early  youth  and  glory. 

Back  to  Mahound,  and  fame  redeem. 

Struck  from  his  horse  by  some  curst  ball : 

Great  Eugene  long  sorrowed  o'er  him, 

For  a  brother's  love  he  bore  him  ; 

'T  was  on  August  one-and- twenty, 

7 

Every  soldier  mourned  his  fall. 

Scouts  and  glorious  tidings  plenty 

Galloped  in,  through  storm  and  rain ; 

Tm'ks,  they  swore,  three  hundred  thousand 

In  Waradin  we  laid  his  ashes  ; 

Marched  to  give  om*  prince  a  rouse,  and 

Cannon  peals  and  musket  flashes 

Dared  us  forth  to  battle-plain. 

O'er  his  grave  due  honors  paid : 

Then,  the  old  black  eagle  flying. 

Then  at  Prince  Eugene's  head-quarters 
Met  our  fine  old  fighting  Tartars 

All  the  pagan  powers  defyuig, 

On  we  marched  and  stormed  Belgrade. 

Generals  and  field  marshals  all ; 

Anonymous.    (German.) 

Every  point  of  war  debated. 

Translation  of  John  Hugues. 

Each  in  his  turn  the  signal  waited, 

Forth  to  march  and  on  to  fall. 

IVRT. 


355 


BAXXOCK-BURX. 

EOBEET   BUrCE's   ADDEESS   TO   HIS   ABMY. 

Scots,  wlia  hae  wi'  "Wallace  bled — 
Scots,  Aybam  Bruce  has  aften  led — 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed. 
Or  to  victorie ! 

Now 's  tlie  day,  and  now  's  the  hour ; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Chains  and  slaverie ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
WJia  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Let  hira  turn  and  flee ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freeman  stand  or  freeman  fa' — 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
But  they  shall  be  free ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  I 
Liljerty  's  in  every  blow  ! 


Let  us  do,  or  die ! 


EOBEET  BUENS, 


IVRY. 


Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  hosts,  from  whom 

all  glories  are ! 
And  glory  to  our  sovereign  liege.  King  Henry 

of  Navarre ! 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music 

and  of  danoe. 
Through  thy  corn-fields  green,    and  sunny 

vines,  O  pleasant  land  of  France !  - 


And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Eochelle,  proud 

city  of  the  waters. 
Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy 

mourning  daughters ; 
As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  jojous 

in  our  joy ; 
For  cold  and  stiff   and  still    are  they  who 

wrought  thy  walls  annoy. 
Hurrah !  hurrah !  a  single  field  hath  turned 

the  chance  of  war ! 
Hurrah!    hurrah!    for  Ivry,   and  Henry  of 

Navarre. 

Oh!  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when,  at 

the  dawn  of  day. 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  league  drawn  out  in 

long  array ; 
With  aU  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  rebel 

peers. 
And  xippenzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's 

Flemish  spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  fiilse  Lorraine,  the 

curses  of  our  land ; 
And  dark  Maycnne  was  in  the  midst,  a  trun- 
cheon in  his  hand ; 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of 

Seine's  empurpled  flood. 
And   good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all   dabbled 

with  his  blood ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules 

the  fate  of  war, 
To  fight  for  His  own  holy  name,  and  Henry 

of  Navarre. 

« 

The  king  is  come  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his 

armor  drest ; 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon 

his  gallant  crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in 

his  eye ; 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance 

was  stern  and  high. 
Plight  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled 

from  wing  to  wing, 
Down  all  our  line,  a  deafening  shout.:  God 

save  our  lord  the  king ! 
"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fiill,  as  fall  full 

well  he  may — 
For  never  I  saw  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody 

fray— 


350                                                  rOEMS     OF    AMUITION. 

Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine 

But  we  of  the  rehgion  have  borne  us  best  in 

amidst  the  ranks  of  war, 

fight; 

And  he  your  oriliamme  to-day  the  hehnet  of 

And  the  good  lord  of  Eosny  hath  ta'en  the 

Navai're." 

cornet  white — 

Our  own  true  Maximilian  the  cornet  white 

Hurrah  !  the  foes  are  moving.     Hark  to  the 

hath  ta'en. 

mingled  din, 

The  cornet  white  with  crosses  black,  the  flag 

Of  life,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  di-um,  and 

of  false  Lorraine. 

roaring  culverin. 

Up  with  it  high ;  unfurl  it  vride — ^that  all  the 

The  fiery  duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint 

host  may  know 

Andr6's  plain. 

How  God  hath  humbled  the  proud  house 

"With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and 

which  wrought  His  Church  such  woe. 

iUmayne. 

Then  on  the  ground,  while  trumpets  sound 

Now  hy  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentle- 

their loudest  point  of  war, 

men  of  France, 

Fling  the  red  shreds,  a  footcloth  meet  for 

Charge  for  the  golden  lilies — upon  them  with 

Henry  of  Navarre. 

the  lance ! 

A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thou- 

Ho!   maidens  of  Vienna;   ho!  matrons   of 

sand  spears  in  rest. 

Lucerne — 

A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind 

"Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who 

the  snow-white  crest ; 

never  shall  return. 

And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while. 

Ho!  Phihp,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican 

like  a  guiding  star. 

pistoles. 

Amidst  the  thickest  cai-nage  blazed  the  hel- 

That Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy 

met  of  Navarre. 

poor  spearmen's  souls. 

Xow,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours :  Ma- 

Ho !  gallant  nobles  of  the  league,  look  that 
vour  arms  be  bright ; 

yenne  hath  turned  his  rein ; 

*>                                                                   O            7 

Ho !  burghers  of  St.  Genevieve,  keep  watch 

D'Auraale  hath  cried  for  quarter ;  the  Flem- 

and ward  to-night ; 

ish  count  is  slain ; 

O            7 

For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our 

Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  be- 

God hath  raised  the  slave, 

fore  a  Biscay  gale ; 

And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise,  and  the 

The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and 

valor  of  the  brave. 

flags,  and  cloven  mail. 

Then  glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all 

And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and,  all 

glories  are ; 
And  glory  to  om'  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry 

along  our  van, 

Eemeraber  Saint  Bartholomew  !  was  passed 

of  Navarre ! 

from  man  to  man. 

LOED  Macaulat. 

But  out  spake  gentle  Hemy — "  JSTo  French- 

man is  my  foe : 
Down,  down,  with  every  foreigner,  but  let 

your  brethren  go  " — 

Oh  I  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friend- 

GIVE A  EOUSE. 

ship  or  in  war. 

As  our  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry,  the  sol- 

I. 

dier  of  Navarre  ? 

King  Charles,   and  who  '11  do  him  right 

Eight  well  fought  all  the  Frenchmen  who 

now? 

fought  for  France  to-day  ; 

King  Charles,  and  who 's  ripe  for  fight  now  ? 

And  many  a  lordly  banner  God  gave  them 

Give  a  rouse :  here  's  in  hell's  despite  now, 

for  a  prey. 

King  Charles ! 

NASEBY. 


357 


u. 

Who  gave  me  the  goods  that  went  since  ? 
"Who  raised,  me  the  house  that  sank  once  ? 
Who  helped  me  to  gold  I  spent  since  ? 
Who  found  me  in  wine  you  drank  once  ? 
King  Charles,  and  who  Ul  do  him  right  noio  f 
King  Charles,  and  who''s  ripe  for  fight  now? 
Give  a  rouse :  here 's  in  helVs  despite  now, 
King  Charles  ! 

ni. 

To  whom  used  mj  boy  George  quaff  else, 
By  the  old  fool's  side  that  begot  him  ? 
For  whom  did  he  cheer  and  laugh  else, 
WhUe  Is'oll's  damned  troopers  shot  him  ? 
King  Charles,  and  xcho^ll  do  him  right  now  ? 
King  Charles,  and  w7io  's  ripe  for  fight  now  ? 
Give  a  rouse :  here 's  in  helVs  despite  noic. 
King  Charles! 

EOBEET   BeO-XNING. 


NASEBY. 

Oh!  wherefore  come  ye  forth  in  triumph 
from  the  north. 

With  your  hands,  and  your  feet,  and  your  rai- 
ment all  red? 

And  wherefore  doth  your  rout  send  forth  a 
j  oyous  shout  ? 

And  whence  be  the  grapes  of  the  wine-prese 
that  ye  tread  ? 

Oh!  evil  was  the  root,  and  bitter  was  the 

fruit, 
And  crimson  was  the  juice  of  the  vintage  that 

we  trod ; 
For  we  trampled  on  the  throng  of  the  haughty 

and  the  strong, 
Who  sate  in  the  high  places  and  slew  the 

saints  of  God. 

It  was  about  the  noon  of  a  glorious  day  of 

June, 
That  we  saw  their  banners  dance  and  their 

cuirasses  shine, 
And  the  man  of  blood  was  there,  with  his 

long  essenced  hair. 
And  Astley,  and  Sir  Marmaduke,  and  Eupert 

of  the  Rhine. 


Like  a  servant  of  the  Lord,  with  his  bible  and 
his  sword, 

The  general  rode  along  us  to  form  us  for  the 
fight; 

When  a  murmuring  sound  broke  out,  and 
swelled  into  a  shout 

Among  the  godless  horsemen  upon  the  ty- 
rant's right. 

And  hark!  hke  the  roar  of  the  billows  on  the 

shore. 
The  cry  of  battle  rises  along  their  charging 

line: 
For  God !  for  the  cause !  for  the  Church !  for 

the  laws ! 
For  Charles,  king  of  England,  and  Rupert  of 

the  Rhine ! 

The  furious  German  comes,  with  his  clarions 
and  his  drums. 

His  bravoes  of  Alsatia  and  pages  of  White- 
hall; 

They  are  bursting  on  our  flanks !  Grasp  your 
pikes !     Close  your  ranks  ! 

For  Rupert  never  comes,  but  to  conquer,  or 
to  fall. 

They  are  here — they  rush  on — we  are  bro- 
ken— we  ai"e  gone — 

Our  left  is  borne  before  them  like  stubble  on 
the  blast. 

O  Lord,  put  forth  thy  might !  O  Lord,  defend 
the  right ! 

Stand  back  to  back,  in  God's  name!  and  fight 
it  to  the  last ! 

Stout  Skippen  hath  a  wound — the  centre  hath 

given  ground. 
Hark!  hark!  what  means  the  trampling  of 

horsemen  on  our  rear  ? 
Whose  banner  do  I  see,  boys  ?    '  Tis  he !  thank 

God!  'tis  he,  boys! 
Bear  up  another  minute!     Brave  Oliver  is 

here! 

Their  heads  all  stooping  low,  their  points  all 

in  a  row : 
Like  a  whirlwind  on  the  trees,  like  a  deluge 

on  the  dikes. 


S55 


rOEMS     OF     AMBITION. 


Our  cuirassiers  have  burst  ou  the  rauks  of 

the  accurst. 
And  at  a  shock  have  scattered  the  forest  of 

his  pikes. 

Fast,  fast,  the  gallants  ride,  in  some  safe  nook 

to  hide 
Their  co-svard  heads,  predestined  to  rot  on 

Temple  Bar ; 
And  he — he  turns !  he  flies !  shame  ou  those 

cruel  ej'cs 
That  bore  to  look  on  torture,  and  dare  not 

look  on  war ! 

Ho,  comrades !  scour  the  plain ;  and  ei'e  ye 

strip  the  slain. 
First  give  another  stab  to  make  your  search 

secure ; 
Then,  shake  from  sleeves  and  pockets  their 

broad-pieces  and  lockets, 
The  tokens  of  the  wanton,  the  plunder  of  the 

poor. 

Fools!  your  doublets  shone  with  gold,  and 
your  hearts  were  gay  and  bold, 

When  you  kissed  your  lily  hands  to  your  le- 
mans  to-day ; 

Asii  to-morrow  shall  the  fox  from  her  cham- 
bers in  the  rocks 

Lead  forth  her  tawny  cubs  to  howl  above  the 
prey. 

Where  be  yom*  tongues,  that  late  mocked  at 
heaven,  and  hell,  and  fate  ? 

And  the  fingers  that  once  were  so  busy  with 
your  blades? 

Your  perfumed  satin  clothes,  your  catches 
and  your  oaths  ? 

Your  stage-yjlays  and  your  sonnets,  your  dia- 
monds and  your  spades? 


Down!  down!  for  ever  down,  with  the  mitre 
and  the  crown ! 

With  the  Belial  of  the  court,  and  the  Mam- 
mon of  the  Pope ! 

There  is  woe  in  Oxford  halls,  there  is  wail  iu 
Durham's  stalls ; 

The  Jesuit  smites  his  bosom,  the  bishop  rends 
his  cope. 


And  she  of  the  seven  hills  shall  mourn  her 

children's  ills, 
And  tremble  when  she  thinks  on  the  edge  of 

England's  sword ; 
And  the  kings  of  earth  in  fear  shall  shudder 

when  they  hear 
Wliat  the  hand  of  God  hath  wrought  for  the 

houses  and  the  word ! 

LOKD  Macaulat. 


AN  HOEATIAN  ODE, 

UPOS   CEOMWELI.'s  EETUEN  FEOM  lEELAKD. 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear. 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear ; 

Nor  in  the  shadows  sing 

His  numbers  languishing. 


'T  is  time  to  leave  the  books  in  dust, 
And  oil  the  unused  armor's  rust ; 
Picmoving  from  the  wall 
The  corslet  of  the  hall. 


So  restless  Cromwell  could  not  cease 
In  the  inglorious  arts  of  peace, 

But  through  adventurous  wai" 

Urged  his  active  star ; 

And  like  the  three-forked  lightning,  first 
Breaking  the  clouds  where  it  was  nurst, 

Did  thorough  his  own  side 

His  fiery  way  divide. 

For  't  is  all  one  to  courage  high, 
The  emulous,  or  enemy; 

And,  with  such,  to  enclose 

Is  more  than  to  oppose. 

Then  burning  through  the  air  he  went, 
And  palaces  and  tomiales  rent ; 
And  Ca3sar's  head  at  last 
Did  through  his  laurels  blast. 


AN    HORATIAN    ODE. 


S59 


'Ti3  madness  to  resist  or  blame 
The  face  of  angry  heaven's  flame ; 

And,  if  we  would  speak  true, 

Much  to  the  man  is  due, 

Who,  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserved  and  austere, 

(As  if  his  highest  plot 

To  plant  the  bergamot,) 

Could  by  industrious  valor  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  time. 

And  cast  the  kingdoms  old 

Into  another  mould ! 

Though  justice  against  fate  complain, 
And  plead  the  ancient  rights  in  vain — 
But  those  do  hold  or  break. 
As  men  are  strong  or  weak, 

Nature,  that  hateth  emptiness, 

Allows  of  penetration  less. 

And  therefore  must  make  room 
Where  greater  spirits  come. 

What  field  of  all  the  civil  war, 
Where  his  were  not  the  deepest  scar  ? 

And  Hampton  shows  what  part 

He  had  of  wiser  art : 

Where,  twining  subtle  fears  with  hope, 
He  wove  a  net  of  such  a  scope 

That  Charles  himself  might  chase 
To  Carisbrook's  narrow  case ; 

That  thence  the  royal  actor  borne, 
The  tragic  scaffold  might  adorn. 
While  round  the  armed  bands 
Did  clap  their  bloody  hands, 

He  nothing  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene  ; 

But  with  his  keener  eye 

The  axe's  edge  did  try: 

Nor  called  the  gods,  with  vulgar  spite, 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right ; 

But  bowed  his  comely  head 

Down,  as  upon  a  bed. 


This  was  that  memorable  hour. 
Which  first  assured  the  forced  power : 

So,  when  they  did  design 

The  Capitol's  first  line, 

A  bleeding  head,  where  they  begun, 
Did  fright  the  architects  to  run  ; 

And  yet  in  that  the  state 

Foresaw  its  happy  fate. 

And  now  the  Irish  are  ashamed 
To  see  themselves  in  one  year  tamed ; 
So  much  one  man  can  do, 
That  does  both  act  and  know. 

They  can  afiirm  his  praises  best. 
And  have,  though  overcome,  confest 
How  good  he  is,  how  just. 
And  fit  for  highest  trust : 

Nor  yet  grown  stiffer  by  command, 
But  still  in  the  republic's  hand. 

How  fit  he  is  to  sway 

That  can  so  well  obey. 

He  to  the  commons'  feet  presents 
A  kingdom  for  his  first  year's  rents , 
And,  what  he  may,  forbears 
His  fame  to  make  it  theirs : 

And  has  his  sword  and  spoils  nngirt, 
To  lay  them  at  the  public's  skirt. 
So  when  the  falcon  high 
Falls  heavy  from  the  sky. 

She,  having  killed,  no  more  does  search 
But  on  the  next  green  bough  to  perch ; 
Where,  when  he  first  does  lure, 
The  falconer  has  her  sure. 

What  may  not  then  our  isle  presume, 
While  victory  his  crest  does  plume? 
What  may  not  others  fear 
If  thus  he  crowns  each  year? 

As  Caesar  he,  ere  long,  to  Gaul ; 
To  Italy  an  Hannibal ; 

And  to  all  states  not  free 

Shall  climacteric  be. 


SCO                                                POEMS    OF 

AMBITION. 

The  Pict  no  shelter  now  shall  find 

OIT   THE    DETRACTION   VnilCII    FOLLOWED    UPON 

AYithin  his  parli-colorcd  mind; 

MY    WKITIXG    CEETAIX   TREATISES. 

But  from  this  valor  sad 

I  DID  but  prompt  the  age  to  quit  their  clogs 

Shrink  underneath  the  plaid, 

1                  X                            ~                     1                                            o 

By  the  known  rules  of  ancient  liberty. 

"When  straight  a  barbarous  noise  environs 

Happy,  if  in  the  tufted  hrake 

me 

The  English  hunter  him  mistake. 

Of    owis    and    cuckoos,    asses,    apes,    and 

Xor  lay  his  hounds  in  near 

dogs: 

The  Caledonian  deer. 

As  when  those  hinds  that  were  transformed 

to  frogs 

But  thou,  the  -war's  and  fortune's  son. 

Eailed  at  Latona's  twin-born  progeny, 

March  indefatigahly  on; 

"Which   after  held  the  sun   and  moon  in 

And,  for  the  last  eftect. 

fee. 

Still  keep  the  sword  erect ! 

But  this  is  got  by  casting  pearl  to  hogs, 

That  bawl   for   freedom    in   their  senseless 

Besides  the  force  it  has  to  fright 

mood, 

The  spirits  of  the  shady  night, 

And  still  revolt  when  truth  would  set  them 

The  same  arts  that  did  gain 

free. 

A  power^  must  it  maintain. 

License  they  mean  when  they  cry  Liberty; 

Andrew  Maetell. 

For  who  loves  that  must  first  be  wise  and 

good; 

♦- — 

But  from  that  mark  how  far  they  rove  we 
see, 
For    all  this  -waste  of  wealth,  and  loss  of 

SONXETS. 

blood. 

TO   THE   LOED    GEXERiL    CEOMWELL. 

Ceomwell,  our  chief  of  men,  who  through  a 

TO   CTRIAC   SKINNER. 

cloud 

]Srot  of  war  on.y,  but  detractions  rude, 

Cteiac,  this  three  years  day  these  eyes,  tho' 

Guided  by  faith  and  matchless  fortitude, 

clear 

To  peace  and  truth  thy  glorious  -way  hast 

To  outward  view  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

ploughed. 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot ; 

And  on  the  neck  of  crowned  fortune  proud 

ISTor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 

Ilast  reared  God's  trophies,  and  his  work 

Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout   the 

pursued. 

year, 

"While  Darwen  stream  with  blood  of  Scots 

Or  man,  or  -woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 

imbrued, 

Against   heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a 

And  Dunbar  field  resounds  thy  prai-ses  loud. 

jot 

And  Worcester's  laureat  -wreath.     Yet  much 

Of  heart  or  hope ;    but  still  bear  up  and 

remains 

steer 

To  conquer  still ;  peace  hath  her  victories 

Eight  onward.     "What  supports  me,  dost  thou 

No  less  renowned  than  war.  K'ew  foes  arise 

ask? 

Threatening  to  bind  our  souls  with  seciUar 

The  conscience,  friend,  t'  have  lost  them 

chains : 

overplied 

Help  us  to  save  free  conscience  from  the 

In  liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task. 

paw 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

Of  hireling  wolves,  "whose  gospel  is  their 

This  thought  miglit  lead  mo  through  the 

maw. 

world's  vain  mask, 

Content  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide. 

John  Milton, 

THE    COVENANTERS'    BATTLE-CHANT. 


36] 


WHEN"  BAXISTERS  ARE  WAVING. 

I. 

When'  banners  are  waving, 

And  lances  a-  pushing ; 
Wlien  captains  are  shouting, 

And  war-horses  rushing ; 
"When  cannon  are  roaring, 

And  hot  bullets  flying, 
He  that  would  honor  win, 

Must  not  fear  dying. 

II. 

Though  shafts  fly  so  thick 

That  it  seems  to  be  snowing ; 
Though  streamlets  with  blood 

More  than  water  are  flowing ; 
Though  with  sabre  and.  bullet 

Our  bravest  are  dying. 
We  speak  of  revenge,  but 

We  ne'er  speak  of  flying. 

III. 
Come,  stand  to  it,  heroes  ! 

The  heathen  are  coming ; 
Horsemen  are  round  the  walls, 

Eiding  and  running ; 
Maidens  and  matrons  all 

Arm !  arm !  are  cr^'ing , 
From  petards  the  wildfire 's 

Flashing  and  flying. 


The  trumpets  from  turrets  high 

Loudly  are  braying ; 
The  steeds  for  the  onset 

Are  snorting  and  neighing ; 
As  Avaves  in  the  ocean. 

The  dark  plumes  are  dancing ; 
As  stars  in  the  blue  sky. 

The  helmets  are  glancing. 

Their  ladders  are  planting. 

Their  sabres  are  sweeping ; 
Now  swords  from  our  sheaths 

By  the  thousand  are  leaping ; 
Like  the  flash  of  the  levin 

Ere  men  hearken  thunder, 
Swords  gleam,  and  the  steel  caps 

Are  cloven  asunder. 
50 


The  shouting  has  ceased, 

And  the  flashing  of  cannon ! 
I  looked  from  the  turret 

For  crescent  and  pennon : 
As  flax  touched  by  fire. 

As  hail  in  the  river. 
They  were  smote,  they  were  fallen, 

^nd  had  melted  for  ever. 

•Anonymous. 


THE  COVEFAXTEES'  BATTLE-CHANT. 

To  battle!  to  battle! 

To  slaughter  and  strife ! 
For  a  sad,  broken  covenant 

We  barter  poor  life. 
The  great  God  of  Judah 

Shall  smite  with  our  hand, 
And  break  down  the  idols 

That  cumber  the  land. 

Hplift  every  voice 

In  prayer,  and  in  song ; 
Eemember  the  battle 

Is  not  to  the  strong ; — 
Lo,  the  Ammonites  thicken ! 

And  onward  they  come. 
To  the  vain  noise  of  trumpet, 

Of  cymbal,  and  drum. 

They  haste  to  the  onslaught, 

With  hagbut  and  spear ; 
They  lust  for  a  banquet 

That 's  deathful  and  dear. 
N'ow  horseman  and  footman 

Sweep  down  the  hill-side  ; 
They  come,  like  fierce  Pliaraohs, 

To  die  in  their  pride ! 

See,  long  plume  and  pennon 

Stream  gay  in  the  air  ! 
They  are  given  us  for  slaughter,  - 

Shall  God's  people  spare  ? 
N'ay,  nay ;  lop  them  off — 

Friend,  father,  and  son ; 
All  earth  is  athirst  till 

The  good  Avork  be  done'. 


SG'2                                                POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 

Brace  tight  every  buckler, 

And  far  uj)  in  heaven,  near  the  white  sunny 

And  lift  liigli  the  sword  ! 

cloud. 

For  biting  must  blades  be 

The  song  of  the  lark   was  melodious  and 

That  fight  for  the  Lord. 

loud ; 

Eoniember,  remember, 

And  in  Glenmuir's  wild  solitude,  lengthened 

How  saints'  blood  was  shed. 

and  dee]>. 

As  tree  as  the  rain,  and 

Were  the  w^histling  of  plovers  and  bleating 

Homes  desolate  made ! 

of  sheep. 

Among  them ! — among  them ! 

And  Wellwood's  sweet  valley  bi'eathed  music 

Unburied  bones  cry : 

and  gladness — 

Avenge  us, — or,  like  us, 

The  fresh  meadow  blooms  hung  in  beauty 

Faith's  true  martyrs  die  ! 

and  redness ; 

Hew,  hew  dowu  the  spoilers  ! 

Its  daughters  w^ere  happy  to  hail  the  return- 

Slay on,  and  spare  none ;     - 

ing, 

Then  shout  forth  in  gladness. 

And  drink  the  delight  of  July's  sweet  morn- 

Heaven's battle  is  won  ! 

ing. 

WuLLAil  MOTUEKWELL. 

But,  oh!  there  were  hearts  cherished  far  other 

feelings, 

Elumed   by  the   light  of  prophetic   reveal- 

THE  CAMERONIAN'S  DEEAM. 

ings ; 
Who  drank  from  the  scenery  of  beauty  but 

\ 

sorrow, 

Is  a  dream  of  the  night  I  was  wafted  away 
To  the  muirland  of  mist,  where  the  martyrs 

For  they  knew  that  their  blood  would  bedew 
it  to-morrow. 

lay; 

Where  Cameron's  sword,  and  his  bible  are 

'  Twas  the  few  faithful  ones  who  with  Cam- 

seen. 

eron  were  lying 

Engraved  on  the  stone   where  the  heather 

Concealed  'mong  the  mist  Avhere  the  heath- 

grows  green. 

fowl  w^as  crying ; 

For  the  horsemen  of  Earlshall  around  them 

'  Twas  a  dream  of  those  ages  of  darkness  and 
blood 

were  hovering, 
And  their  bridle  reins  rung  through  the  thin 

When  the  minister's  home  was  the  mountain 

misty  covering. 

and  wood ; 

When  in  Wellwood's  dark  valley  the  stand- 

Their faces  grew  pale,  and  their  swords  were 

ard  of  Zion, 

unsheathed. 

All  bloody  and  torn,  'mong  the  heather  was 

But  the  vengeance  that  darkened  their  brow 

lying- 

was  unbreathed ; 

With  eyes  turned  to  heaven  in  calm  resigna- 

Twas morning;  and  summer's  young   sun 
from  the  east 

tion,                                 , 
They  sang  their  last  song  to  the  God  of  sal- 

Lay in  loving  repose  on  the  green  mountain's 

vation. 

breast ; 

On  Wardlaw  and  Cairntable  the  clear  shin- 

The liills  with  the  deep  mournful  music  were 

ing  dew 

ringing. 

Glistened  there  'mong  the  heath  bells  and 

The  curlew  and  plover  in  concert  were  sing- 

mountain  flowers  blue. 

in  o*  • 

THE  BONNETS  OF  BONNIE  DUNDEE. 


363 


But  the  melody  died  'mid  derision  and  laugh- 
ter, 

As  the  host  of  uugodly  rushed  on  to  the 
slaughter. 

lliough  in  mist,  and  in   darkness,  and  fire 

they  were  shrouded. 
Yet  the  souls  of  the  righteous  were  calm  and 

unclouded ; 
Their  dark  eyes  flashed  lightning,  as,  ilrm 

and  unhending, 
They  stood  like  the  rock  which  the  thunder 

is  rending. 

The  muskets  were  flashing,  the  blue  swords 

were  gleaming, 
The  helmets  were  cleft,  and  the  red  blood 

was  streaming. 
The  heavens  grew  dark,  and  the  thunder  was 

rolling. 
When  in  Wellwood's    dark    muirlands    the 

mighty  were  falling. 

"When  the  righteous  had  fallen,  and  the  com- 
bat was  ended, 

A  chariot  of  fire  through  the  dark  cloud  de- 
scended ; 

Its  drivers  were  angels  on  horses  of  white- 
ness. 

And  its  burning  wheels  turned  upon  axles  of 
brightness. 

A  seraph  unfolded  its  doors  bright  and  shin- 

All  dazzling  like  gold  of  the  seventh  refin- 

And  the  souls  that  came  forth  out  of  great 

tribulation, 
Have  mounted  tbe  chariots  and  steeds  of 

salvation. 


On  the  arch  of  the  rainbow  the  chariot  is 
gliding, 

Through  the  path  of  the  thunder  the  horse- 
men are  riding — 

Glide  swiftly,  bright  spirits!  the  prize  is  be- 
fore ye — 

A  crown  never  fading,  a  kingdom  of  glory ! 

James  IIyslop. 


THE  BOXNETS  OF  BOXOTE  DUXDEE. 

To  the  lords  of  convention  't  was  Claverhouse 

who  spoke, 
"Ere  the  king's  crown  shall  fall  there  are 

crowns  to  be  bi'oke ; 

So  let  each  cavalier  vv^ho  loves  honor  and  me 

Come  follow  the  bonnets  of  bonnie  Dundee !  " 

Come  fill  lif  my  cup^  come  fill  up  my  can  ; 

Come  saddle  your  horses,  aiid  call  up  your 

men; 
Come  open  tlie  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room  for  the  ionnets  of  honnie 
Dundee  ! 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street. 
The  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they 

are  beat ; 
But  the  provost,  douce  man,  said,  "  Just  e'en 

let  him  be, 
Tlie  gude  toun  is  well  quit  of  tbat  deil  ot 
Dundee !  " 
Come  Jill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

m.en  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room  for  the  honnets  of  ionnie 
Dundee  ! 

As  he  rode  doim  the  sanctified  bends  of  the 

Bow 
Bk  carline  was  flyting  and  shaking  her  pow  ; 
But  the  young  plants  of  gi-ace  they  looked 

oowthie  and  slee, 
Thinking,  Luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou  bonnie 
Dundee! 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free. 
And  iVs  room  for  tlie  lonnets  of  lonnie 
Dundee! 

With  sour-featured  whigs  the  grass-niarkot 

Avas  thrangcd 
As  if  half  the  west  had  set  tryst  to  be  lianged ; 


S6i 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


There  was  spite  iu  each  look,  there  was  fear 

in  each  ec, 
As  t]iey  Avatched  for  the  bonnets  of  bonuie 
Dundee. 
Come  Jill  itp  my  cup,  come  Jill  up  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

men; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room  for  the  ionnets  of  ionnie 
Dundee  / 


These  ecwls  of  Kihnarnock  had  spits  and  had 

spears. 
And  lang-hafted  gullies  to  kill  cavaliers ; 
But  they  shrunk  to  close-heads,  and  the  cause- 
way was  free 
At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 
Comefllup  my  cup,  come  Jill  iip  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  iq)  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room  for  the  honnets  of  honnie 
Dundee  ! 


lie  spurred  to  the  foot  of  the  proud  castle 

rock, 
And  with  the  gay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke : 
"  Let  Mons  Meg  and  her  marrows  speak  twa 

words  or  three. 
For    the   love   of    the    bonnet    of    bonnie 
Dundee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up)  your 

men; 
Come  open  the  Westj^ort  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room  for  the  Ionnets  of  Ionnie 
Dundee! 


The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he 
goes — 

"  Wliere'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Mont- 
rose! 

Your  grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings 
of  me, 

Or  that  low  lies  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 


Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free. 
And  it 's  room  for  the  Ionnets  of  Ionnie 

Dundee  ! 

"  There  are  hills  beyond  Pentland  and  lauds 

beyond  Forth  ; 
If  there's  lords  in  the  Lowlands,  there 's  chiefs 

in  the  north ; 
There  arc  wild  Duniewassals  three  thousand 

times  three 
Win  cry  '  Iloigh ! '  for  the  bonnet  of  bonuie 
Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room  for  the  Ionnets  of  Ionnie 
Dundee  ! 

"  There  's  brass  on  the  target  of  barkened 

bull-hide. 
There 's  steel  in  the  scabbard  that  dangles  be- 
side; 
The  brass  shall  be  burnished,  the  steel  shall 

flash  free, 
At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free, 
And  ifs  room  for  the  ionnets  of  ionnie 
Dundee  ! 

"  Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks , 
Ere  I  own  an  usurper  I  '11  couch  with  the  fox  ; 
And  tremble,  false  whigs,  in  the  midst  of 

your  glee. 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and 
me." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  comefiUup  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  %ip  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang 

free. 
And  it 's  room  for  the  ionnets  of  ionnie 
Dundee  ! 


i 


HERE  'S    TO     THE     KING,    SIR! 


365 


He  waved  his  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets 

were  blown, 
The  kettle-drums  clashed,  and  the  horsemen 

rode  on, 
Till  on  Kavelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's 

lea 
Died  away  the  wild  war-notes  of  bonnie  Dun- 
dee, 
Come  fill  up  my  cup^  come  fill  up  my  can  ; 
Coyne  saddle  the  horses,  and  call  up  the 

men  ; 
Come  open  your  doors  and  let  me  gaefree, 
For  it  '5  up  with  the  T)onnets  of  honnie 
Dundee! 

SiE  Walter  Scott. 


LOOHABER  ISO  MORE. 

Farewell  to   Lochaber!   and  farewell,    my 

Jean, 
Where  heartsome  with  thee  I  hae  mony  day 

been! 
For  Lochaber  no  more,  Lochaber  no  more. 
We  '11  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more ! 
These  tears  that  I  shed  they  are  a'  for  my  dear. 
And  no  for  the  dangers  attending  on  war. 
Though  borne  on  rough  seas  to  a  far  bloody 

shore, 
Maybe  to  return  to  Lochaber  no  more. 

Though  hurricanes  rise,  and  rise  every  wind, 
TheyTl  ne'er  make  a  tempest  like  that  in  my 

mind; 
Though  loudest  of  thunder  on  louder  waves 

roar, 
That 's  naething  like  leanng  my  love  on  the 

shore. 
To  leave  thee  behind  me  my  heart  is  sair 

pained; 
By  eaye   that's  inglorious  no  fame   can  be 

gained ; 
And  beauty  and  love 's  the  rewai'd    of  the 

brave, 
And  I  must  deser\'e  it  before  I  can  crave. 

Then  glory,  my  Jeany,  maun  plead  my  ex- 
cuse ; 
Since  honor  commands  me,  how  can  I  refuse  ? 
Witliout  it  I  ne'er  can  have  merit  for  thee. 
And  without  thy  favor  I  'd  better  not  be. 


I  gae  then,  my  lass,  to  win  honor  and  fame, 

And  if  I  should  luck  to  come  gloriously  hame, 

I  '11  bring  a  heart  to  thee  with  love  running 

o'er, 

And  then   I  '11  leave  thee  and  Lochaber  no 

more. 

Allah  Eamsat. 


HERE'S  TO  THE  KING,  SIRl 


sir! 


Here  's  to  the  king,  ^^i . 
Ye  ken  wha  I  mean,  sir — 
And  to  every  honest  man 
That  will  do  't  again ! 

Fill,  fill  your  hampers  high  ; 
Drain,  drain  your  glasses  dry  ; 
Out  upon  him  I— fie  !  oh,  fie  ! — 
That  icinna  do  'i  again. 

Here 's  to  the  chieftains 
Of  the  gallant  Highland  clans ! 
They  hae  done  it  mair  nor  ance, 
And  will  do  't  again. 

Fill,  fill  your  iumpers  high  ; 
Drain,  drain  your  glasses  dry  ; 
Out  upon  him!— fie!  oh,  fie! — 
Tliat  icinna  do  H  again, 

When  you  hear  the  trumpet's  sound 
Tuttie  taittie  to  the  drums, 
Up  wi'  swords  and  down  wi'  gims, 
And  to  the  loons  again ! 

Fill,  fill  your  Jumpers  high  ; 
Drain,  drain  your  glasses  dry  ; 
Out  upon  1dm!— fie!  oh,  fie! — 
That  winna  do  H  again. 

Here'  s  to  the  king  o'  Swede ! 
Fresh  laurels  crown  his  head ! 
Shame  fa'  every  sneaking  blade 
That  winna  do 't  again ! 

Fill,  fill  your  humpers  high  ; 
Drain,  drain  your  glasses  dry  ; 
Out  upon  him  !—fie  !  oh,  fie  ! — 
TJiat  icinna  do  H  again. 

But  to  make  a'  things  right  now, 
He  that  drinks  maun  fight  too, 
To  show  his  heart 's  upright  too. 
And  that  he  '11  do  't  again ! 


3CG                                                    POEMS    OF 

AMBITION. 

Fill  1  Jill  your  lumpers  high  ; 

Drain,  drain  your  glasses  dry  ; 

THE  GALLANT  GRAHAMS. 

Out  itpon  him  l—Jie  !  oh,  Jic! — 

That  tcinna  do  H  again. 

To  wear  the  blue  I  think  it  best, 

AjJONSiious. 

Of  a'  the  colors  that  I  see ; 

And  I  '11  wear  it  for  the  gallant  Grahams 
That  ai'o  banished  frae  their  ain  countrie. 

CHARLIE  IS  MY  DARLING. 

'T  -WAS  on  a  Monday  morning 

I  '11  crown  them  east,  I  '11  crown  them  west, 

Riclit  early  in  the  year, 

The  bravest  lads  that  e'er  I  saw : 

That  Cliarhe  cam'  to  our  toun, 

7 

They  bore  the  grce  in  free  fighting, 

Tlie  young  chevaher. 

And  ne'er  were  slack  their  swords  to  draw. 

And  Charlie  he 's  my  darling, 

My  darling,  my  darling  ; 

Charlie  he  's  my  darling. 

They  wan  the  day  wi'  Wallace  wight ; 

The  young  chevalier! 

They  were  the  lords  o'  the  south  coimtrie ; 

Cheer  up  your  hearts,  brave  cavaliers, 

As  he  was  walking  up  the  street, 

Till  the  gallant  Grahams  come  o'er  the 

The  city  for  to  view. 

sea. 

Oh,  there  he  spied  a  honnie  lass 

The  window  looking  through. 

And  Charlie  he 's  my  darling, 

At  the  Gouk  head,  where  their  camp  was 

My  darling,  my  darling  ; 

set, 

Charlie  he 's  my  darling, 

They  rade  the  white  horse  and  the  gray. 

The  young  chevalier  ! 

A'  glancing  in  their  plated  armor, 

Saylicht's  he  jumped  up  the  stair, 

As  the  gowd  shines  in  a  summer's  day. 

And  tirled  at  the  pin  ; 

And  wha  sae  ready  as  hersel' 

But  woe  to  Hacket,  and  Strachan  baith, 

To  let  the  laddie  in? 

And  ever  an  ill  death  may  they  die, 

And  Charlie  he 's  my  darling, 

For  they  betrayed  the  gallant  Grahams, 

My  darling,  my  darling  ; 

That  aye  were  true  to  majesty. 

CJiarlie  he 's  my  darling, 

The  young  chevalier  ! 

Now  fare  ye  weel,  sweet  Ennerdale, 

He  set  his  Jenny  on  his  Icnee, 

Baith  kith  and  kin  that  I  could  name ; 

iVll  in  his  Highland  dress; 

Oh,  I  would  sell  my  silken  snood 

For  hrawly  weel  he  kenned  the  way 

To  see  the  gallant  Grahams  come  harac. 

To  please  a  honnie  lass. 

Anokymous. 

And  Charlie  he  's  my  darling, 

My  darling,  my  darling; 

Charlie  he 's  my  darling. 

KENMURE'S  ON  AND  AWA. 

The  young  chevalier  ! 

It 's  up  yon  heathery  mountain, 

On,  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa,  Willie ! 

And  down  yon  scroggy  glen, 

Oh,  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa ! 

We  daurna  gang  a-milking, 

And  Kenmure's  lord 's  the  bravest  lord 

For  Charlie  and  his  men. 

That  ever  Galloway  saw. 

And  Charlie  he 's  my  darling. 

My  darling,  my  darling  ; 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band,  Willie ! 

Charlie  he '«  my  darling. 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band  ; 

The  young  chevalier  ! 

There 's  no  a  heart  that  fears  a  Whig 

Anontmous. 

That  rides  by  Kenmure's  hand. 

LOCHIEL'S    WARNING. 


367 


Here 's  Kenmm-e's  liealth  in  wine,  WUlie ! 

Here 's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine ; 
There  ne'er  was  a  coward  o'  Kenmm-e's 
blade, 

Nor  yet  o'  Gordon's  line. 

Oh,  Kenmure's  lads  are  men,  "VVUlie ! 

Oh,  Kenmure's  lads  are  men ; 
Their  hearts  and  swords  are  metal  true — 

And  that  their  faes  shall  ken. 

They'll  live  or  die  wi'  fame,  "Willie! 

They  '11  live  or  die  wi'  fame ; 
But  soon,  wi'  sounding  victorie, 

May  Kenmm-e's  lord  come  hame. 

Here  's  him  that 's  far  awa,  Wilhe ! 

Here 's  him  that  'ri  far  awa  ; 
And  here 's  the  flower  that  I  love  best — 

The  rose  that 's  like  the  snaw. 

liOBEET  BTTENS. 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  THEM  THAT'S 
AWA. 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here  's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
And  wha  winna  wish  guid  luck  to  our  cause, 

May  never  guid  luck  he  their  fa' ! 
It 's  guid  to  be  merry  and  wise. 

It's  guid  to  be  honest  and  true, 
It 's  guid  to  support  Caledonia's  cause, 

And  bide  by  the  buff  and  the  blue. 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa. 

And  here 's  to  them  that 's  awa; 
Here 's  a  health  to  Charhe,  the  chief  o'  the 
clan, 

Altho'  that  his  band  be  sma'. 
May  liberty  meet  wi'  success ! 

May  prudence  protect  her  fra  evil ! 
May  tyrants  and  tyranny  tine  in  the  mist, 

And  wander  their  way  to  the  devil ! 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa. 
And  here 's  to  them  that 's  awa  ; 

Here 's  a  health  to  Tammie,  the  Norland  lad- 
die, 
Tliat  lives  at  tlie  lug  o'  the  law ! 


Here 's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  read. 
Here  's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  write ! 

There 's  nane  ever  feared  that  the  truth  should 
be  heard 
But  they  wham  the  truth  wad  indite. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here 's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
Here 's  Maitland  and  Wycombe,  and  wha 
does  na  like  'em 

We'll  build  in  a  hole  o'  the  wa'. 
Here 's  timmer  that 's  red  at  the  heai't, 

Here  's  fruit  that 's  sound  at  tliC  core ! 
May  he  that  would  turn  the  buff  and  blue  coat 

Be  turned  to  the  back  o'  the  door. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here 's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
Here's  Chieftain  M'Leod,  a  chieftain  worth 
gowd. 

Though  bred  amang  mountains  o'  snaw  ! 
Here 's  friends  on  baith  sides  o'  the  Forth, 

And  friends  on  baith  sides  o'  the  Tweed ; 
And  wha  would  betray  old  Albion's  riglits. 

May  they  never  eat  of  her  bread ! 

EOBEET  B0ENS. 


LOCHIEL'S  WAENING. 

WiZAED — LooniEL. 

WIZARD. 

LooHiEL,  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day 

When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle 

array ! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in 

fight. 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  kingdom  and 

crown ; 
Woe,  woe  to  the  riders  that  trample  them 

down! 
Proud    Cumberland    prances,   insulting  the 

slain. 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the 

plain. 
But  hark !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning 

of  war 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  ? 


3GS 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


'T  is  tliuie,  oil  Gleiiulliu !  whose  bride  shall 

await, 
Like  a  love-lighted  Avatch-fire,  all  night  at  the 

gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  moniiug :  uo  rider  is  there ; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albiu !  to  death  and  captivity  led — 
Oh  weep !  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the 

dead ; 
For  a  merciless  sword  on  Culloden  shall  wave, 
Culloden  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the 

brave. 

LOCIIIEL. 

Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling 

seer ! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear. 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 

WIZAED. 

Ila!   laugh'st   thou,   Lochiel,   my  vision  to 

scorn  ? 
Proud  bu'd  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall 

be  torn ! 
Say,  rushed  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth 
From  his  home  in  the  dark  rolling  clouds  of 

the  north  ? 
Lo  I  the  death-shot  of  foemen  outspeeding,  he 

rode 
Compauionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad ; 
But  down  let  him  stoop  fi-om  his  havoc  on 

high ! 
Ah !  home  let  him  speed — for  the  spoiler  is 

nigh. 
Why  flames  the  far  summit  ?    "Why  shoot  to 

the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament 

cast? 
'Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully 

diiven 
From  his  eyrie,  that  beacons  tlie  darkness  of 

heaven. 
Oh,  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might, 
T^'liose  banners    arise   on  the    battlements' 

height. 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to 

burn ; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling!  all  lonely  return  I 


For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where 

it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing 

brood. 


LOOHIEL. 

False  wizard,  avaunt!  I  have  marshalled  my 

clan ; 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  ai-e 

one! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their*  blood  and 

their  breath, 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of 

death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the 

shock ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on 

the  rock ! 
But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause, 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ; 
When    her  bonneted    chieftains  to  victory 

crowd, 
Clanronald   the  dauntless,   and   Moray  the 

proud, 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array — 

WIZAED. 

Lochiel,  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day ; 


For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal, 

But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  re- 
veal; 

'T  is  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore. 

And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 

I  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 

With  the  bloodhounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugi- 
tive king. 

Lo !  anointed  by  heaven  with  the  vials  of 
wrath. 

Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path ! 

Now  in  darkness  and  billows  he  sweeps  from 
my  sight : 

Rise,  rise!  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  hia 
flight ! 

'T  is  finished.  Their  thunders  are  liushed  on 
the  moors ; 

Culloden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores. 

But  whore  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  ? 
where  ? 

For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 


riBROCII     OF    DONUIL    DHU. 


369 


Say,  mounts  lie  the  oceau-wave,  banished, 

forlorn, 
Like  a  limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding 

and  torn? 
Ah  no  !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near ; 
Tlie  war-drum  is  muffled  and  black  is  the  bier; 
His  death-bell  is  tolling.     Oh !  mercy,  dispel 
Yon  sight,  that  it  freezes  my  spirit  to  tell ! 
Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  limbs. 
And  his  blood-streaming    nostril  in   agony 

swims. 
Accursed  be  the  fagots  that  blaze  at  his  feet, 
"Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown  ere  it  ceases 

to  beat. 
With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the 

gale 

LOCHIEL. 

Down,  sootless  insulter !  I  trust  not  the 

tale! 
For  never  shall  Albiu  a  destiny  meet 
So  black  with  dishonor,  so  foul  with  retreat. 
Though  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strewed 

in  their  gore. 
Like  ocean-weeds  heaped  on  the  surf-beaten 

shore, 
Locliiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  re- 
mains, 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low. 
With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the 

foe! 
And,  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 
Look  proudly  to  Jieaven  from  the  death-bed 
of  fame, 

Thomas  Campbell. 


BOPvDER  BALLAD. 

March,  JTiarch,  Ettrick  and  Treviotdale  ! 
Why  the  de'il  dinna  ye  march  forward  in 
order  ? 
March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale  ! 
All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  over  the  Border  ! 
Many  a  banner  spread 
Flutters  above  your  head, 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story ! — 
Mount  and  make  ready,  then. 
Sons  of  the  mountain  glen, 
Figlit  for  the  queen  and  our   old   Scottisli 
glory! 

53 


Come  ti-om  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are 
grazing ; 
Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the 
roe ; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing : 
Come  -with  the  buclder,  the  htnce,  and  the 
bow. 

Trumpets  are  sounding ; 
War-steeds  are  bounding ; 
Stand  to  your  ai'ms,  and  march  in  good  order, 
England  shall  many  a  day 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 

SiK  Waltek  Scott. 


PIBROCH  OF  DONUIL  DKU. 

PiBROcn  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew 

Summon  Clan-Conuil ! 
Come  away,  come  away — 

Hark  to  the  summons ! 
Come  in  your  war  array, 

Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  fi'om  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky ; 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlochy. 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one  ; 
Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

Leave  untended  the  herd. 

The  flock  without  shelter; 
Leave  the  cprpse  uninterred, 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

Leave  nets  and  barges : 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

Come  as  the  winds  come  when 

Forests  are  rended ; 
Come  as  the  waves  come  when 

Navies  are  stranded! 


370 


POEMS    or    AMBITION. 


Fas^tor  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and  faster — 
Chief,  vassal,  page,  and  groom, 

Tenant  and  master ! 

Fast  tbey  come,  fast  they  come — 

See  how  they  gather ! 
"Wide  waves  the  eagle  plmne. 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  yonr  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

Forward  each  man  set! 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhn, 

ICnecl  for  the  onset ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


But  now  the  bird  saw  some  red  coats, 

And  ho  shook  his  wings  wi'  anger : 
"  Oh !  this  is  noa  land  for  me — 

I  '11  tarry  here  nae  langer," 
A  while  he  hovered  on  the  wing. 

Ere  he  departed  fairly ; 
But  weel  I  mind  the  farewell  strain, 

'T  was  "  Wae  's  me  for  Prince  Charlie !  " 

■William  Glen. 


WAE 'S  ME  FOE  PEINCE  CHAPvLIE. 

A  WEE  bird  came  to  our  ha'  door ; 

He  warbled  sweet  and  clearly ; 
And  aye  the  o'ercome  o'  his  sang 

Was  "  Wae 's  me  for  Prince  Charlie !  " 
Oh !  when  I  heard  the  bonny,  bonny  bird, 

The  tears  came  drapping  rarely ; 
I  took  my  bonnet  aff  my  head. 

For  Aveel  I  lo'ed  Prince  Charlie. 

Quoth  I :  "  My  bird,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  bird, 

Is  that  a  tale  ye  borrow  ? 
Or  is  't  some  words  ye  've  learned  by  rote, 

Or  a  lilt  o'  dool  and  sorrow  ?  " 
"  Oh !  no,  no,  no !  "  the  wee  bird  sang, 

"  I  've  flown  sin'  morning  early ; 
But  sic  a  day  o'  wind  and  rain ! — 

Oh  !  wae 's  me  for  Prince  Charlie ! 

On  hills  that  are  by  right  his  ain 

He  roams  a  lonely  stranger ; 
On  ilka  hand  he  's  pressed  by  want. 

On  ilka  side  by  danger. 
Yestreen  I  met  him  in  the  glen. 

My  heart  near  bursted  fairly; 
For  sadly  changed  indeed  was  he — 

Oh  !  wae  's  me  for  Prince  Charlie ! 

Dark  night  came  on ;  the  tempest  howled 

Out  owre  the  hills  and  valleys  ; 
And  whare  was 't  that  your  prince  lay  down, 

Whase  hame  should  be  a  palace? 
He  rowed  him  in  a  Highland  plaid. 

Which  covered  him  but  sparely. 
And  slept  beneath  a  bush  o'  broom — 

Oh  I  wae  's  me  for  Prince  Charlie  !  " 


HAME,  HAME,  HAME! 

Hame,  hame,  hame !  oh  hame  I  fain  would  be ! 

Oh  liame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie ! 

When  the  flower  is  i'  the  bud  and  the  leaf  is 
on  the  tree,  * 

The  lark  shall  sing  me  hame  to  my  ain  coun- 
trie. 

Hame^  Tiame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  would  le  ! 

Oh  hame^  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie! 

The  green  leaf  o'  loyaltie  's  beginning  now  to 

fa'; 
The  bonnie  white  rose,  it  is  withering  an'  a' ; 
But  we  '11  water  it  wi'  the  bluid  of  usurping 

tyrannic. 
And  fresh  it  shall  blaw  in  my  ain  countrie ! 
Hame,  hame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  icould  le  I 
Oh  hame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie! 

Oh  there 's  nocht  now  frae  ruin  my  countrie 
can  save, 

But  the  keys  o'  kind  heaven  to  open  the  grave. 

That  a'  the  noble  martyrs  who  died  for  loy- 
altie 

May  rise  again  and  fight  for  their  ain  countrie. 

Hame,  hame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  would  he! 

Oil  hame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie! 

The  great  now  are  gone  wha  attempted  to 
save, 

The  green  grass  is  growing  abune  their 
grave ; 

Yet  the  sun  through  the  mist  seems  to  prom- 
ise to  me, 

"I'll  shine  on  ye  yet  in  your  ain  countrie." 

Hame,  hame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  would  ie  ! 

Oh  hame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie  ! 

Allan  Cunningham. 


THE  BROADSWORDS  OF  SCOTLAND. 


ni 


MY  AIX  COUXTREE. 

The  sun  rises  bright  iu  France, 

And  fail-  sets  he ; 
But  he  has  tint  the  blythe  blink  he  had 

In  my  ain  countree. 
Oh  gladness  comes  to  many, 

But  sorrow  comes  to  me. 
As  I  look  o'er  the  wide  ocean 

To  my  ain  countree. 

Oh  it 's  nae  my  ain  ruin 

That  saddens  aye  my  e'e. 
But  the  love  I  left  in  Galloway, 

Wi'  bonnie  bau-nies  three. 
!My  hamely  hearth  bui*nt  bonnie, 

An'  smiled  my  fair  Marie : 
I  've  left  my  heart  behind  me 

In  my  ain  countree. 

The  bud  comes  back  to  summer, 

And  the  blossom  to  the  bee ; 
But  I  'U  win  back — oh  never, 

To  my  ain  countree. 
I  'm  leal  to  the  high  heaven. 

Which  will  be  leal  to  me. 
An  there  I  '11  meet  ye  a'  sune 

Frae  my  ain  countree. 

Allan  CiTNNiNGnAM. 


rnE  BROADSWORDS  OF  SCOTLAND. 

."Tow  there's  peace  on  the  shore,  now  there  's 

calm  on  the  sea. 
Fill  a  glass  to  the  heroes  whose  swords  kept 

us  free, 
Riglit  descendants  of  Wallace,  Montrose,  and 
Dundee. 
Oli^  the  iroadswords  of  old  Scotland/ 
And  oh,  the  old  Scottish  Iroadswords  ! 

(),(l  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby,  the  good  and  th* 

brave — 
I  It  him  flee  from  our  board,  let  him  sleep 

with  the  slave, 
\V  iiosc  libation  comes  slow  while  we  honor 
his  grave. 
Oh,  the  hroadsioords  of  old  Scotland! 
And  oh,  the  old  Scottish  Iroad-sicords  f 


Though  he  died  not,  like  him,  amid  victory's 

roar. 
Though  disaster  and  gloom  wove  his  shroud 

on  the  shore, 
Not  the  less  Ave  remember  the  spirit  of  Moore. 
Oh,  the  hroadsioords  of  old  Scotland! 
And  oil,  the  old  Scottlsli  broadswords  ! 

Yea,  a  place  with  the  fallen  the  living  shall 

claim ; 
We  '11  entwine  in  one  v/reath  every  glorious 

name, 
The  Gordon,  the  Ramsay,  the  Hope,  and  the 
Graham, 
All  tlie  iroadsicords  of  old  Scotland  ! 
And  oil,  the  old  Scottish  hroadsioords  ! 

Count  the  rocks  of  the  Spey,  count  the  gi-oves 

of  the  Forth, 
Count  the  stars  in  the  clear,  cloudless  heaven 

of  the  north; 
Then  go  blazon  their  numbers,  their  names, 
and  thcu'  worth, 
All  the  broadswords  of  old  Scotland! 
And  oh,  the  old  Scottish  hroadsioords  ! 

The  highest  in  splendor,  the  humblest  in 

place. 
Stand  united  in  glory,  as  kindred  in  race. 
For  the  private  is  brother  in  blood  to  his  Grace. 

Oh,  the  broadswords  of  old  Scotland! 

And  oh,  the  old  Scottish  iroadswords  ! 

Then  sacred  to  each  and  to  all  let  it  be. 
Fill  a  glass  to  the  heroes  whose  swords  kept 

us  free. 
Right  descendants  of  AYallace,  Montrose,  and 
Dundee. 
Oh,  the  iroadswords  of  old  Scotland  ! 
And  oh,  the  old  Scottish  Iroadswords  ! 
John  Gibson  Lockuart. 


SONG. 


As  by  the  shore,  at  break  of  day, 
A  vanquished  chief  exj)iring  lay, 
Upon  the  sands,  Avith  broken  sword. 

He  traced  his  farewell  to  the  free ; 
And,  there,  the  last  unfinished  Avord 

lie  dying  wrote,  Avas  "Liberty!  " 


872                                                  POEMS     OF 

AMBITION. 

At  uigbt  a  sea-bird  shrieked  the  kiiell 

\ 

Of  him  wlio  thus  for  freedom  fell ; 

BEACE  TO  THE  SLUMBERERS. 

The  words  ho  wrote,  ere  evening  came, 

Were  covered  by  the  sounding  sea ; — 

Peace  to  the  slumberers ! 

So  pass  away  the  cause  and  name 

They  lie  on  the  battle-plain, 

Of  him  who  dies  for  liberty ! 

"With  no  shroud  to  cover  them ; 

TnO-MAS  MOOEE. 

The  dew  and  the  summer  rain 

And  all  that  sweep  over  them. 

Peace  to  the  slumberers ! 

THE  IIAEP  THAT  OIs^CE  THEOUGn 

Vain  was  their  bravery ! 

The  fallen  oak  lies  where  it  lay 

TAEA'S  HALLS. 

Across  the  wintry  river; 

But  brave  hearts,  once  swept  away, 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls 

Are  gone,  alas !  forever. 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 

O               7 

Vain  was  their  bravery ! 

Xow  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls, 

*' 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled. 

Woe  to  the  conqueror ! 

So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  days, 

Our  limbs  shall  lie  as  cold  as  their.g 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er. 

Of  whom  liis  sword  bereft  us. 

And  hearts  that  once  beat  high  for  praise, 

Ere  Ave  forget  the  deep  arrears 

iSTow  feel  that  pulse  no  more. 

Of  vengeance  they  have  left  us ! 

X. 

iso  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

Woe  to  the  conqueror ! 

The  bar])  of  Tara  swells ; 

TnoMAs  Mooee. 

Tlic  chord  alone  that  breaks  at  night 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

' 

The  only  throb  she  gives 

SHAK  VAN  VOCHT. 

Is  when  some  heai't  indignant  breaks 

To  show  that  still  she  lives. 

Oh !  the  French  are  on  the  say. 

Thomas  Mooee. 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 

The  French  are  on  the  say, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht  I 

* 

Oh !  the  French  are  in  the  bay ; 

ODE. 

They'll  be  here  without  delay, 

And  the  Orange  will  decay. 

How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

By  all  their  country's  wishes  blessed ! 

Oh  !  the  French  are  in  the  Itay, 

"When  spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 

Theifll  le  here  ly  Irealc  of  day, 

Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould. 

And  the  Orange  will  decay, 

She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 

Says  the  Shan  Van  VocJit. 

Than  fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

And  where  will  they  have  their  camp  1 

By  fairy  hands  their  kneU  is  rung; 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 

By  forms  unseen  theu*  dirge  is  sung ; 

AVhere  will  they  have  their  camp? 

There  honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray. 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 

To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ; 

On  the  Currach  of  Kildare ; 

And  freedom  shall  awhile  repair, 

The  boys  they  will  be  there 

To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  th-ere! 

With  their  pikes  in  good  repair. 

William  Collins. 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

I 


GOD     SAVE    KIXG. 


•,13 


To  the  Ourrach  of  Kildare 
TJie  loys  they  will  repair, 
And  Lord  Edward  icill  he  there, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 


Then  wliat  will  the  yeomen  do? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
What  will  the  yepmen  do  ? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 
What  should  the  yeomen  do, 
But  throw  off  the  red  and  blue, 
And  swear  that  they  '11  be  true 
To  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
What  should  the  yeoman  do, 
But  throw  off  the  Red  and  Blue, 
And  swear  that  they  HI  le  true 
To  the  Shan  Van  Vocht! 


And  what  color  will  they  wear? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
What  color  will  they  wear  ? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
What  color  should  be  seen, 
Where  our  fathers'  homes  have  been. 
But  our  own  immortal  green? 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
What  color  should  he  seen, 
Where  our  fathers''  homes  have  heen, 
But  our  own  immortal  green! 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 


And  will  Ireland  then  be  free  ? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 
Will  Ireland  then  be  free? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ! 
Yes !  Ireland  shall  be  free, 
From  the  centre  to  tlie  sea ; 
Then  hurra !  for  liberty ! 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
Yes  !  Ireland  shall  he  free, 
From  the  centre  to  the  sea  ; 
Then  hurra  !  for  liherty  ! 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

Anonymous. 


GOD  SAVE  THE  KING. 

God  save  our  gracious  king ! 
Long  live  our  noble  king ! 

God  save  the  king ! 
Send  him  victorious, 
Happy  and  glorious. 
Long  to  reign  over  us — 

God  save  the  king ! 


O  Lord  our  God,  arise ! 
Scatter  his  enemies. 

And  make  them  fall , 
Confound  their  politics. 
Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks; 
On  him  our  hopes  we  fix, 

God  save  us  all ! 

Thy  choicest  gifts  in  store 
On  him  be  pleased  to  pour ; 

Long  may  he  reign. 
May  he  defend  our  laws, 
And  ever  give  us  cause. 
To  sing  with  heart  and  voice — 


God  save  the  kuig ! 


ANONrMOUS. 


now  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD 
NEWS  FROM  GHENT  TO  AIX. 

I  SPRAXG  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris  and  he  : 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all 
three ; 

"Good  speed!  "  cried  the  watch  as  the  gate- 
bolts  undrew, 

"  Speed ! "  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping 
through. 

Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to 
rest, 

And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other ;  we  kept  the  great 

pace- 
Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never  chang- 
ing our  place ; 


374 


POEMS     OF     AMBITION. 


I  turned  iu  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight. 
Then  shortened    each  stirrup   and    set   the 

pique  right, 
■Robuckled  the  check-strap,  cluiined  slacker 

the  hit, 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Eolaud  a  whit. 

'T  was  a  moonset  at  starting ;  hut  while  we 

drew  near 
Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned 

clear ; 
At  Boom  a  great  yellow  s-tar  came  out  to  see ; 
At  Diiffeld  't  was  morning  as  plain  as  conld  be ; 
And  from  Mechela  church-steeple  we  heard 

the  half-chime — 
So  Joris  broke  silence  with   "  Yet  there  is 

time !  " 

At  Aerschot  np  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black  every 

one, 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past ; 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland  at  last. 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  blulf  river  headland  its 

spray. 

And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp 

ear  bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on 

his  track ; 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence, — ever  that 

glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master, 

askance ; 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes,  which  aye 

and  anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upward  in  galloping  on. 

By  Hasselt  Dirck  groaned ;  and  cried  Joris, 

"  Stay  spur ! 
Your  Roo3  galloped  bravely,  the  fault 's  not 

in  her ; 
"We  '11  remember  at  Aix  " — for  one  heard  the 

quick  wheeze 
Of  her  chest,  saw  the  stretched  neck,  and 

staggering  knees, 
And  sunk  tail,   and  horrible  heave  of  the 

flank, 
As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and 

sank. 


So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 

Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  tlio 
sky ; 

The  bi'oad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh; 

'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle,  bright  stub- 
ble like  chaff; 

Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang 
white. 

And  "  Gallop  "  gasped  Joris,  "  for  Aix  is  in 
sight !  " 

"  How  they  '11  greet  us  I  " — and  all  in  a  mo- 
ment liis  roan 

EoUed  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a 
stone ; 

And  there  was  my  Eoland  to  bear  the  whole 
weight 

Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from 
her  fate, 

With  his  nostrils  like  pits  fuU  of  blood  to  the 
bi'im, 

And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets' 
rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  huff-coat,  each  holster 

let  fall. 
Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and 

all, 
Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted  his 

ear. 
Called  my  Roland  his  pet-name,  my  horse 

without  peer- 
Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sung,  any 

noise,  bad  or  good, 
TUl  at  length  into  Aix  Roland  galloped  and 

stood. 


And  all  I  remember  is  friends  flocking  round. 

As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on 
the  ground ; 

And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland 
of  mine. 

As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  meas- 
ure of  wine, 

Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  con- 
sent) 

Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good 
news  from  Ghent. 

EOBEET  BkOWNINO. 


INDIAN    DEATH-SONG. 


375 


INDIAN  DEATII-SOXG. 

The  sun  sets  in  night,  and  the  stars  shun  the 
day; 

But  glory  remains  when  tlieir  lights  fade 
away. 

Begin,  you  tormentors !  your  threats  are  in . 
vain, 

For  the  sons  of  Alknoraook  will  never  com- 
plain. 

Eemcmber  the  arrows  he  shot  from  his  how ; 

Eomemher  your  chiefs  by  his  hatchet  laid 
low ! 

"Wliy  so  slow  ?  do  you  wait  till  I  shrink  from 
the  pain  ? 

No !  the  son  of  Alknomook  shall  never  com- 
plain. 

Remeraher  the  wood  where  iu   ambush  we 

lay, 
And  the  scalps  which  we  bore  from  your 

nation  away. 
Now  the  flame   rises  fast,  you  exult  in  my 

pain ; 
But  the  son  of  Alknomook  can  never  com- 

l)lain. 

I  go  to  the  land  where  my  father  is  gone ; 
His  ghost  shall  rejoice  in  the  fame  of  his  son. 
Death  comes,  like  a  friend,  to  relieve  me  from 

pain; 
And  thy  son,  O  Alknoraook!  has  scorned  to 

complain. 

AnHE  HrNTBE. 


INDIAN  DEATH-SONG. 

Ox  the  mat  he  's  sitting  there — 

See !  he  sits  upright — 
With  the  same  look  that  he  ware 

When  he  saw  the  light. 

But    where  now  tlie  hand's  clenched 
weight  ? 

"Where  the  breath  he  drew, 
That  to  the  Groat  Spirit  late 

Forth  the  pipe-smoke  blew  ? 


Where  the  eyes  that,  falcon-keen, 

Marked  the  reindeer  pass, 
By  the  dew  upon  the  green. 

By  the  waving  grass  ? 

These  the  limbs  that,  unconfined. 
Bounded  through  the  snow, 

Like  the  stag  that's  twcuty-tyned. 
Like  the  mountain  roe ! 

These  the  arms  that,  stout  and  tense, 
Did  the  bow-string  twang ! 

See,  the  life  is  parted  hence! 
See,  how  loose  they  hang ! 

Well  for  him !  he 's  gone  his  ways, 
Where  are  no  more  snows ; 

Where  the  fields  are  decked  with  maize 
That  unplanted  grows ; — 

Where  Avith  beasts  of  chase  each  wood. 
Whore  with  birds  each  tree, 

Where  with  fish  is  every  flood 
Stocked  full  pleasantly. 

He  above  with  spirits  feeds ; — 

We,  alone  and  dim. 
Left  to  celebrate  his  deeds. 

And  to  bury  him. 

Bring  the  last  sad  ofterings  hither ; 

Chant  the  death-lament; 
All  inter,  with  him  together, 

That  can  him  content. 

'  Neath  his  head  the  hatchet  hide 

That  he  swung  so  strong ; 
And  the  bear's  ham  set  beside, 

For  the  way  is  long; 

Then  the  knife — sharp  let  it  be- 
That  from  foeman's  crown. 

Quick,  with  dexterous  cuts  but  three, 
Skin  and  tuft  brought  down ; 

Paints,  to  smear  his  frame  about. 

Set  within  his  hand, 
That  he  redly  may  shine  out 
In  the  spirits'  land. 

rREDEuifiK  ScniLLEu.    (Gcntian.) 
Translation  of  N.  L.  FRoxniNOUAM. 


57G 


POEMS    OF    AMBITIOJS 


THE     LANDING    OF     THE     PILGRIM 
FATHERS  IN  NEW-ENGLAND. 

'•  Look  now  abroad — another  race  has  flUed 
Thoso  populous  borders — wide  tho  wood  recedes, 
And  towns  shoot  up,  and  fertile  realms  are  tilled  ; 
The  land  is  full  of  harvests  and  green  meads." 

Bkyan't. 


The  breaking  ■svavcs  dashed  liigb, 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hnng  dark, 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
VVhen  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New -England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came ; 
Not  with  tlie  roll  of  the  stirring  drums. 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame; 

Not  as  the  flying  come. 

In  silence  and  in  fear ; — 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom 

TTith  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang. 
And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods 
rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam  ; 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared — 

This  was  their  wel-come  home. 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band : 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land  ? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye. 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 


What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of -war? — 

They  sought  a  faitli's  pm-e  shrine  ! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground. 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod ; — 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they 
found — 
Freedom  to  worship  God. 

Felicia  Hemans. 


ON  THE  PROSPECT  OF  PLANTING 
ARTS  AND  LEARNING  IN 

AMERICA. 

The  Muse,  disgusted  at  an  age  and  clime 
Eai-ren  of  every  glorious  theme, 

In  distant  lands  now  waits  a  better  time, 
Producing  subjects  worthy  fame ; 

In  happy  climes,  where  from  the  genial  sun 
And  virgin  earth  such  scenes  ensue. 

The  force  of  art  by  nature  seems  outdone, 
And  fancied  beauties  by  the  true ; 

In  happy  climes  the  seat  of  innocence, 
Where  nature  guides  and  virtue  rules, 

Where  men  shall  not  impose  for  truth  and 
sense. 
The  pedantry  of  courts  and  schools. 

There  shall  be  sung  another  golden  age, 

Tlie  rise  of  empire  and  of  arts. 
The  good  and  great  uprising  epic  rage, 

The  wisest  heads  and  noblest  hearts. 

Not  such  as  Europe  breeds  in  her  decay ; 

Such  as  she  bred  when  fresh  and  young, 
When  heavenly  flame  did  animate  her  clay, 

By  future  poets  shall  be  sung. 

Westward  the  course  of  empire  take  its  way ; 

The  four  first  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day ; 

Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last. 

Geokge  Berkeley 


SOXG    OF 

MAKION'S    MEN.                                            377 

1 

And  his  broad  sword  was  swinging, 

OAE^tlEX  BELLIOOSUM. 

And  his  brazen  throat  was  ringing 
Trumpet  loud. 

In  their  ragged  regimentals 

Then  the  blue 

Stood  the  old  continentals, 

Bullets  flew. 

Yielding  not, 

7 

And  the  trooper-jackets  redden  at  the  touch 

When  the  grenadiers  were  lunging. 

of  the  leaden 

And  like  hail  fell  the  plunging 

Eifle-breath ; 

Cannon-shot ; 

And  rounder,  rounder,  rounder,  roared  the 

AVlien  the  files 

iron  six-pounder. 

Of  the  isles, 

Hurhng  death ! 

From  the  smoky  night  encampment,  bore 

the 

Gut  Httjiphkey  McMasteb. 

banner  of  the  rampant 

Unicorn, 
And  grummer,  grummer,  grummer  rolled  the 

roll  of  the  drummer, 

SOXG  OF  MARION'S  MEN. 

Through  the  morn ! 

OuE  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Then  with  eyes  to  the  front  all, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 

And  with  guns  horizontal, 

The  British  soldier  trembles 

Stood  our  sires ; 

"When  Marion's  name  is  told. 

And  the  balls  whistled  deadly, 

Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood. 

And  in  streams  flashing  redly 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree ; 

Blazed  the  fires ; 

We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  the  roar 

As  seamen  know  the  sea ; 

On  the  shore, 

We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Swept  the  strong  battle-breakers  o'er 

the 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 

green-sodded  acres 

Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Of  the  plain ; 

Within  the  dark  morass. 

And    louder,    louder,    louder,    cracked 

the 

black  gunpowder, 

Wo  to  the  Enghsh  soldiery 

Cracking  amain ! 

That  little  dread  us  near ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

Now  like  smiths  at  their  forges 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear ; 

"Worked  the  red  St.  George's 

When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

Cannoniers ; 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 

And  the  "  villainoiis  saltpetre  " 

And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Eung  a  fierce,  discordant  metro 

Are  beat  to  earth  again ; 

Round  their  ears ; 

And  they  who  fiy  in  terror,  deem 

As  the  swift 

A  mighty  host  behind. 

Storm-drift, 

And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

With  hot  sweeping  anger,  came  the  horse- 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

guards'  clangor 

On  our  flanks. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

Then  higher,  higher,  higher,  burned  the  old- 

From  danger  and  from  toil ; 

fashioned  fire 

We  talk  the  battle  over, 

Through  the  ranks ! 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodlands  I'iug  with  laugh  and  shout, 

Then  the  old-fashioned  colonel 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up. 

Galloped  through  the  white  infernal 

And  woodland  flowers  are  gatliered 

Powder-cloud ; 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 

52 

o7S 


1'  0 E  M S     OF     AMBITION. 


^Vith  uiorry  sougs  Ave  mock  the  wind 
That  in  the  piue-toi)  grieves, 

And  shiniber  long  and  sweetly 
On  bods  ol"  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  iiioou 

The  band  tliat  Marion  leads — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'T  is  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain  ; 
'T  is  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  hfts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp — 

A  moment — and  away  ! 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs  ; 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  ai'e  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band 

"With  kindliest  welcoming. 
With  smiles  hke  those  of  snmmer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  Ave  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  ihem  down  no  more 
Till  Ave  have  driven  the  Briton, 

For  ever,  from  our  shore. 

William  Cullen  Betas  t. 


THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER. 

Oil!  say,    can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early 
light 

What  so  proudly  Ave  hailed  at  the  twilight's 
last  gleaming — 

"Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  through 
the  perilous  tight, 

O'er  the  ramparts  we  Avatched,  were  so  gal- 
lantly streaming! 

And  the  rocket's  red  glare,  the  bombs  burst- 
ing in  air 

Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag 
Avas  still  there ; 

Oh    say,  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet 
wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of 
the  brave? 


On  that  shore,  dimly  seen  through  the  mists 
of  the  deep. 

Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence 
reposes. 

What  is  that  which  the  breeze,  o'er  the  tow- 
ering steep, 

As  it  fitfully  blows,  now  conceals,  noAV  dis- 
closes ? 

Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's 
first  beam, 

In  full  glory  reflected,  now  shines  on  the 
stream ; 

'Tis  the  star-spaugled  banner;  oh,  long  may 
it  Avave 

O'er  the  knd  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the 
brave ! 

And  Avhere  is  tliat  band  who  so  A'auntingly 
swore 

That  the  havoc  of  Avar  and  the  battle's  con- 
fusion 

A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no 
more? 

Their  blood  has  washed  out  their  foul  foot- 
steps' pollution. 

No  refuge  could  save  the  hirehug  and  slave 

From  the  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of  the 
grave ; 

And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth 
wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the 
brave. 

Oh!  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall 
stand 

Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  Avar's 
desolation ! 

Blest  with  victory  and  peace,  may  the  heaven- 
rescued  land 

Praise  the  power  that  hath  made  and  pre- 
served us  a  nation. 

Then  conquer  Ave  must,  for  our  cause  it  is 
just ; 

And  this  be  our  motto — "In  God  is  our 
trust  "— 

And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph 
shall  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the 
brave. 

FEAN0I8  Scott  Ket. 


THE     AMERICAN    FLAG. 


379 


THE  a:merican  flag. 


WnEX  freedom  from  her  moimtain  heiglit 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there ; 

She  mingled  "n-ith  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 

And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  white 

With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 

She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down. 

And  gave  into  his  miglity  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

n. 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud ! 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest-trumpings  loud, 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  sti'ive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  roUs  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven — 
Child  of  the  sim!  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke. 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke, 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar. 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war. 

The  harbingers  of  victory ! 

III. 
Flag  of  the  brave !  thy  folds  sliall  fly. 

The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  liigii, 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone. 

And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on  ; 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet. 

Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet. 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 

To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn. 
And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catcli  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 

Heave  in  wild  wreathes  the  battle-shroud. 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall. 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midniglit's  pall, 

Tlien  shall  thy  meteor-glances  glow. 
And  cowering  foes  shall  sink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 


rv. 

Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean  wave 

Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave ; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale. 

Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 

Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 

Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  sjilendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 


Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home, 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome. 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
For  ever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ? 
Joseph  Eodman  Deake. 


O  MOTHER  OF  A  MIGHTY  EACE. 

0  MOTiiEB  of  a  mighty  race, 
Yet  lovely  in  thy  youthfid  grace ! 
The  elder  dames,  thy  haughty  peers, 
Admire  and  hate  thy  blooming  years ; 

With  words  of  shame 
And  taunts  of  scorn  they  join  thy  name. 

For  on  thy  cheeks  the  glow  is  spread 
Tliat  tints  thy  morning  hills  with  red; 
Thy  step — the  wild  deer's  rustling  feet 
Within  thy  w(tods  are  not  more  fleet ; 

Thy  hopeful  eye 
Is  bright  as  thine  own  sunny  sky. 

Ay,  let  them  rail — tliose  haughty  ones. 
While  safe  thou  dwcllest  with  thy  sons! 
They  do  not  know  how  loved  thou  art. 
How  many  a  fond  and  fearless  heart 

Would  rise  to  tlirow 
Its  life  between  thee  and  the  foe. 

They  know  not,  in  their  liatc  and  pride. 
What  virtues  with  thy  children  bide — 


S80 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


How  tnio,  how  good,  thy  graceful  maids 
Make  bright,  like  flowers,  tlie  valley  shades; 

^Vhat  generous  men 
Spring,  like  thine  oaks,  by  hill  and  glen ; 

"Wiiat  cordial  welcomes  greet  tlic  guest 
By  thy  lone  rivers  of  the  west ; 
How  foith  is  kept,  and  truth  revered, 
And  man  is  loved,  and  God  is  feared. 

In  woodland  homes. 
And  where  the  ocean  border  foams. 

There 's  freedom  at  thy  gates,  and  rest 
For  earth's  down-trodden  and  opprest, 
A  shelter  for  the  hunted  head. 
For  the  starved  laborer  toil  and  bread. 

Power,  at  thy  bounds. 
Stops,  and  calls  back  his  baffled  hounds. 

0  fair  young  mother!  on  thy  brow 
Shall  sit  a  nobler  grace  than  now. 
Deep  in  the  brightness  of  thy  skies, 
Tlje  thronging  years  in  glory  rise, 

And,  as  they  fleet. 
Drop  strength  and  riches  at  thy  feet. 

Thme  eye,  with  every  coming  hour, 
Shall  brighten,  and  thy  form  shall  tower ; 
And  when  thy  sisters,  elder  born, 
Would  brand  thy  name  with  words  of  scorn, 

Before  thine  eye 
Upon  then-  lips  the  taunt  shall  die. 

William  Cullen  Bkyant. 


OUR  STATE. 

The  south-land  boasts  its  teeming  cane. 
The  prairied  west  its  heavy  grain, 
And  sunset's  radiant  gates  unfold 
On  rising  marts  and  sands  of  gold ! 

Bough,  bleak  and  hard,  our  little  state 
Is  scant  of  soil,  of  limits  strait ; 
Iler  yellow  sands  are  sands  alone. 
Her  only  mines  are  ice  and  stone! 

From  autumn  frost  to  April  rain. 
Too  long  her  winter  woods  complain  ; 
From  budding  flower  to  foiling  leaf, 
Her  summer  time  is  ail  too  brief. 


Yet,  on  lier  rocks,  and  on  her  sands, 
And  wintry  hills,  the  school-house  stands ; 
And  what  her  rugged  soul  denies 
The  harvest  of  the  mind  sui^plies. 

Tlic  riches  of  the  commonwealth 
Are  free,  strong  minds,  and  hearts  of  health ; 
And  more  to  her  than  gold  or  grain 
The  cunning  hand  and  cultured  brain. 

For  well  she  keeps  her  ancient  stock, 
The  stubborn  strength  of  Pilgrim  Rock  ; 
And  still  maintains,  with  milder  laws, 
And  clearer  light,  the  good  old  cause ! 

Nor  heeds  the  sceptic's  puny  hands. 
While  near   her  school  the  church-spire 

stands; 
Xor  fears  the  blinded  bigot's  rule. 
While  near   her  chm*ch-spire  stands  the 
school. 

John  Geeenleaf  Whittiee. 


THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

Once  this  soft  turf,  this  rivulet's  sands. 
Were  trampled  by  a  hurrying  crowd, 

And  fiery  hearts  and  armed  hands 
Encountered  in  the  battle-cloud. 

Ah !  never  shall  the  land  forget 

How  gushed  the  life-blood  of  her  brave- 
Gushed,  warm  with  hope  and  courage  yet. 

Upon  the  soil  they  fought  to  save. 

Now  all  is  calm,  and  fresh,  and  still; 

Alone  the  chii'p  of  flitting  bird. 
And  talk  of  children  on  the  hill. 

And  bell  of  wandering  kine  are  heard. 

No  solemn  host  goes  trailing  by 

The   black -mouthed    gun  and   staggering 
wain; 
Men  start  not  at  the  battle-cry — 

Oh,  be  it  never  heard  again  ! 

Soon  rested  those  who  fought ;  but  thou 
Who  minglest  in  the  harder  strife 

For  truths  winch  men  receive  not  now, 
Thy  warfare  only  ends  with  life. 


BARBARA    FRIETCHIE. 


ysi 


A  frienilless  warfare !  lingering  long 
Through  weary  day  and  weary  year ; 

A  wild  and  niany-weaponed  throng 
Hang  on  thy  fi-ont,  and  flank,  and  rear. 

Yet  nerve  tliy  spirit  to  the  proof, 
And  blench  not  at  thy  chosen  lot; 

The  timid  good  may  stand  aloof, 
The  sage  may  frown — yet  faint  thou  not. 

N'or  heed  the  shaft  too  surely  cast. 
The  foul  and  hissing  bolt  of  scorn ; 

For  with  thy  side  shall  dwell,  at  last, 
The  victory  of  endurance  born. 

Truth,  crashed  to  earth,  shall  rise  again — 
The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers ; 

But  error, 'wounded,  writhes  in  pain. 
And  dies  among  bis  worshippers. 

Yea,  though  thou  lie  upon  the  dust, 
"When  they  who  helped  thee  flee  in  fear. 

Die  full  of  hope  and  manly  trust, 
Like  those  who  fell  in  battle  here ! 

Another  band  thy  sword  shall  wield. 
Another  band  the  standard  wave, 

Till  from  the  trumpet's  mouth  is  pealed 
The  blast  of  triumph  o'er  thy  grave. 

William  Cullen  Beta>"t. 


MONTEREY. 

We  were  not  many — we  who  stood 

Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day ; 
Yet  many  a  gallant  spirit  would 
Grive  half  his  years  if  but  he  could 

Have  been  with  us  at  Monterey. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  sbot  it  bailed 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray, 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quailed 
Wlien  wounded  comrades  round  them  wailed 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 

And  on — still  on  our  column  kept 

Through  walls  of  flame  its  withering  way; 
"Where  fell  the  dead,  the  living  stept, 
Still  charging  on  the  guns  which  swept 
The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 

The  foe  bimself  recoiled  aghast, 

"When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay, 
VYe  swooped  his  flanking  batteries  past, 
And  braving  full  their  murderous  blast, 
Stormed  home  the  towers  of  Monterev. 


Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave. 

And  there  our  evening  bugles  play ; 
"Where  orange  boughs  above  then*  grave. 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 
"Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey. 

"We  are  not  many — we  wbo  pressed 

Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day ; 
But  who  of  us  has  not  confessed 
He  'd  rather  share  their  warrior  rest 
Than  not  have  been  at  Monterey  ? 

CnAELKS  Penno  Hoffman, 


BAEBAEA  FETETCHIE. 

TJp  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 

The  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand 
Green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach-tree  fruited  deep. 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde  ; 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall 
"When  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain  wall, — 

Over  the  mountains,  winding  down. 
Horse  and  foot  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars. 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapped  in  the  morning  wind ;  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

TJp  rose  old  Barbara  Frictcliie  then. 
Bowed  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten ; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  hauled  down; 

In  her  attic-window  the  staff  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

TJp  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  abead. 

Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced  :  the  old  flag  met  bis  sight. 

"  Halt !  " — the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast ; 
"  Fire !  "—out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 

It  shivered  the  window,  pane  and  sash ; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 


382 


r 0 E M s   OF   A ]\r r> I T 1 0 x. 


Quick,  as  it  fell,  from  the  broken  stafl' 
Danio  Barbai'a  snatched  the  silken  scarf; 

She  loaned  for  ont  on  the  window-sill, 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  grey  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame, 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came ; 

The  nobler  nature  within  hiin  stirred 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word : 

"  Who  touches  a  liair  of  yon  grey  head 
Dies  like  a  dog !     March  on !  "  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet ; 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tost 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well ; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her !  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave. 
Flag  of  freedom  and  union,  wave! 

Peace,  and  order,  and  beauty  draw 
Bound  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town! 

JonN  Greenleaf  "VVhittier. 


THE  BLACK  EEGIMENT. 

MAY  2TTn,  1863. 

Dai?k  as  the  clouds  of  even. 
Ranked  in  the  western  heaven, 
Waiting  the  breath  that  lifts 
All  the  dead  mass,  and  drifts 
Tempest  and  falling  brand 
Over  a  ruined  land  ; — 
So  still  and  orderly. 
Arm  to  ami,  knee  to  knee, 
Waiting  the  great  event, 
Stands  the  black  regiment. 


Down  the  long  dusky  line 
Teeth  gleam  and  eyeballs  shine; 
And  the  bright  bayonet. 
Bristling  and  firmly  set, 
Flashed  with  a  purpose  grand. 
Long  ere  the  sharp  command 
Of  the  fierce  rolling  drum 
Told  them  their  time  had  come, 
Told  them  what  work  was  sent 
For  the  black  regiment. 

"  Now,"  the  flag-sergeant  cried, 
"Though  death  and  hell  betide, 
Let  the  whole  nation  see 
If  we  are  fit  to  be 
Free  in  this  land  ;  or  bound 
Down,  like  the  Avhining  hound — 
Bound  with  red  stripes  of  pain 
In  our  cold  chains  again  !  " 
Oh !  what  a  shout  there  Avent 
From  the  black  regiment! 

"  Charge !  "  Trump  and  drum  awoke; 
Onward  the  bondmen  broke ; 
Bayonet  and  sabre-stroke 
Vainly  opposed  their  rush. 
Tlirough  the  wild  battle's  crush, 
With  but  one  thought  aflush, 
Driving  their  lords  like  chaft". 
In  the  guns'  mouths  they  laugh ; 
Or  at  the  slippery  brands 
Leaping  with  open  hands, 
Down  they  tear  man  and  horse, 
Down  in  their  awful  course  ; 
Trampling  with  bloody  heel 
Over  the  crashing  steel ; — 
All  their  eyes  forward  bent, 
Rushed  the  black  regiment. 

"  Freedom  !  "  their  battle-cry — 
"  Freedom !  or  leave  to  die !  " 
Ah  !  and  they  meant  the  word, 
Not  as  with  us  'tis  heard. 
Not  a  mere  party  shout ; 
They  gave  their  spirits  out, 
Trusted  the  end  to  God, 
And  on  tlie  gory  sod 
Rolled  in  trinmi)liant  blood. 
Glad  to  strike  one  free  blow, 
Whether  for  weal  or  woe ; 
Glad  to  breathe  one  free  breath, 
Though  on  the  lips  of  death  ; 


INCIDENT  OF  THE  FRENCH  CAMP. 


S8c 


Praying — alas  !  in  vain ! — 
That  they  might  fall  again, 
So  they  could  once  more  see 
That  burst  to  liberty ! 
This  was  what  "  freedom  "  lent 
To  the  black  regiment. 

Hundreds  on  hundreds  fell ; 
But  they  are  resting  well ; 
Scourges  and  shackles  strong 
Never  shall  do  them  wrong. 
Oh,  to  the  living  few, 
Soldiers,  be  just  and  true ! 
Hail  them  as  comrades  tried ; 
Fight  with  them  side  by  side ; 
Never,  in  field  or  tent, 
Scorn  the  black  regiment! 


GeOEGE   HeJTEY  BOKETl. 


INCIDENT  OF  THE  FRENCH  O^iMP. 


You  know  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon  : 

A  mile  or  so  away. 
On  a  little  mound.  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming-day ; 
With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how, 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind. 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow, 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

n. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused,  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall. 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

"Waver  at  yonder  wall," — 
Out  'twixt  the  battery-sraokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-gaUoping ;  nor  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

III. 
Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy, 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy  : 

You  hardly  could  suspect — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed. 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through) 
You  looked  twice  ere  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 


IV. 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  Emperor,  by  God's  grace 

We  've  got  you  Ratisbon ! 
The  marshal 's  in  the  market-place. 

And  you  '11  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire, 
Perched  him ! "     The  chief's  eye  flashed ;  his 
plans 

Soared  up  agahi  like  fire. 

V. 

The  chief's  eye  flashed ;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  fllm  the  mother  eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes : 
"  You  're  wounded !  "     "  Nay,"  his  soldier's 
pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said : 
"  I  'm  killed,  sire !  "     And,  his  chief  beside. 

Smiling,  the  boy  fell  dead. 

EOBEET   BrOWNINO. 


HOHENLINDEN. 

Ox  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low. 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight 
When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night. 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light, 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed. 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade. 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven ; 
Then  rushed  the  steeds  to  battle  driven ; 
And,  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven. 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  those  fires  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  crimsoned  snow, 
And  bloodier  yet  shall  be  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'T  is  morn ;  but  scarce  you  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 


sst 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


"Whore  furious  Frank  and  iiery  Huu 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave, 
"Who  rusli  to  glory  or  the  grave ! 
"\^'ave,  Munich !  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  ! 

Few,  few  shall  part  wliere  many  meet ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet ; 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulclu-e. 

Thomas  Campbbli,. 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BEIG- 
ADE  AT  BALAEXAVA. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward. 
All  in  the  valley  of  death, 

Eodc  the  sis  hundred. 

Into  the  valley  of  death 

Eode  the  six  hundred ; 
For  up  came  an  order  whicli 

Some  one  had  blundered. 
"  Forward,  the  light  brigade ! 
Take  the  guns !  "  Nolan  said  : 
Into  the  valley  of  death, 

Eode  the  sis  hundred. 

"Forward  the  light  brigade!  " 
1^0  man  was  there  dismayed — 
Not  though  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered : 
Theu's  not  to  make  reply. 
Theirs  not  to  reason  Avhy, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die — 
Into  the  valley  of  death, 

Eode  the  sis  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  th^m, 

VoUcyed  and  thundered. 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well ; 
Into  the  jaws  of  death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell, 

Eode  tlie  sis  liundred. 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  all  at  once  in  air, 


Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke. 
With  many  a  desp'rate  stroke 
The  Eussian  line  they  broke ; 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not — 

Not  the  sis  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them. 

Volleyed  and  thundered. 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
"While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
Those  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  from  the  jaws  of  death. 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  sis  hundred. 

"Wlien  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
Oh  the  wild  charge  they  made ! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made ! 
Honor  the  light  brigade,  • 

Noble  sis  hundred ! 

Alfeed  Tenntson. 


YE  MAEINEES  OF  ENGLAND : 

A   NAVAL   ODE. 
I. 

Ye  mariners  of  England ! 

That  guard  our  native  seas ; 

"Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 

The  battle  and  the  breeze ! 

Your  glorious  standard  launch  again. 

To  match  another  foe ! 

And  sweep  through  the  deep 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

II. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Sliall  start  from  every  wave ! — 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  ocean  was  their  grave. 

Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 


BATTLE    OF    THE    BALTIC. 


385 


As  ye  sweep  tbrougli  the  deep 
"While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow — 
"While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
A  nd  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

in. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep ; 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain- wave, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below, 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore 

"When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow — 

"When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

IV. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn. 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean- warriors ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

"When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow — 

"When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

Thomas  Campbeli.. 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC. 

I. 

Op  N'elson  and  the  north 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 

"When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  miglit  of  Denmark's  crown. 

And  her  arms    along  the  deep   proudly 

shone ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand 
In  a  bold  determined  hand, 
And  the  prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. 

II. 

Like  leviathans  afloat 
Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 
While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 
On  the  lofty  British  line — 
53 


It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime. 
As  they  drifted  on  their  path 
There  was  silence  deep  as  death ; 
And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 
For  a  time. 

III. 
But  the  might  of  England  flushed 
To  anticipate  the  scene ; 
And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 
O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 
"  Hearts  of  oak !  "  our  captain  cried ;  when 

each  gun 
From  its  adamantine  lips 
Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 
Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 
Of  the  sun. 

IV. 

Again !  again !  again ! 

And  the  havock  did  not  slack. 

Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back  ; 

Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom— 

Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail, 

Or,  in  conflagration  pale. 

Light  the  gloom. 


Out  spoke  the  victor  then. 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave : 

"  Ye  are  brothers!  ye  are  men! 

And  we  conquer  but  to  save  ; 

So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring ; 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet, 

"With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet, 

And  make  submission  meet 

To  our  king." 

VI. 

Then  Denmark  blessed  our  chief. 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose ; 

And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 

From  her  people  wildly  rose. 

As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  tho 

day. 
"While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 
O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 
Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 


38G 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


yii. 
Now  joy,  old  England,  raise! 
For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 
Whilst  the  -wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet,  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar. 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep, 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! 

VIII. 

Brave  hearts !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died, 

With  the  gallant  good  Eiou — 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their 

grave ! 
While  the  billow  mournful  rolls. 
And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles, 
Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  the  brave ! 

Thomas  Campbell. 


THE   SEA   FIGHT. 

AS  TOLD   BY   AX   AXCIEXT   MAPJNEK. 

Air,  yes — the  light !     Well,  messmates,  well, 
I  served  on  board  that  Ninety-eight ; 

Yet  what  I  saw  I  loathe  to  tell. 

To-night,  be  sure  a  crushing  weight 

Upon  my  sleeping  breast — a  hell 
Of  dread  will  sit.     At  any  rate. 

Though  land-locked  here,  a  watch  I  '11  keep — 

Grog  cheers  us  still.     Who  cares  for  sleep  ? 

That  Ninety-eight  I  sailed  on  board ; 

Along  the  Frenchman's  coast  we  flew  ; 
Right  aft  the  rising  tempest  roared ; 

A  noble  first-rate  hove  in  view ; 
And  soon  high  in  the  gale  there  soared 

Her    streamed-out    bunting — ^red,    white, 
blue! 
We  cleared  for  fight,  and  landward  bore, 
1  o  get  between  the  chase  and  shore. 

.Nfasters,  I  cannot  spin  a  yarn 
Twice  laid  with  words  of  silken  stuiF. 

A  fact 's  a  fact ;  and  ye  may  larn 
The  rights  o'  this,  though  wild  and  rough 


My  words  may  loom.     'T  is  your  consarn. 
Not  mine,  to  understand.     Enough  ; — 
We  neare.d  the  Frenchman  where  he  lay. 
And  as  we  iieared,  he  blazed  away. 

We  tacked,  hove  to  ;  we  filled,  we  wore  ; 

Did  all  that  seamanship  could  do 
To  rake  him  aft,  or  by  the  fore — 

Now  rounded  ofij  and  now  broached  to ; 
And  now  our  starboard  broadside  bore. 

And  showers  of  iron  through  and  through 
His  vast  hull  hissed ;  our  larboard  then 
Swept  from  his  three-fold  decks  his  men. 

As  we,  like  a  huge  serpent,  toiled. 

And  wound  about,  through  that  wild  sea. 

The  Frenchman  each  manoeuvre  foiled — 
'Vantage  to  neither  there  could  be. 

Whilst  thus  the  waves  between  us  boiled. 
We  both  resolved  right  manfully 

To  fight  it  side  by  side  ; — began 

Then  the  fierce  strife  of  man  to  man. 

Gun  bellows  forth  to  gun,  and  pain 
Rings  out  her  wild,  delirious  scream ! 

Redoubling  thunders  shake  the  main ; 
Loud  crashing,  falls  the  shot-rent  beam. 

The  timbers  with  the  broadsides  strain ; 
The  slippery  decks  send  up  a  steam 

From  hot  and  living  blood — and  high 

And  shrill  is  heard  the  death-pang  cry. 

The  shredded  limb,  the  splintered  bone, 
Th'  unstifliened  corpse,  now  block  the  way  I 

Who  now  can  hear  the  dying  groan  ? 
The  trumpet  of  the  judgment  day. 

Had  it  pealed  forth  its  mighty  tone. 

We  should  not  then  have  heard, — to  say 

Would  be  rank  sin ;  but  this  I  tell. 

That  could  alone  our  madness  quell. 

Upon  the  fore-castle  I  fought 

As  captain  of  the  for'ad  gun. 
A  scattering  shot  the  carriage  caught  I 

What  mother  then  had  known  her  son 
Of  those  who  stood  around  ? — distraught, 

And  smeared  with  gore,  about  they  run, 
Then  fall,  and  writhe,  and  howling  die! 
But  one  escaped — that  one  was  I ! 


CASABIANCA. 


387 


Kight  darkened  round,  and  the  storm  pealed, 

To  windward  of  us  lay  the  foe. 
As  he  to  leeward  over  keeled. 

He  could  not  fight  his  guns  below; 
So  just  was  going  to  strike — vrhen  reeled 

Our  vessel,  as  if  some  vast  blow 
From  an  Almighty  hand  had  rent 
The  huge  ship  from  her  element. 

Then  howled  the  thunder.     Tumult  then 
Had  stunned  herself  to  silence.     Eound 

Were  scattered  lightning-blasted  men ! 
Our  mainmast  went.     All  stifled,  drowned, 

Arose  the  Frenchman's  shout.    Again 
The  bolt  burst  on  us,  and  we  found 

Our  masts  all  gone — our  decks  all  riven  : 

— ^an's  war  mocks  faintly  that  of  heaven ! 

Just  then — nay,  messmates,  laugh  not  now; — 

As  I,  amazed,  one  minute  stood 
Amidst  that  rout ;  I  know  not  how — 

'T  was  silence  all — the  raving  flood. 
The  guns  that  pealed  from  stem  to  bow, 

And  God's  own  thunder — nothing  could 
I  then  of  all  that  tumult  hear. 

Or  see  aught  of  that  scene  of  fear. 

My  aged  mother  at  her  door 

Sat  mildly  o'er  her  humming  wheel ; 

The  cottage,  orchard,  and  the  moor — 
I  saw  them  plainly  all.     I'll  kneel. 

And  swear  I  saw  them  I     Oh,  they  wore 
A  look  all  peace.     Could  I  but  feel 

Again  that  bliss  that  then  I  felt. 

That  made  my  heart,  like  childhood's,  melt! 

The  blessed  tear  was  on  my  cheek, 

She  smiled  with  that  old  smile  I  know : 

"  Turn  to  me,  mother,  turn  and  speak," 
Was  on  my  quivering  lips — when  lo  ! 

All  vanished,  and  a  dark,  red  streak 
Glared  wild  and  vivid  from  the  foe. 

That  flashed  upon  the  blood-stained  water — 

For  fore  and  aft  the  flames  had  caught  her. 

She  struck  and  hailed  us.     On  us  fast 
All  burning,  helplessly,  she  came — 

Near,  and  more  near ;  and  not  a  mast 
Had  we  to  help  us  from  tliat  flame. 

'Twas  then  the  bravest  stood  aghast — 
'Twas  then  the  wicked,  on  the  name 

(With  danger  and  with  guilt  appalled,) 

Of  God,  too  long  neglected,  called. 


Th'  eddying  flames  with  ravening  tongue 
Now  on  our  ship's  dark  bulwarks  dash — 

We  almost  touched — ^when  ocean  rung 
Down  to  its  depths  with  one  loud  crash  \ 

In  heaven's  top  vault  one  instant  hung 
The  vast,  intense,  and  blinding  flash ! 

Then  all  was  darkness,  stillness,  dread — 

The  wave  moaned  o'er  the  valiant  dead. 

She 's  gone !  blown  up !  that  gallant  foe  ! 

And  though  she  left  us  in  a  plight, 
We  floated  still ;  long  were,  I  know. 

And  hard,  the  labors  of  that  night 
To  clear  the  wreck.     At  length  in  tow 

A  frigate  took  us,  when  't  was  light ; 
And  soon  an  English  port  Ave  gained — 
A  hulk  all  battered  and  blood-stained. 

So  many  slain — so  many  drowned! 

I  like  not  of  that  fight  to  tell. 
Come,  let  the  cheerful  grog  go  round ! 

Messmates,  I  've  done.    A  spell,  ho,  spell- 
Though  a  pressed  man,  I  '11  still  be  found 

To  do  a  seaman's  duty  well. 
I  wish  our  brother  landsmen  knew 

One  half  we  jolly  tars  go  througli. 

Anonymous. 


CASABIANCA, 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck 
Whence  all  but  he  had  fled ; 

The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood. 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm ; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  child-like  form. 

The  flames  rolled  on — he  would  not  go 

Without  his  father's  word ; 
That  father,  faint  in  death  below. 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  called  aloud — "Say,  father,  say. 

If  yet  my  task  is  done?  " 
lie  knew  not  that  the  chieftain  lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 


388 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION. 


"  Speak,  father !  "  once  again  he  cried, 

"  If  I  may  yet  be  gone !  " 
And  but  the  booming  shots  replied, 

And  fast  the  flames  rolled  on. 

Upon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath, 

And  in  his  Avaving  hair. 
And  looked  from  that  lone  post  of  death 

In  still,  yet  brave  despair. 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud, 

"My  father!  mnstlstay?" 
While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and  shroud, 

The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 

They  wrapt  the  ship  in  splendor  wild. 

They  caught  the  flag  on  high, 
And  streamed  above  the  gallant  child, 

Like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder  sound — 

The  boy — oh !  where  was  he  ? 
Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 

With  fi-agments  strewed  the  sea ! — 

With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair, 
That  well  had  borne  their  part — 

But  the  noblest  thing  that  perished  there 
Was  that  young,  faithful  heart ! 

Felicia  Doeothea  Hemans. 


SOXG  OF  THE  GREEK  POET. 

The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece ! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung. 
Where  gi-ew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace — 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung ! 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet ; 
But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse. 
The  hero's  harp,  the  lover's  lute. 

Have  found  the  tame  your  shores  refuse ; 
Their  place  of  birth  alone  is  mute 

To  sounds  which  echo  further  west 

Than  your  sires'  "  Islands  of  the  Blest." 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon, 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea : 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 

I  dreamed  that  Greece  might  still  be  free; 

For  standing  on  the  Persians'  grave, 

I  could  not  deem  myself  a  slave. 


A  king  sat  on  the  rocky  brow 
Which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis ; 

And  ships,  by  thousands,  lay  below, 
And  men  in  nations — all  were  his ! 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day — 

And  when  the  sun  set,  where  were  they  ? 

And  where  are  they  ?  and  where  art  thou 
My  country  ?     On  thy  voiceless  shore 

The  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now — 
The  heroic  bosom  beats  no  more ! 

And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine, 

Degenerate  into  hands  like  mine  ? 

'T  is  something,  in  the  dearth  of  fame. 
Though  linked  among  a  fettered  race, 

To  feel  at  least  a  patriot's  shame. 
Even  as  I  sing,  suffuse  my  face  ; 

For  what  is  left  the  poet  here  ? 

For  Greeks  a  blush — for  Greece  a  tear. 

Must  we  but  weep  o'er  days  more  blest  ? 

Must  we  but  blush  ? — Our  fathers  bled. 
Earth !  render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A  remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead ! 
Of  the  three  hundred  grant  but  three, 
To  make  a  new  Thermopylae ! 

What!  silent  still  ?  and  silent  all  ? 

Ah  no ! — the  voices  of  the  dead 
Sound  like  a  distant  torrent's  fall. 

And  answer,  "  Let  one  living  head. 
But  one,  arise — we  come,  we  come !  " 
'T  is  but  the  living  who  are  dumb. 

In  vain — in  vain  ;  strike  other  chords  ; 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  Samian  wine ! 
Leave  battles  to  the  Turkish  hordes. 

And  shed  the  blood  of  Scio's  vine ! 
Hark !  rising  to  the  ignoble  call. 
How  answers  each  bold  Bacchanal! 

You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet. 
Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone  ? 

Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 
The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one? 

You  have  the  letters  Cadmus  gave — 

Think  ye  he  meant  them  for  a  slave  ? 

Fill  higli  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine! 

We  will  not  think  of  themes  hke  these ! 
It  made  Anacreon's  song  divine ; 

He  served — but  served  Polycrates — 


MARCO    BOZZARIS. 


389 


A  tyrant ;  but  our  masters  then. 
Were  still  at  least  our  countrymen. 

The  tyrant  of  the  Chersonese 

"Was  freedom's  best  and  bravest  friend ; 
That  tyrant  was  Miltiades  ! 

Oh  that  the  present  hour  would  lend 
Another  daipot  of  the  kind ! 
Such  chains  as  his  were  sure  to  bind. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

On  Suli's  rock,  and  Parga's  shore, 
Exists  the  remnant  of  a  line 

Such  as  the  Doric  mothers  bore ; 
And  there  perhaps  some  seed  is  sown 
The  Heracleidan  blood  might  own. 

Tnist  not  for  freedom  to  the  Franks — 
They  have  a  king  who  buys  and  sells ; 

In  native  swords,  and  native  ranks. 
The  only  hope  of  courage  dwells ; 

But  Turkish  force,  and  Latin  fraud, 

Would  break  your  shield,  however  broad. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

Our  virgins  dance  beneath  the  shade — 
I  see  their  glorious  black  eyes  shine ; 

But  gazing  on  each  glowing  maid. 
My  own  the  burning  tear-drop  laves, 
To  think  such  breasts  must  suckle  slaves. 

Place  me  on  Suninm's  marbled  steep, 
"Where  nothing,  save  the  waves  and  I, 

May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep  ; 
There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die. 

A  land  of  slaves  shall  ne'er  be  mine — 

Dash  down  yon  cup  of  Samian  wine ! 

Lord  Bykon. 


MARCO  BOZZARIS. 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent. 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power. 
In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court,  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror ; 

In  dreams  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
Then  wore  his  monarck's  signet-ring — 
Tlien  pressed  that  monarch's  throne — a  king; 
As  wild  hia  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing. 

As  Eden's  garden  bird. 


At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band — 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood. 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood. 

On  old  Platsea's  day ; 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquered  there, 
With  arms  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far,  as  they. 

An  hour  passed  on — the  Turk  awoke : 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last ; 
He  woke — to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 

"  To  arms !   they  come !  the  Greek !   the 
Greek !  " 
He  woke — to  die  midst  flame,  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke. 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain- cloud-. 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band  : 
"  Strike — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires ; 
Strike — for  your  altars  and  your  fires ; 
Strike — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires; 
God — and  your  native  land  !  " 


They  fought — like  brave  men,  long  and  weU; 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Modem  slain ; 
They  conquered — but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile  when  rang  their  proud  hurrah, 

And  the  red  field  was  won  ; 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose. 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 


Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  death, 
Come  to  the  mother's,  when  she  feels, 

For  the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath; 
Come  when  the  blessed  seals 

That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke, 

And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 

Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form, 

The  earthquake-shock,  the  ocean-storm  ; 

Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm, 


390 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION, 


With  bauquot-song,  and  dance,  and  wine; 
And  thou  art  torrible — tlie  tear, 
riic  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier  ; 
And  all  avc  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 

Of  agon  V,  are  thine. 


But  to  the  Jiero,  •when  his  sword 

lias  Tvon  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word ; 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Come,  when  his  task  of  fame  is  wrought — 
Come,  with  her  laurel^leaf,  blood-bought — 

Come  in  her  crowning  hour — and  then 
Thy  sunken  eye's  unearthly  light 
To  him  is  welcome  as  the  sight 

Of  sky  and  stars  to  prisoned  men  ; 
Thy  grasp  is  welcome  as  the  hand 
Of  brother  in  a  foreign  land ; 
Thy  summons  welcome  as  the  cry 
That  told  the  Indian  isles  were  nigh 

To  the  world-seeking  Genoese, 
"When  the  land-wind,  from  woods  of  palm, 
And  orange-groves,  and  fields  of  balm. 

Blew  o'er  the  Haytian  seas. 


Bozzaris !  with  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Best  thee — there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
She  wore  no  funeral  weeds  for  thee, 

Nor  bade  the  dark  hearse  wave  its  plume, 
Like  torn  branch  from  death's  leafless  tree, 
In  sorrow's  pomp  and  pageantry, 

The  heartless  luxury  of  the  tomb. 
But  she  remembers  thee  as  one 
Long  loved,  and  for  a  season  gone. 
For  thee  her  poet's  lyre  is  wreathed, 
Iler  marble  wrought,  her  music  breathed ; 
For  thee  she  rings  tiie  birth-day  bells ; 
Of  thee  her  babes'  first  lisping  tells ; 
For  thine  her  evening  prayer  is  said 
At  palace  couch,  and  cottage  bed ; 
Her  soldier,  closing  with  tlie  foe, 
Gives  for  thy  sake  a  deadlier  blow  ; 
Ilis  plighted  maiden,  when  she  fears 
For  him,  the  joy  of  her  young  years, 
Tliinks  of  thy  fate,  and  checks  her  tears. 


And  she,  the  mother  of  thy  boys, 
Though  in  her  eye  and  faded  cheek 
Is  read  the  grief  she  will  not  speak, 

The  memory  of  her  buried  joys — 
And  even  she  who  gave  thee  birth, 
"Will,  by  her  pilgrim-circled  hearth. 

Talk  of  thy  doom  without  a  sigh ; 
For  thou  art  freedom's  now,  ana  fame's — 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 

Fitz-Geeese  Halleok. 


THE  MEMOEY  OF  THE  DEAD. 

Who  fears  to  speak  of  Ninety-eight  ? 

Who  blushes  at  the  name  ? 
When  cowards  mock  the  patriot's  fate, 

Who  hangs  his  head  for  shame? 
He  's  all  a  knave,  or  half  a  slave. 

Who  slights  his  country  thus ; 
But  a  true  man,  like  you,  man, 

Will  fill  your  glass  with  ns. 

We  drink  the  memory  of  the  brave, 

The  faithful  and  the  few — 
Some  lie  far  off  beyond  the  wave — 

Some  sleep  in  Ireland,  too  ; 
All,  all  ai-e  gone — but  still  lives  on 

The  fiime  of  those  who  died — 
All  true  men,  like  you,  men, 

Eemcmber  them  with  pride. 

Some  on  the  shores  of  distant  lands 

Their  weary  hearts  have  laid, 
And  by  the  stranger's  heedless  hands 

Their  lonely  graves  were  made ; 
But,  though  their  clay  be  far  away 

Beyond  the  Atlantic  foam — 
In  true  men,  like  you,  men, 

Their  spirit 's  still  at  home. 

The  dust  of  some  is  Irish  earth ; 

Among  their  own  they  rest; 
And  the  same  land  that  gave  them  birth 

Has  caught  them  to  her  breast ; 
And  we  will  pray  that  from  their  clay 

Full  many  a  race  may  start 
Of  true  men,  like  you,  men. 

To  act  as  brave  a  part. 


SONNETS. 


391 


They  rose  in  dark  aod  evil  days 

To  right  their  native  land ; 
They  kindled  here  a  living  blaze 

That  nothing  shall  withstand. 
Alas !  that  might  can  vanquish  right — 

They  fell  and  passed  away  ; 
But  true  men,  like  you,  men, 

Are  plenty  liere  to-day. 

Then  here 's  their  memory — may  it  be 

For  us  a  guiding  light, 
To  cheer  om*  strife  for  liberty, 

And  teach  us  to  unite. 
Through  good  and  ill,  be  Ireland's  still. 

Though  sad  as  theirs  your  fate ; 
And  true  men,  be  you,  men, 

Like  those  of  Ninety- eight ! 

John  Kells  Inge  am. 


AN  ODE. 

"What  constitutes  a  state  ? 
Not  high  raised  battlement  or  labored  mound. 

Thick  wall  or  moated  gate  ; 
Not  cities    proud  with   spires  and    turrets 
crowned ; 
Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports. 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies 
ride; 
Not  starred  and  spangled  courts. 
Where  low-browed  baseness  wafts  perfume  to 
pride. 
No : — men,  high-minded  men, 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude  — - 

Men  who  their  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare 
maintain. 
Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the 
chain ; 
Tliese  constitute  a  state ; 
And  sovereign  law,  that  state's  collected  will, 

O'er  thrones  and  globes  elate. 
Sits  empress,  crowning  good,  repressing  ill. 

Smit  by  her  sacred  frown. 
The  fiend,  dissension,  like  a  vapor  sinks ; 

And  e'en  the  all-dazzling  ci'own 
Hides  his  faint  rays,  and  at  her  bidding  shrinks. 


Such  was  this  heaven-loved  isle, 
Than  Lesbos  fairer  and  the  Cretan  shore ! 

No  more  shaU  freedom  smile  ? 
Shall  Britons  languish,  and  be  men  no  more  ? 

Since  all  must  life  resign. 
Those  sweet  rewards  which  decorate  the  brave 

'T  is  folly  to  decline. 
And  steal  inglorious  to  the  silent  grave. 

SiE  William  Jones. 


SONNETS. 

LONDON,    1802. 

MiLTOx!  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour; 
England  hath  need  of  thee.     She  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters.     Altar,  sword,  and  pen. 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower. 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 
Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfisl\  men ; 
Oh,  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again, 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power ! 
Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart ; 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the 

sea; 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free. 
So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way 
In  cheerful  godliness ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 


TO    TOUSSAIXT   l'oUVEETUEE. 

ToL'SSAixT,  the  most  unhappy  man  of  men! 
Whether  the  whistling  rustic  tend  his  plough 
Within  thy  hearing,  or  thy  head  be  now 
Pillowed  in  some  deep  dungeon's  earless  den — 
O  miserable  chieftain !  where  and  when 
Wilt  thou  find  patience?     Yet  die  not;  do 

thou 
Wear  rather  in  thy  bonds  a  cheerful  brow. 
Though  fallen  thyself,  never  to  rise  again. 
Live,  and  take  comfort.     Thou  hast  left  be- 
hind 
Powers  that  will  work  for  thee — air,  earth, 

and  skies. 
There 's  not  a  breathing  of  the  common  wind 
That  will  forget  thee.    Thou  hast  great  allies  • 
Thy  friends  are  exultations,  agonies. 
And  love,  and  man's  unconquerable  mind. 

"William  Wokdswoetil 


892 


POEMS    OF    AMBITION- 


OX  A  BUST  OF  DANTE. 

Ski:,  from  this  counterfeit  of  him 
"Whom  Arno  shall  remember  long, 
J  low  stern  of  lineament,  liow  grim, 
The  tather  was  of  Tuscan  song ! 
There  but  the  burning  sense  of  wrong, 
Perpetual  care,  and  scorn,  abide — 
Small  friendship  for  the  lordly  throng. 
Distrust  of  all  the  world  beside. 

Faithfid  if  tliis  wan  image  be, 

Xo  dream  his  life  was — but  a  fight ; 

Could  any  Beatrice  see 

A  lover  in  that  anchorite  ? 

To  that  cold  Gliibeline's  gloomy  sight 

Who  could  have  guessed  the  visions  came 

Of  beauty,  veiled  with  heavenly  light, 

In  cii-cles  of  eternal  flame  ? 

• 
The  lips  as  Cumas's  cavern  close, 

The  cheeks  with  fast  and  sorrow  thin, 

The  rigid  front,  almost  morose, 

But  for  the  patient  hope  within. 

Declare  a  life  whose  course  hath  been 

Unsullied  still,  though  still  severe, 

"Which,  through  the  wavering  days  of  sin. 

Kept  itself  icy-chaste  and  clear. 

Not  wholly  such  his  haggard  look 
"When  wandering  once,  forlorn,  he  strayed, 
"With  no  companion  save  his  book, 
To  Corvo's  hushed  monastic  shade  ; 
Where,  as  the  Benedictine  laid 
His  palm  upon  the  pilgrim  guest, 
Tlie  single  boon  for  which  he  prayed 
The  convent's  charity  was  rest. 

Peace  dwells  not  here— tliis  rugged  face 
Betrays  no  spirit  of  repose ; 
Tiic  sullen  warrior  sole  we  trace, 
The  marble  man  of  many  woes. 
Siich  Avas  his  mien  when  first  arose 
ITie  thought  of  that  strange  tale  divine- 
When  hell  he  peopled  with  his  foes, 
The  scourge  of  many  a  guilty  line. 

War  to  the  last  he  waged  with  all 
The  tyrant  canker-worms  of  earth ; 
Baron  and  duke,  in  hold  and  hall. 
Cursed  the  dai'k  hour  that  gave  him  birth ; 


He  used  Eome's  harlot  for  his  mirth ; 
Plucked  bare  hypocrisy  and  crime ; 
But  valiant  souls  of  knightly  worth 
Transmitted  to  the  rolls  of  time. 

O  time !  whose  verdicts  mock  our  own, 
The  only  righteous  judge  art  thou ; 
That  poor,  old  exile,  sad  and  lone, 
Is  Latium's  other  Virgil  now. 
Before  his  name  the  nations  bow ; 
Ilis  words  ai-e  parcel  of  mankind, 
Deep  in  whose  hearts,  as  on  Ms  brow, 
The  marks  have  sunk  of  Dante's  mind. 

Thomas  William  Paesons. 


ON  A  SERMON  AGAINST  GLOEY. 

Come  then,  tell  me,  sage  divine, 

Is  it  an  oflxince  to  own 
That  our  bosoms  e'er  incline 

Toward  immortal  glory's  throne  ? 
For  with  me  nor  pomp,  nor  pleasure, 
Bourbon's  might,  Braganza's  treasure. 
So  can  fancy's  dream  rejoice, 
So  conciliate  reason's  choice. 
As  one  approving  word  of  her  impai-tial  voice 

If  to  spurn  at  noble  praise 

Be  the  passport  to  thy  heaven. 
Follow  thou  those  gloomy  ways — 

No  such  law  to  me  was  given  ; 
Nor,  I  trust,  shall  I  deplore  me, 
Faring  like  my  friends  before  me ; 
Nor  an  holier  place  desire 
Than  Timoleon's  arms  acquire, 
And  Tully's  curule  chair,  and  Milton's  golden 

lyi-e. 

Mark  Akensidk. 


i 


i 


EXCELSIOR. 

The  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast, 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 
A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner  with  the  strange  device — 
Excelsior ! 

His  brow  was  sad ;  his  eye  beneath 
Flashed  like  a  fiiulchiou  from  its  sheath ; 
And  like  a  sUver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue — 
Excelsior ! 


EXCELSIOR. 


393 


In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  hght 
Of  household  fires  gleam  warm  and  hright : 
Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  shone, 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan — 
Excelsior ! 

"Try  not  the  pass,"  the  old  man  said  : 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead ; 
The  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide  !  " 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied, 
Excelsior ! 

"  Oh  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "  and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast !  " 
A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye, 
But  still  he  answered,  with  a  sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

"  Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch  ! 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche !  " 


This  was  the  peasant's  last  good-night : 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  height, 
Excelsior  I 

At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 
Uttered  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried,  through  the  startled  air, 
Excelsior ! 

A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound, 
Half-buried  in  the  snow  was  found, 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device, 
Excelsior ! 

There  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray. 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay. 
And  from  the  sky,  serene  rnd  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star — 
Excelsior ! 
Henky  "Wadswokth  Longfellow. 


54 


PAET    VI. 

POEMS      OF      COMEDY 


Oh  !  never  wear  a  brow  of  care,  or  frown  with  rueful  gravity, 

For  wit's  the  child  of  wisdom,  and  good  humor  is  the  twin; 
Xo  need  to  play  the  Pharisee,  or  groan  at  man's  depravity, 

Let  one  man  be  a  good  man,  and  let  all  be  fair  within. 
Speak  sober  truths  with  smiling  lips;  the  bitter  wrap  in  sweetness — 

Sound  sense  in  seeming  nonsense,  as  the  grain  is  hid  in  chaif; 
And  fear  not  that  the  lesson  e'er  maj'  seem  to  lack  completeness — 

A  man  may  say  a  wise  thing,  though  he  say  it  with  a  laugh. 

"  A  soft  word  oft  turns  wrath  aside,"  (so  says  the  great  Instructor,) 

A  smile  disarms  resentment,  and  a  jest  drives  gloom  away  ; 
A  cheerful  laugh  to  anger  is  a  magical  conductoi', 

The  deadly  Hash  averting,  quickly  changing  night  to  day. 
Then,  is  not  he  the  wisest  man  who  rids  his  brow  of  wrinkles. 

Who  bears  his  load  with  merry  heart,  and  lightens  it  by  half— 
Whose  pleasant  tones  ring  in  the  ear,  as  mirthful  music  tinkles. 

And  whose  words  are  true  and  telling,  though  they  echo  in  a  laugh  "^ 

So  temper  life's  work — weariness  with  timely  relaxation  ; 

Jlost  witless  wight  of  all  is  he  who  never  plays  the  fool; 
The  heart  grows  gray  before  the  head,  when  sunk  in  sad  prostration ; 

Its  winter  knows  no  Christmas,  with  its  glowing  log  of  Yule. 
Why  weep,  faint-hearted  and  forlorn,  when  evil  comes  to  try  us? 

The  fount  of  hope  wells  ever  nigh — 't  will  cheer  us  if  we  quaff; 
And,  when  the  gloomy  phantom  of  despondency  stands  by  us, 

Let  us,  ill  calm  defiance,  exorcise  it  with  a  laugh  ! 

Amonymous. 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


-•-•-«- 


THE  HEIR  OF  LIXXE. 

PART   FIRST. 

Lithe  and  listen,  gentlemen  ; 

To  sing  a  song  I  will  begin  : 
It  is  of  a  lord  of  fair  Scotland, 

Which  was  the  unthrifty  heir  of  Linne. 

His  father  was  a  right  good  lord, 
His  mother  a  lady  of  high  degree  ; 

But  they,  alas !  were  dead  him  fro. 
And  he  loved  keeping  company. 

To  spend  the  day  with  merry  cheer. 
To  drink  and  revel  every  night, 

To  card  and  dice  from  even  to  morn, 
It  was,  I  ween,  his  heart's  delight. 

To  ride,  to  run,  to  rant,  to  roar. 
To  always  spend  and  never  spare, 

I  wot,  an  lie  were  the  king  himself, 
Of  gold  and  fee  he  might  be  bare. 

So  fares  the  unthrifty  heir  of  Linne, 
Till  all  his  gold  is  gone  and  spent ; 

And  he  maun  sell  his  lands  so  broad, 
His  house,  and  lands,  and  all  his  rent. 

His  fatlier  had  a  keen  steward, 
And  John  o'  Scales  was  called  lie  ; 

But  John  is  become  a  gentleman, 
And  John  has  got  both  gold  and  fee. 

Says,  ""Welcome,  welcome,  lord  of  Linne; 

Let  nought  disturb  thy  heavy  cheer  ; 
If  tliou  wilt  sell  thy  lands  so  broad. 

Good  store  of  gold  I'll  give  thee  Iiere." 


"My  gold  is  gone,  my  money  is  spent. 
My  land  now  take  it  unto  thee  : 

Give  me  the  gold,  good  John  o'  Scales, 
And  thine  for  aye  my  land  shall  be." 

Then  John  he  did  him  to  record  draw, 
And  John  he  gave  him  a  god's-penny  ; 

But  for  every  pound  that  John  agreed. 
The  land,  I  wis,  was  weU  worth  three. 

He  told  him  the  gold  upon  the  board ; 

He  was  right  glad  the  land  to  win  : 
"  The  land  is  mine,  the  gold  is  thine, 

And  now  I  '11  be  the  lord  of  Linne." 

Thus  he  hath  sold  his  land  so  broad  ; 

Both  hill  and  holt,  and  moor  and  fen, 
All  but  a  poor  and  lonesome  lodge. 

That  stood  far  off  in  a  lonely  glen. 

For  so  he  to  his  father  hight : 

"  My  son,  when  I  am  gone,"  said  he, 

"  Then  thou  wilt  spend  thy  land  so  broad. 
And  thou  wilt  spend  thy  gold  so  free  ; 

"  But  swear  me  now  upon  the  rood. 
That  lonesome  lodge  thou  'It  never  spend  ; 

For  when  all  the  world  doth  frown  on  tliee, 
Thou  there  shalt  find  a  faithful  friend," 

The  heir  of  Linne  is  full  of  gold  ; 

And,  "  Come  with  me,  my  friends,"  said  he ; 
"Let's  drink,  and  rant,  and  merry  make,* 

And  he  that  spares,  ne'er  mote  he  thee." 


oltS 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


Thoy  ranted,  drank,  and  merry  made. 

Till  all  his  gold  it  waxed  thin ; 
And  then  his  friends  they  shmk  away ; 

They  left  the  unthrifty  heir  of  Linne. 

He  had  never  a  penny  left  in  his  purse, 

Never  a  penny  left  hut  three  ; 
The  one  was  brass,  the  other  was  lead, 

And  t'  other  it  was  white  money. 

'Xow  woll-a-way!  "  said  the  heir  of  Linne, 

"  Now  well-a-way,  and  woe  is  me  ! 
For  when  I  was  the  lord  of  Linne, 
I  never  wanted  gold  nor  fee. 

"  But  many  a  trusty  friend  have  I, 
And  why  should  I  feel  dole  or  care? 

I  '11  borrow  of  them  all  by  turns. 
So  need  I  not  be  ever  bare." 

But  one,  I  wis,  was  not  at  home  ; 

Another  had  paid  his  gold  away  ; 
Another  called  him  thriftless  loon, 

And  sharply  bade  him  wend  his  way 

"  Now  well-a-way !  "  said  the  heir  of  Linne, 
"  Now  well-a-way,  and  woe  is  me ! 

For  when  I  had  my  land  so  broad. 
On  me  they  lived  right  merrily. 

"  To  beg  my  bread  from  door  to  door, 
I  wis,  it  were  a  burning  shame  : 

To  rob  and  steal  it  were  a  sin  : 
To  work  my  limbs  I  cannot  frame. 

"Now  I'll  away  to  the  lonesome  lodge, 
For  there  my  father  bade  me  wend  : 

"When  all  the  world  should  frown  on  me, 
I  there  should  find  a  trusty  friend." 

PART   SECOND. 

Away  then  hied  the  heir  of  Linne, 
O'er  hill  and  holt,  and  moor  and  fen. 

Until  he  came  to  the  lonesome  lodge, 
That  stood  so  low  in  a  lonely  glen. 

He  looked  up,  he  looked  down. 
In  hope  some  comfort  for  to  win  ; 

But  bare  and  lothely  were  the  walls  : 

^  Here 's  sorry  cheer !  "  quoth  the  heir  of 
Linne. 


The  little  window,  diln  and  dark, 
"Was  hung  with  ivy,  brier,  and  yew  ; 

No  shimmering  sun  here  ever  shone  ; 
No  halesome  breeze  here  ever  blew. 

No  chair,  no  table,  he  mote  spy, 

No  cheerful  hearth,  no  welcome  bed. 

Nought  save  a  rope  with  a  running  noose, 
That  dangling  hung  up  o'er  his  head. 

And  over  it,  in  broad  letters, 

These  words  were  written,  so  plain  to  see : 
"  Ah !  graceless  wretch,  hath  spent  thy  all. 

And  brought  thyself  to  penury  ? 

"  All  this  my  boding  mind  misgave, 
I  therefore  left  this  trusty  friend: 

Now  let  it  shield  thy  foul  disgrace, 
And  all  thy  sliame  and  sorrows  end." 

Sorely  vexed  with  this  rebuke, 

Sorely  vexed  was  the  heir  of  Linne ; 

His  heart,  I  wis,  was  near  to  burst, 
"With  guilt  and  sorrow,  shame  and  sin. 

Never  a  word  spake  the  heir  of  Linne, 
Never  a  word  he  spake  but  three : 

"This  is  a  trusty  friend  indeed. 
And  is  right  welcome  unto  me." 

Then  round  his  neck  the  cord  he  drew, 
And  sprung  aloft  with  his  body  ; 

"When  lo  !  the  ceiling  burst  in  twain. 
And  to  the  ground  came  tumbling  he. 

Astonished  lay  the  heir  of  Linne, 
Nor  knew  if  he  were  live  or  dead ; 

At  length  he  looked  and  saw  a  bill. 
And  in  it  a  key  of  gold  so  red. 

He  took  the  bill  and  looked  it  on ; 

Straight  good  comfort  found  he  there : 
It  told  him  of  a  hole  in  the  wall 

In  which  there  stood  three  chests  in-fere. 

Two  were  full  of  the  beaten  gold ; 

Tlie  third  was  full  of  white  money 
And  over  them,  in  broad  letters. 

These  words  were  written  so  plain  to  see  : 


THE    HEIR    OF    LINNE. 


399 


"  Once  more,  my  son,  I  set  thee  clear; 

Amend  thy  life  and  follies  past; 
For,  but  thou  amend  thee  of  thy  life, 

That  rope  must  be  thy  end  at  last." 

"  And  let  it  be,"  said  the  heir  of  Linne; 

"  And  let  it  be,  but  if  I  amend : 
For  here  I  will  make  mine  avow, 

This  reade  shall  guide  me  to  the  end." 

Away  then  went  the  heir  of  Linne, 
Away  he  went  with  merry  oheer; 

I  wis  he  neither  stint  nor  stayed, 
Till  John  o'  the  Scales'  house  he  came  near. 

And  when  he  came  to  John  o'  the  Scales, 
Up  at  the  spere  then  looked  he ; 

There  sat  three  lords  at  the  board's  end, 
"Were  drinking  of  the  wine  so  free. 

Then  up  bespoke  the  heir  of  Linne ; 

To  John  o'  the  Scales  then  could  he  : 
"  I  pray  thee  now,  good  John  o'  the  Scales, 

One  forty  pence  for  to  lend  me." 

"Away,  away,  thou  thriftless  loon! 

Away,  away !  this  may  not  be : 
For  a  curse  be  on  my  head,"  he  said, 

"  If  ever  I  lend  thee  one  penny." 

Tlien  bespoke  the  heir  of  Linne, 

To  John  o'  the  Scales'  wife  then  spake  he  : 
"  Madam,  some  alms  on  me  bestow, 

I  pray,  for  sweet  Saint  Charity." 

"  Away,  away,  thou  thriftless  loon ! 

I  swear  thou  gettest  no  alms  of  me  ; 
For  if  we  should  liang  any  losel  here. 

The  first  we  would  begin  with  thee." 

Then  up  bespoke  a  good  fellow 

"Which  sat  at  John  o'  the  Scales  his  board  : 
Said,  "  Turn  again,  thou  heir  of  Linne  ; 

Some  time  thou  was  a  well  good  lord  : 

"  Some  time  a  good  fellow  thou  hast  been, 
And  sparedst  not  thy  gold  and  fee ; 

Therefore  I  '11  lend  thee  forty  pence. 
And  other  forty  if  need  be. 


"  And  ever  I  pray  thee,  John  o'  the  Scales, 

To  let  him  sit  in  thy  company  ; 
For  weU  I  wot  thou  hadst  his  land, 

And  a  good  bargain  it  was  to  thee." 

Then  up  bespoke  him  John  o'  the  Scales, 
All  woode  he  answered  him  again  : 

"Nov/  a  curse  be  on  my  head,"  he  said, 
"But  I  did  lose  by  that  bargain. 

"  And  here  I  proffer  thee,  heir  of  Linne, 
Before  these  lords  so  fair  and  free. 

Thou  shalt  have  't  back  again  better  cheap, 
By  a  hundred  morks,  than  I  had  it  of  thee." 

"  I  draw  you  to  record,  lords,"  he  said ; 

"With  that  he  gave  him  a  god's-penny : 
"ISTow,  by  my  fay,"  said  the  heir  of  Linne, 

"And  here,  good  John,  is  thy  money." 

And  he  pulled  forth  the  bags  of  gold, 
And  laid  them  down  upon  the  board ; 

All  wo-begone  was  John  o'  the  Scales, 
So  vexed  he  could  say  never  a  word. 

He  told  him  forth  the  good  red  gold, 
He  told  it  forth  with  mickle  din  ; 

"The  gold  is  thine,  the  land  is  mine. 
And  now  I'm  again  the  lord  of  Linne !  " 

Says,  "  Have  thou  here,  thou  good  fellow  ; 

Forty  pence  thou  didst  lend  me  ; 
Now  I  'm  again  the  lord  of  Linne, 

And  forty  pounds  I  will  give  thee." 

"  Now  well-a-way !  "  quoth  Joan  o'  the  Scales , 
"  Now  well-a-way,  and  wo  is  my  life  ! 

Yesterday  I  was  lady  of  Linne, 

Now  I  'm  but  John  o'  the  Scales  his  wife." 

"Nowfare-thee-well,"  said  the  heir  of  Linne, 
"Farewell,  good  John  o'  the  Scales,"  said 
he; 
"  When  next  I  want  to  sell  my  land, 
Good  John  o'  the  Scales,  I  '11  come  to  thee," 

Anontmous. 


400                                                     P  0  E  M  S     0  F 

COMEDY. 

This  being  done,  he  did  engage 

THE  DRAGOX  OF  WAN^TLEY. 

To  hew  the  dragon  down; 

But  first  he  went  new  armor  to 

Old  stories  tell  bow  Ilcrcules 

Bespeak  at  Sheffield  town ; 

A  dragon  slew  at  Lerna, 

With  spikes  all  about,  not  within  but  without. 

"With  seven  heads  and  fonrteen  eyes, 

Of  steel  so  sharp  and  strong, 

To  see  and  well  disccrn-a ; 

Both  behind  and  before,  legs,  arms,  and  all 

But  lie  had  a  club  this  dragon  to  drub, 

o'er. 

Or  he  ne'er  had  done  it,  I  warrant  ye  ; 

Some  five  or  six  inches  long. 

But  More,  of  More-hall,  with  nothing  at  all. 

lie  slew  the  dragon  of  Wantley. 

Had  you  but  seen  him  in  this  dress, 

This  dragon  had  two  furious  wings. 

How  fierce  he  looked,  and  how  big. 

Each  one  upon  each  shoulder ; 

You  would  have  thought  him  for  to  be 

"\Yitli  a  sting  in  his  tail  as  long  as  a  flail, 

Some  Egyptian  porcupig : 

Which  made  him  bolder  and  bolder. 

He  frighted  all,  cats,  dogs,  and  all, 

He  had  long  claws,  and  in  his  jaws 

Each  cow,  each  horse,  and  each  hog ; 

Four  and  forty  teeth  of  iron  ; 

For  fear  they  did  flee,  for  they  took  him  to  be 

"With  a  hide  as  tough  as  any  buff. 

Some  strange,  outlandish  hedge-hog. 

Which  did  him  round  environ. 

Have  you  not  heard  how  the  Trojan  horse 

To  see  this  fight  all  peopJe  then 

Hold  seventy  men  in  his  belly  ? 

Got  up  on  trees  and  houses, 

This  dragon  was  not  quite  so  big, 

On  churches  some,  and  chimneys  too; 

But  very  near,  I  'U  tell  ye ; 

But  these  put  on  their  trousers, 

Devoured  he  poor  children  three, 

Xot  to  spoil  their  hose.    As  soon  as  he  rose, 

That  coidd  not  with  him  grapple  ; 

To  make  him  strong  and  mighty. 

And  at  one  sup  he  ate  them  up. 

He  drank,  by  the  tale,  sis  pots  of  ale. 

As  one  would  eat  an  apple. 

And  a  quart  of  aqua-vitse. 

All  sorts  of  cattle  this  dragon  would  eat, 

It  is  not  strength  that  always  wins, 

Some  say  he  ate  up  trees, 

For  wit  doth  strength  excel ; 

And  that  the  forests  sure  he  would 

Which  made  our  cunning  champion 

Devour  up  by  degrees  ; 

Creep  down  into  a  well. 

For  bouses  and  churches  were  to  him  geese 

Where  he  did  think  this  dragon  would  drink. 

and  turkeys  ; 

O                                                               7 

And  so  he  did  in  truth  : 

He  ate  all  and  left  none  behind. 

And  as  he  stooped  low,  he  rose  up  and  cried. 

But  some  stones,  dear  Jack,  that  he  could  not 

i.                                       3                                                     JT                                                      J 

boh! 

crack. 

And  kicked  him  in  the  mouth. 

Which  on  the  hiUs  you  will  find. 

Hard  by  a  furious  knight  there  dwelt ; 

Oh  !  quoth  the  dragon,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Men,  womei    girls,  and  boys. 

And  turned  six  times  together. 

Sighing  and  soboing,  came  to  his  lodging, 

Sobbing  and  tearing,  cursing  and  swearing 

And  made  a  hideous  noise. 

Out  of  his  throat  of  leather. 

Oh,  save  us  all.  More  of  More-hall, 

More  of  More-hall,  oh  thou  rascal ! 

Thou  peerless  knight  of  these  woods ; 

Would  I  had  seen  thee  never ! 

Do  but  slay  this  dragon,  who  won't  leave  us 

With  the  thing  at  thy  foot  thou  hast  pricked 

a  rag  on, 

my  throat, 

Wc  '11  give  thee  all  our  goods. 

And  I  'm  quite  undone  forever ! 

GOOD 

ALE.                                                              401 

Murder,  murder !  the  dragon  cried, 

Then  doth  she  trowl  to  me  the  bowl, 

Alack,  alack,  for  grief! 

Even  as  a  malt-worm  should ; 

Had  YOU  but  missed  that  place,  you  could 

And  saith,  "  Svrcetlieart,  I  took  ray  part 

Have  done  me  no  mischief. 

Of  this  jolly  good  ale  and  old." 

Then  his  head  he  shaked,   trembled,    and 

Back  and  side  go  lare,  go  lare; 

quaked, 

Both  foot  and  hand  go  cold; 

And  down  he  lay  and  cried ; 

But,    lelly,    God    send    thee    good    ale 

First  on  one  knee,  then  on  back  tumbled  he, 

enough. 

So  groaned,  and  kicked,  and  died. 

Whether  it  le  new  or  old  ! 

Old  Ballad.    (English.) 

Version  of  Coventry  Patmoke. 

Now  let  them  drink  tiU  they  nod  and 

wink. 
Even  as  good  fellows  should  do; 

They  shall  not  miss  to  have  the  bliss 

GOOD  ALE. 

Good  ale  doth  bring  men  to ; 

And  all  poor  souls  that  have  scoured 

I  cAxxoT  eat  but  little  meat — 

bowls. 

My  stomach  is  not  good ; 

Or  have  them  lustily  trowled. 

But  sure,  I  think  that  I  can  drink 

God  save  the  lives  of  them  and  their 

With  him  that  wears  a  hood. 

wives, 

Though  r  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care ; 

Whether  they  be  young  or  old ! 

I  am  nothing  a-cold — 

Bach  and  side  go  lare,  go  lare  ; 

I  stuff  my  skin  so  fuU  within 

Both  foot  and  hand  go  cold; 

Oi"  jolly  good  ale  and  old. 

But,    Icily,    God    send    thee    good    ale 

BacTc  and  side  go  lare^  go  lare  ; 

enough, 

Both  foot  and  hand  go  cold  ; 

Whether  it  le  new  or  old  ! 

But,   lelhj,   God   send    thee   good    ale 

John  Still. 

enough, 

Whether  it  he  neio  or  old  ! 
I  love  no  roast  but  a  nut-brown  toast. 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fire  ; 

THH;  JOVIAL  BEGGAR. 

A  little  bread  shall  do  me  stead — 

Much  bread  I  not  desire. 

Theee  was  a  jovial  beggar, 

No  frost  nor  snow,  nor  wind,  I  trow, 

He  had  a  wooden  leg. 

Can  hurt  me  if  I  wold — 

Lame  from  his  cradle, 

I  am  so  wrapt,  and  thorowly  lapt 

And  forced  for  to  beg. 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  old. 

And  a-legging  ice  will  go, 

Bade  and  side  go  lare,  go  lare  ; 

Will  go,  will  go. 

Both  foot  and  hand  go  cold; 

And  a-legging  we  will  go. 

But,    lelly,    God   send    thee   good   ale 

enough, 

Whether  it  he  new  or  old  ! 

A  bag  for  his  oatmeal. 

Another  for  his  salt. 

And  a  long  pair  of  crutches, 

And  Tyb,  my  wife,  that  as  her  life 

To  show  that  he  can  halt. 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  seek. 

And  a-legging  we  will  go, 

Full  oft  drinks  she,  till  you  may  see 

Will  go,  will  go. 

Tlie  tears  run  down  her  cheek  ; 

And  a-legging  we  will  go. 

55 

• 

402                                                   POEMS    OF 

'    COMEDY. 

A  bag  for  liis  Avlieat, 

Anothci"  for  his  ryo, 

TAKE   THY   OLD   CLOAKE   ABOUT 

Aiul  a  little  bottle  hj  his  side, 

TIIEE. 

To  drink  when  he 's  a-dry. 

And  a-l)egging  we  will  go, 

This  winter  weather — it  waxetli  cold. 

Will  go,  will  go, 

And  frost  doth  frecse  on  every  hill ; 

And  a-legging  ice  will  go. 

And  Boreas  blows  his  Wastes  so  cold 

That  all  ur  cattell  are  like  to  spill. 

Seven  years  I  begged 

Bell,  my  w^ife,  who  loves  no  strife. 

For  my  old  master  Wilde, 

Shee  sayd  unto  me  quietlye, 

lie  taught  me  how  to  beg 

Eise  up,  and  save  cowe  Crumbocke's  life — 

"When  I  was  but  a  child. 

Man,  put  thy  old  cloake  about  thee. 

And  a-I>egging  roe  will  go. 

Will  go,  icill  go, 

HE. 

And  a  Tjegging  ice  will  go. 

0  Bell,  why  dost  thou  flyte  and  scorne  ? 

Thou  kenst  my  cloake  is  very  thin ; 

1  begged  for  my  master, 

It  is  so  bare  and  overworne 

And  got  him  store  of  pelf, 

A  cricke  he  thereon  can  not  renn. 

But  goodness  now  be  praised, 

Then  He  no  longer  borrowe  or  lend 

I  'm  begging  for  myself. 

For  once  He  new  apparelled  be  ; 

And  a-legging  ice  icill  go, 

To  morrow  He  to  towne,  and  spend, 

Will  go,  will  go, 

For  He  have  a  new  cloake  about  me. 

And  a-legging  tee  icill  go. 

In  a  hollow  tree 

SHE. 

I  live,  and  pay  no  rent, 

Cow  Crumbocke  is  a  very  good  cow — 

1                        X        tJ                                       J 

Providence  provides  for  me. 

She  has  been  alwayes  true  to  the  payle ; 

J.                                                            7 

And  I  am  well  content. 

She  has  helped  us  to  butter  and  cheese,  1 

And  a-hegqinq  ice  tcill  qo. 

trow, 

Will  go,  icill  go, 
And  a-beqqinq  we  will  qo. 

And  other  things  she  will  not  fayle  ; 

I  wold  be  loth  to  see  her  pine  ; 

\j  o       i/                        if 

Good  husbande,  counsel  take  of  me — 

Of  all  the  occupations 

It  is  not  for  us  to  go  so  fine ; 

A  beggar's  is  the  best, 

Man,  take  thy  old  cloake  about  thee. 

For  whenever  he 's  a-weary. 

He  can  lay  him  down  to  rest. 

HE. 

And  a-l)egging  we  will  go. 

My  cloake,  it  was  a  very  good  cloake — 

Will  go,  will  go. 

It  hath  been  alwayes  true  to  the  weare ; 

And  a-legging  we  tcill  go, 

But  now  it  is  not  worth  a  groat ; 

I  have  had  it  four  and-forty  yeare. 

I  fear  no  plots  against  me, 

Sometime  it  was  of  cloth  in  graine ; 

I  live  in  open  cell ; 

'Tis  now  but  a  sigh  clout  as  you  may  see ; 

Then  who  would  be  a  king,  lads. 

It  will  neither  hold  nor  winde  nor  raine — 

"When  the  beggar  lives  so  well  ? 

And  He  have  a  new  cloake  about  me. 

And  a-hegging  we  will  go, 

Will  go,  will  go, 

SHE. 

And  a-legging  we  icill  go. 

It  is  four-and-forty  yeeres  ago 

Anonymous. 

Since  the  one  of  us  the  other  did  ken ; 

And  we  have  liad  betwixt  us  towe 

J 

Of  children  either  nine  or  ten ; 

i 


i 


MALBROUCK. 


403 


We  have  brouglit  them  up  to  women  and 
men — 

In  the  fere  of  God  I  trowe  they  be ; 
And  why  wilt  thon  thyself  misken — 

Man,  take  thy  old  cloake  about  thee. 

HE. 

O  Bell,  my  wife,  why  dost  thou  floute? 

Now  is  now,  and  then  was  then ; 
Seeke  now  all  the  world  throughout. 

Thou  kenst  not  clownes  from  gentlemen ; 
They  are  clad  in  blacke,  greene.  yellowe,  or 
gray, 

So  far  above  their  own  degree — 
Once  in  my  life  lie  do  as  they, 

For  lie  have  a  new  cloake  about  me. 

SHE. 

King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peere — 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crowne ; 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  deere. 

Therefore  he  called  the  tailor  loon. 
He  was  a  wight  of  high  renowne, 

And  thou'se  but  of  a  low  degree- 
It  's  pride  that  puts  this  countrye  downe ; 

Man,  take  thy  old  cloake  about  thee. 

HE. 

Bell,  my  wife,  she  loves  not  strife. 

Yet  she  will  lead  me  if  she  can  ; 
And  oft  to  live  a  quiet  life 

I  'm  forced  to  yield  though  I  be  good-man. 
It 's  not  for  a  man  with  a  woman  to  threepe, 

Unless  he  first  give  o'er  the  plea; 
As  we  began  sae  will  we  leave. 

And  He  tak  my  old  cloake  about  me. 

Anonymous. 


MALBROUCK. 

Malbrouck,  the  prince  of  commanders. 
Is  gone  to  tl:e  war  in  Flanders; 
His  fame  is  Tike  Alexander's ; 

But  when  will  he  come  home? 

Perhaps  at  Trinity  feast ;  or 
Perhaps  he  may  come  at  Easter. 
Egad !  he  had  better  make  haste,  or 
We  fear  he  may  never  come. 


For  Trinity  feast  is  over, 
And  has  brought  no  news  from  Dover; 
And  Easter  is  past,  moreover, 
And  Malbrouck  still  delays. 

Milady  in  her  watch-tower 
Spends  many  a  pensive  hour. 
Not  knowing  why  or  how  her 

Dear  lord  from  England  stays. 

"While  sitting  quite  forlorn  in 
That  tower,  she  spies  returning 
A  page  clad  in  deep  mourning, 
With  fainting  steps  and  slow. 

"  0  page,  prythee,  come  faster ! 

What  news  do  you  bring  of  your  master? 

I  fear  there  is  some  disaster — 

Your  looks  are  so  full  of  woe." 

"The  news  I  bring,  fair  lady," 
With  sorrowful  accent  said  he, 
"  Is  one  you  are  not  ready 
So  soon,  alas !  to  hear. 

"  But  since  to  speak  I  'm  hurried," 
Added  tliis  page  quite  flurried, 
"Malbrouck  is  dead  and  buried  !  " 
— And  here  he  shed  a  tear. 

"  He 's  dead  !  he 's  dead  as  a  herring  ! 
For  I  beheld  his  herring, 
And  four  officers  transferring 

His  corpse  away  from  the  field. 

"  One  officer  carried  his  sabre  ; 
And  lie  carried  it  not  without  labor, 
Much  envying  his  next  neighbor. 
Who  only  bore  a  shield. 

"  The  third  was  helmet-bearer — 
That  helmet  which  on  its  wearei* 
Filled  all  who  saw  with  terror. 
And  covered  a  hero's  brains. 

"  Now,  having  got  so  far,  I 
Find,  that — by  the  Lord  Harry ! — 
The  fourth  is  left  nothing  to  carry ; — 
So  there  the  thing  remains." 

ANONrMOirs.  (French.) 
Translation  of  Fatiiek  Peout. 


40-t                                                  POEMS    OF 

COMEDY. 

With  good  cheer  enough  to  furnish  every  old 

THE  OLD  AND  YOUNG  COUETIER. 

room. 

And  old  hquor  able  to  make  a  cat  speak,  and 

An  old  song  made  by  an  aged  old  pate, 

man  dumb ; 

Of  an  old  worsliipful  gentleman  who  had  a 

Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  queen'' s, 

great  estate, 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

That  kept  a  brave  old  house  at  a  bountiful 

rate, 
And  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his 

With  an  old  falconer,  huntsman,  and  a  kennel 
of  hounds, 

gate; 

That  never  hawked,  nor  hunted,  but  in  his 

Lilce  an  old  courtier  of  the  queen'' s, 

own  grounds ; 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

O                               7 

Who,  like  a  wise  man,  kept  himself  within 

his  own  bounds, 

With  an  old  lady,  -whose  anger  one  word  as- 

And when  he  dyed,  gave  every  child  a  thou- 

suages ; 

sand  good  pounds ; 

They  every  quarter  paid  their  old  servants 

Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  queen's, 

their  wages, 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

And  never  knew  what  belonged  to  coachmen, 

footmen,  nor  pages, 

But  to  his  eldest  son  his  bouse  and  land  he 

But  kept  twenty  old  fellows  with  blue  coats 

assigned. 

and  badges ; 

Charging  him  in  his  will  to  keep  the  old 

Lilce  an  old  courtier  of  the  queen'' s^ 

bountiful  mind — 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

To  be  good  to  his  old  tenants,  and  to  his 

neighbors  be  kind : 

With  an  old  study  filled  full  of  learned  old 

But  in  the  ensuing  ditty  you  shall  hear  how 

books ; 

he  was  inclined, 

With  an  old  reverend  chaplain — you  might 

Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  king's, 

know  him  by  his  looks ; 

And  the  king^s  young  courtier. 

With  an  old  buttery  hatch  worn  quite  off  the 

hooks ; 

Like  a  flourishing  young  gallant,  newly  come 

And  an  old  kitchen  that  maintained  half  a 

to  his  land, 

dozen  old  cooks ; 

7 

Who  keeps  a  brace  of  painted  madams  at  his 

Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  queerCs^ 

command ; 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

And  takes  up  a  thousand  pound  upon  his  fa- 

ther's land ; 

With  an  old  hall,  hung  about  with  pikes,  guns. 

And  gets  drunk  in  a  tavern,  tiU  he  can  nei- 

and bows. 

ther  go  nor  stand ; 

With  old  swords  and  bucklers,  that  had  borne 

Lilce  a  young  courtier  of  the  king^s, 

many  shrewd  blows ; 

Aiid  the  Mng''s  young  courtier. 

And  an  old  frieze  coat,  to  cover  his  worship's 

trimk  hose. 

With  a  new-fangled  lady,  that  is  dainty,  nice. 

And  a  cup  of  old  sherry,  to  comfort  his  cop- 

and spare, 

per  nose ; 

Who  never  knew  what  belonged  to  good 

Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  quee7i^s, 

housekeeping  or  care ; 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

Who  buys  gaudy-colored  fans  to  play  with 

wanton  air. 

With  a  good  old  fashion,  when  Christmas  was 

And  seven  or  eight  different  dressings  of  other 

come. 

women's  hair ; 

To  call  in  aU  his  old  neighbors  with  bagi:)ipe 

Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  king''s, 

and  drum ; 

And  the  king''s  young  courtier. 

AlSr    ELEGY    ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    MAD    DOG. 


405 


With  a  new-fashioned  hall,  built  where  the 

old  one  stood, 
Hung  round  with  new  pictures,  that  do  the 

poor  no  good ; 
With  a  fine  marble  chimney,  wherein  burns 

neither  coal  nor  wood ; 
And  a  new  smooth  shovelboard,  whereon  no 

victuals  ne'er  stood ; 

Lilce  a  young  courtier  of  the  Tcing^s^ 
And  the  'king''8  young  courtier. 

"With  a  new  study,  stuft  fell  of  pamphlets  and 
playa ; 

And  a  new  chaplain,  that  swears  faster  than 
he  prays ; 

With  a  new  buttery  hatch,  that  opens  once 
in  four  or  five  days. 

And  a  new  French  cook,  to  de\ase  fine  kick- 
shaws, and  toys ; 

Lihe  a  young  courtier  of  the  Icing'' s^ 
And  the  'king''s  young  courtier. 

With  a  new  fashion  when  Christmas  is  draw- 
ing on — 

On  a  new  journey  to  London  straight  we  all 
must  be  gone, 

And  leave  none  to  keep  house,  but  our  new 
porter  John, 

Who  relie\es  the  poor  with  a  thump  on  the 
back  with  a  stone ; 
LiTce  a  young  courtier  of  the  Tcing^s^ 
And  the  Tcing''s  young  courtier. 

With  a  new  gentleman  usher,  whose  carriage 
is  complete ; 

With  a  new  coachman,  footmen,  and  pages  to 
carry  up  the  meat ; 

With  a  waiting  gentlewoman,  whose  dressing 
is  very  neat — 

Who,  when  her  lady  has  dined,  lets  the  ser- 
vants not  eat ; 
Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  Jcing''s, 
And  the  hinges  young  courtier. 


And  this  is  the  course  most  of  our  new  gal- 
lants hold, 
Which  makes  that  good  housekeeping  is  now 
grown  so  cold 

Among  the  young  courtiers  of  the  Hng, 
Or  the  Tcing''s  young  courtiers. 

AuoirrMOiTS. 


bought 


with  his 


With  new  titles  of  honor 

father's  old  gold, 
For  which  sundry  of  his  ancestors'  old  manors 

are  sold : 


AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A 
MAD  DOG. 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort. 

Give  ear  unto  my  song ; 
And  if  you  find  it  wond'rous  short 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man, 
Of  whom  the  world  might  say 

That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes ; 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad, 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found. 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  degi'ee. 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends ; 

But  when  a  pique  began. 
The  dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighbormg  streets 
Tlic  wandering  neighbors  ran. 

And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits, 
To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seemed  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye : 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light. 

That  showed  the  rogues  they  lied : 
The  man  recovered  of  the  bite, 


The  dog  it  was  that  died. 


Oliteb  Goldsmith. 


406 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

AJT  HEEOl-OOMICAL  POEM. 

Noluoram,  Belinda,  tuos  violare  capillos; 
Sedjuvat  hoc  precibus  me  tribuisse  tuis. — Makt. 

CANTO  I. 

What    dire    offence    from    amorous    causes 

springs, 
Wliat  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial  things, 
I  sing — This  verse  to  Caryl,  muse !  is  due ; 
This,  e'en  Belinda  may  vouchsafe  to  view  : 
Slight  is  the  subject,  but  not  so  the  praise, 
If  she  inspire,  and  he  approve  my  lays. 

Say  -what  strange  motive,  goddess!  could 
compel 
A  well-bred  lord  t'  assault  a  gentle  belle  ? 
Oh,  6ay  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unexplored. 
Could  make  a  gentle  belle  reject  a  lord  ? 
In  tasks  so  bold  can  little  men  engage. 
And  in  soft  bosoms  dwell  such  mighty  rage? 

Sol  through  white  curtains  shot  a  timorous 

ray, 
And  ope'd  those   eyes  that  must  eclipse  the 

day. 
Xow  lap-dogs  give  themselves  the  rousing 

shake. 
And  sleepless  lovers  just  at  twelve  awake; 
Thrice  rung  the  bell,  the  slipper  knocked  the 

ground, 
And  the  pressed  watch    returned  a  silver 

sound. 
Belinda  still  her  downy  pillow  prest — 
Her  guardian  sylph  prolonged  the  balmy  rest ; 
'T  was  he  had  summoned  to  her  silent  bed 
The  morning-dream  that  hovered  o'er  her 

head : 
A  youth  more  glittering  than  a  birthnight 

beau, 
(That  e'en  in  slumber  caused  her  cheek  to 

glow,) 
Seemed  to  her  ear  his  winning  lips  to  lay, 
And  thus  in  whispers  said,  or  seemed  to  say  : 
"  Fairest  of  mortals,  thou  distinguished  care 
Of  thousand  bright  inhabitants  of  air! 
If  e'er  one  vision  touched  thy  infant  thought 
Of  all  the  nurse   and  all  the  priest  have 

taught, 
Of  airy  elves  by  moonlight-shadows  seen, 
The  silver  token,  and  the  circled  green ; 


Or  virgins  visited  by  angel  powers 

With  golden  crowns  and  wreaths  of  heavenly 

llowers — 
Hear    and    believe !    thy    own    importance 

know, 
Nor  bound  thy  narrow  views  to  things  below. 
Some  secret  truths,  from  learned  pride  con- 
cealed, 
To  maids  alone  and  children  are  revealed ; 
What  though  no  credit  doubting  wits  may 

give  ? 
The  fair  and  innocent  shall  still  believe. 
Know,  then,  unnumbered  spirits  round  thee 

fly- 
Tlie  light  militia  of  the  lower  sky; 
These,  though  unseen,  are  ever  on  the  wing. 
Hang  o'er  the  box,  and  hover  round  the  ring. 
Think  what  an  equipage  thou  hast  in  air. 
And  view  with  scorn  two  pages  and  a  chair. 
As  now  your  own,  our  beings  were  of  old, 
And  once    enclosed  in  woman's  beauteous 

mould ; 
Thence,  by  a  soft  transition,  we  repair 
From  eartlily  vehicles  to  these  of  air. 
Think  not,  when  woman's  transient  breath  ia 

fled. 
That  all  her  vanities  at  once  are  dead ; 
Succeeding  vanities  she  still  regards. 
And,  though  she  plays  no  more,  o'erlooks  the 

cards. 
Her  joy  in  gilded  chariots,  when  alive. 
And  love  of  ombre,  after  death  survive  ; 
For  when  the  fair  in  all  their  pride  expire. 
To  their  first  elements  their  souls  retire ; 
The  sprites  of  fiery  termagant  in  flame 
Mount  up,  and  take  a  salamander's  name ; 
Soft  yielding  minds  to  water  glide  away, 
And  sip,  with  nymphs,  their  elemental  tea; 
The  graver    prude    sinks    downward  to    a 

gnome 
In  search  of  mischief  still  on  earth  to  roam ; 
The  light  coquettes  in  sylphs  aloft  repair, 
And  sport  and  flutter  in  the  fields  of  air. 
"Know  further  yet;    whoever  fair  and 

chaste 
Rejects  mankind,  is  by  some  sylph  embraced : 
For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  what  sexes  and   what  shapes  they 

please. 
What  guards  the  purity  of  melting  maids. 
In  courtly  balls  and  midnight  masquerades, 


THE    RAPE    OF    THE    LOCK. 


401 


Safe  from  the  treacherous  friend,  the  daring 

spark, 
The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark — 
When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  de- 
sires, 
When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing  fires  ? 
'T  is  but  their  sylph,  the  wise  celestials  know, 
Though  honor  is  the  word  with  men  below. 
"  Some  nymphs  there  are,  too  conscious  of 
their  face. 
For  life  predestined  to  the  gnome's  embrace ; 
These  swell  their  prospects  and  exalt  their 

pride, 
When  offers  are  disdained,  and  love  denied; 
Then  gay  ideas  crowd  the  vacant  brain, 
While  peers,  and  dukes,  and  all  their  sweep- 
ing train, 
And  garters,  stars,  and  coronets  appear. 
And  in  soft  sounds,  'Your    grace,'  salutes 

their  ear. 
'T  is  these  that  early  taint  the  female  soul. 
Instruct  the  eyes  of  j'oung  coquettes  to  roll ; 
Teach  infant  cheeks  a  bidden  blush  to  know. 
And  little  hearts  to  flutter  at  a  beau. 

"Oft  when    the   world    imagine   women 
stray. 
The  sylphs  through  mystic  mazes  guide  their 

way; 
Through  all  the  giddy  circle  they  pursue. 
And  old  impertinence  expel  by  new. 
What  tender  maid  but  must  a  victim  fall 
To  one  man's  treat,  but  for  another's  ball  ? 
When  riorio  speaks,  what  virgin  could  with- 
stand. 
If  gentle  Damon  did  not  squeeze  her  hand  ? 
With  varying  vanities  from  every  part 
They  shift  the  moving  toy-shop  of  their  heart ; 
Where   wigs  with  wigs,  with    sword-knots 

sword-knots  strive, 
Beaux  banish  beaux,  and  coaches   coaches 

drive. 
This  erring  mortals  levity  may  call — 
Oh,  blind  to  truth  !  the  sylphs  contrive  it  all. 
"  Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim ; 
A  watchful  sprite,  and  Ariel  is  my  name. 
Late,  as  I  ranged  the  crystal  wilds  of  air, 
lu  the  clear  mirror  of  thy  ruling  star, 
I  saw,  alas !  some  dread  event  impend. 
Ere  to  the  main  this  morning's  sun  descend ; 
But    lieaven  reveals  not  what,  or  how,  or 
where : 


Warned  by  the  sylph,  O  pious  maid,  beware  ! 
This  to  disclose  is  all  thy  guardian  can  ; 
Beware  of  all,  but  most  beware  of  man !  " 
He  said;    when  Shock,  who  thought  she 

slept  too  long. 
Leaped  up,  and  waked  his  mistress  with  his 

tongue. 
'T  was  then,  Belinda,  if  report  say  true. 
Thy  eyes  first  opened  on  a  billet-doux ; 
Wounds,  charms,  and  ardors,  Avere  no  sooner 

read, 
But  all  the  vision  vanished  from  thy  head. 
And  now,  unveiled,  the  toilet  stands  dis- 
played. 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First,   robed  in    white,  the    nymph    intent 

adores, 
W^ith  head  uncovered,  the  cosmetic  powers. 
A  heavenly  image  in  the  glass  appears — 
To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she  rears; 
Th'  inferior  priestess,  at  her  altar's  side. 
Trembling  begins  the  sacred  rites  of  pride. 
Unnumbered  treasures  ope  at  once,  and  here 
The  various  ofierings  of  the  world  appear ; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls  with  curious  toil. 
And  decks  the  goddess  with  the  glittering 

spoih 
This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks. 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here,  and  elephant  unite. 
Transformed  to  combs — the  speckled,  and  the 

white. 
Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows ; 
Puffs,  powders,  patches,  bibles,  billet-doux. 
Now  awful  beauty  puts  on  all  its  arms ; 
The  fair  each  moment  rises  in  her  charms, 
Repairs  her  smiles,  awakens  every  grace, 
And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  of  her  face; 
Sees  by  degrees  a  purer  blush  arise, 
And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes. 
The  busy  sylphs  surround  their  darling  care. 
These  set  the  head,  and  these  divide  the  hair; 
Some  fold  the  sleeve,  whilst  others  plait  the 

gown ; 
And  Betty  's  praised  for  labors  not  her  own. 

CAKTO   II. 

Not  with  more  glories,  in  the  ethereal  plain. 
The  sun  first  rises  o'er  the  purpled  main. 
Than,  issuing  forth,  tlie  rival  of  liis  beams 
Launched  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver  Thames 


•iOS 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


Fair  nymphs  and  well-dressed  youths  around 
lier  sliouo, 

But  every  eye  was  fixed  on  her  alone. 

On  her  whito  hreast  a  sparkling  cross  she 
wore, 

"Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  infidels  adore ; 

ller  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose — 

Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfixed  as  those ; 

Favws  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends ; 

Oft  she  rejects,  hut  never  once  offends. 

Bright  as  tlie  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike  ; 

And,  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

Yet   graceful  ease,  and   sweetness   void  of 
pride. 

Might  hide  her  faults,  if  belles  had  faults  to 
hide: 

If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face,  and  you  '11  forget  them  all. 
This  nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  man- 
kind, 

Nourished  two  locks,  which  graceful  hung 
hehind 

In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 

With  shining  ringlets  the  smooth,  ivory  neck. 

Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 

And    mighty    hearts    are    held    in    slender 
chains. 

With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray  ; 

Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey  ; 

Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  insnare. 

And  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair. 
Th'   adventurous  baron  the   bright  locks 
admix'ed ; 

He  saw,  he  wished,  and  to  the  prize  aspired. 

Resolved  to  win,  he  meditates  the  way. 

By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betray ; 

For  when  success  a  lover's  toil  attends, 

Few  ask  if  fraud  or  force  attained  his  ends. 
For  this,  ere  Phoebus  rose,    he  had  im- 
plored 

Propitious  heaven,  and  every  power  adored ; 

But  chiefly  love — to  love  an  altar  built, 

Of  twelve  vast  French  romances,  neatly  gilt. 

Tliere  Lay  three  garters,  half  a  pair  of  gloves, 

xind  all  the  trophies  of  his  former  loves; 

With  tender  billet-doux  he  lights  the  pyre, 

And  breathes  three  amorous  sighs  to  raise 
the  fire. 

Then  prostrate  falls,  and  begs  with  ardent 
eyes 

Soon  to  obtain,  and  long  possess  the  prize. 


,  The  powers  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his 

prayer ; 
The  rest  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air. 
But  noAV  secure  the  painted  vessel  glides. 
The  sunbeams  trembling  on  the  floating  tides ; 
While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky, 
And  softened  sounds  along  the  waters  die  : 
Smooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently 

play, 
Belinda  smiled,  and  all  the  world  was  gay. 
All  but  the  sylph — with  careful  thoughts  op- 

prest, 
Th'  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast. 
He  summons  straight  his  denizens  of  air ; 
The  lucid  squadrons  round  the  sails  repair; 
Soft  o'er  the  shrouds  aerial  whispers  breathe, 
That  seemed  but  zephyrs  to  the  train  be- 
neath. 
Some  to  the  sun  their  insect-wings  unfold, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  sink  in  clouds  of  gold. 
Transparent  forms,  too  fine  for  mortal  sight. 
Their  fluid  bodies  half  dissolved  in  light ; 
Loose  to  the  wind  their  airy  garments  flew — 
Thin,  glittering  textures  of  the  filnay  dew. 
Dipt  in  the  richest  tincture  of  the  skies. 
Where  light  disports  in  ever-mingling  dyes ; 
While   every  beam    new    transient     colors 

flings. 
Colors    that  change     whene'er    they   wave 

their  wings. 
Amid  the  circle,  on  the  gilded  mast, 
Superior  by  the  head,  was  Ariel  placed ; 
His  purple  pinions  opening  to  the  sun. 
He  raised  his  azure  Avand,  and  thus  begun : 
"Ye  sylphs  and  sylphids,  to  your  chief 
give  ear ! 
Fays,  fairies,  genii,  elves,  and  demons,  heart 
Ye  know  the  spheres  and  various  tasks  as- 
signed 
By  laws  eternal  to  the  aerial  kind: 
Some  in  the  fields  of  purest  ether  play, 
And  bask  and  whiten  in  the  blaze  of  day ; 
Some  guide  the  course  of  wandering  orbs  on 

high, 
Or  roll  the  planets  through  the  boundless 

sky; 
Some,  less  refined,  beneath  the  moon's  pale 

light 
Pursue  the  stars  that  shoot  athwart  the  night, 
Or  suck  the  mists  in  grosser  air  below. 
Or  dip  their  pinions  in  the  painted  bow, 


THE    RAPE    OF    THE    LOCK. 


40S 


Or  brew  fierce  tempests  on  the  -wintry-  main, 

Or  o'er  the  glshe  distill  the  kindly  rain ; 

Others,  on  earth,  o'er  human  race  preside, 

Watch  all  their  ways,  and  all  their  actions 
guide  : 

Of  these  the  chief  the  care  of  nations  own, 

And  guard  with  arms   divine  the   British 
throne. 
"  Our  humbler  province  is  to  tend  the  fair, 

Kot  a  less  pleasing,  though  less  glorious  care ; 

To  save  the  powder  from  too  rude  a  gale, 

Nor  let  th'  imprisoned  essences  exhale ; 

To  draw  fresh  colors  from  the  vernal  flow- 
ers; 

To   steal  from  rainbows,  ere  they  drop  in 
showers, 

A  brighter  wash  ;  to  curl  their  waving  hairs. 

Assist  their  blushes,  and  inspire  their  airs ; 

N^ay  oft,  in  dreams,  invention  we  bestow. 

To  change  a  flounce,  or  add  a  furbelow. 
"  This  day  black  omens  threat  the  bright- 
est fair 

That  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  spirit's  care  ; 

Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force  or  slight ; 

But  what,  or  where,  the  fates  have  wrapped 
in  night — 

Whether  the  nymph  shall  break  Diana's  law. 

Or  some  frail  china  jar  receive  a  flaw  ; 

Or  stain  her  honor,  or  her  new  brocade ; 

Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  masquerade ; 

Or  lose  her  heart,  or  necklace,  at  a  ball ; 

Or  whether  heaven  has  doomed  that  Shock 
must  fall — 

Haste,  then,  ye  spirits !  to  your  charge  re- 
pair: 

The  fluttering  fan  be  Zephyretta's  care; 

The  drops  to  thee,  Brillante,  we  consign ; 

And,  Momentilla,  let  the  watch  be  thine  ; 

Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  favorite  lock ; 

Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock. 
"  To  fifty  chosen  sylphs,  of  special  note. 

We  trust  the  important   charge,  the  petti- 
coat— 

Oft  have  we  known  that  seven-fold  fence  to 
fail. 

Though  stiff  with  hoops,  and  armed  with  ribs 
of  whale — 

Form  a  strong  line  about  the  silver  bound, 

And  guard  the  wide  circumference  around. 
"Whatever  spirit,  cai-eless  of  his  charge. 

His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  fiiir  at  large, 
58 


Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o'ertake  his 
sins. 

Be  stopped  in  vials,  or  transfixed  with  pins ; 

Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  washes  lie. 

Or  wedged  whole  ages  in  a  bodkin's  eye ; 

Gums  and  pomatums  shall  his  flight  restrain. 

While  clogged  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in 
vain; 

Or  alum  styptics  with  contracting  power 

Shrink  his  thin  essence  like  a  rivaled  flower ; 

Or,  as  Ixion  fixed,  the  wretch  shall  feel 

The  giddy  motion  of  the  whirling  mill ; 

In  fumes  of  burning  chocolate  shall  glow. 

And  tremble  at  the  sea  that  froths  below !  " 
He  spoke ;   the  spirits  from  the  sails  de- 
scend ; 

Some,  orb  in  orb,  around  the  nymph  extend ; 

Some  thread  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair ; 

Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  ear ; 

With  beating  hearts  the  dire  event  they  wait, 

Anxious,  and  trembling  for  the  birth  of  fate. 

CANTO   III. 

Close  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crowned  with 

flowers. 
Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  rising 

towers. 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame. 
Which  from  the  neighboring  Hampton  takes 

its  name. 
Here  Britain's  statesmen  oft  the  fall  foredoom 
Of  foreign  tyrants,  and  of  nymphs  at  home ; 
Here,  thou,  great  Anna !  whom  three  realms 

obey. 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take — and  sometimes 

tea. 
Hither  the  heroes  and  the  nymphs  resort, 
To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a  court ; 
In  various  talk  the  instructive  hours  they  past: 
Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last ; 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  queen  ; 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen; 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes^ 
At  every  word  a  reputation  dies ; 
Snufi^,  or  the  fan,  supply  each  pause  of  chat. 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that. 
Meanwhile,  declining  from  the  noon  of  day. 
The  sun  obliquely  shoots  his  burning  ray; 
The  hungry  judges  soon  the  sentence  sign. 
And  wretches  hang  that  jurymen  may  dine; 


410 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY 


The  mcrcliant  from  the  Exchange  returns  in 

peaoe, 
And  the  long  labors  of  the  toilet  cease. 
Belinda  now,  whom  thirst  of  fame  invites, 
Burns  to  encounter  two  adventurous  knights 
At  ombre  singly  to  decide  their  doom, 
And  swells  her  breast  with  conquests  yet  to 

come. 
Straight  the  three  bands  prepare  in  arms  to 

join, 
Each  band  the  number  of  the  sacred  nine. 
Soon  as  she  spreads  her  hand, the  aerial  guard 
Descend,  and  sit  on  each  important  card: 
First  Ariel  perched  upon  a  matadore. 
Then  each  according  to  the  rank  they  bore ; 
For  sylphs,  yet  mindful  of  their  ancient  race. 
Are,  as  when  women,  wondrous  fond  of  place. 

Behold ;  four  kings  in  majesty  revered, 
"With  hoary  whiskers  and  a  forky  beard ; 
And  four  fair  queens,  whose  hands  sustain  a 

flower. 
The  expressive  emblem  of  their  softer  power ; 
Four  knaves,  in  garbs  succinct,  a  trusty  band, 
Caps  OQ  their  heads,  and  halberts  in  their 

hand; 
And  parti-colored  troops,  a  shining  train, 
Draw  forth  to  combat  on  the  velvet  plain. 
The  skilful  nymph  reviews  her  force  with 

care ; 
"Let    spades  be    trumps!"    she   said,   and 

trumps  they  were. 
Now  move  to  war  her  sable  matadores, 
In  show  like  leaders  of  the  swarthy  Moors. 
Spadillio  first,  unconquerable  lord ! 
Led  off  two  captive  trumps,  and  swept  the 

board. 
As  many  more  Manillio  forced  to  yield. 
And  marched  a  victor  from  the  verdant  field. 
Him  Basto  followed,  but  his  fate  more  hard 
Gained  but  one  trump  and  one  plebeian  card. 
With  his  broad  sabre  next,  a  chief  in  years. 
The  hoary  majesty  of  spades  appears. 
Puts  forth  one  manly  leg,  to  sight  revealed, 
The  rest  his  many-colored  robe  concealed. 
The  rebel  knave,  who  dares  his  prince  en- 

Proves  the  just  victim  of  his  royal  rage. 
E'en  mighty  Pam,  that  kings  and  queens  o'er- 

threw. 
And  mowed  down  armies  iu  the  fights  of 

loo. 


Sad  chance  of  Avar  !  now  destitute  of  aid, 
Falls  undistinguished  by  the  victor  spade ! 

Thus  far  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield ; 
Now  to  the  baron  fate  inclines  the  field. 
His  warlike  .amazon  her  host  invades, 
The  imperial  consort  of  the  crown  of  spades. 
The  club's  black  tyrant  first  her  victim  died. 
Spite   of  his  haughty  mien  and  barbarous 

pride : 
What  boots  the  regal  circle  on  his  head. 
His  giant  limbs,  in  state  unwieldy  spread — 
That  long  behind  he  trails  his  pompous  robe. 
And,  of  all  monarchs,  only  grasps  the  globe? 
The  baron  now  his  diamonds  pours  apace  ; 
The  embroidered  king  who  shows  but  half  his 

face. 
And  his  refulgent  queen,  with  powers  com- 
bined, 
Of  broken  troops  an  easy  conquest  find. 
Clubs,    diamonds,  hearts,   in   wild  disorder 

seen, 
With  throngs  promiscuous  strew  the  level 

green. 
Thus  when  dispersed  a  routed  army  runs, 
Of  Asia's  troops,  and  Afric's  sable  sons — 
With  like  confusion  different  nations  fly. 
Of  various  habit,  and  of  various  dye ; 
The  pierced  battalions  disunited  fall 
In  heaps  on  heaps — one  fate  o'erwh elms  them 

all. 
The  knave  of  diamonds  tries  his  wily  arts. 
And  wins  (oh,  shameful  chance  !)  the  queen 

of  hearts. 
At  this  the  blood  the  virgin's  cheek  forsook, 
A  livid  paleness  spreads  o'er  all  her  look ; 
She  sees,  and  trembles  at  the  approaching  ill, 
Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin,  and  codille. 
And  now  (as  oft  in  some  distempered  state) 
On  one  nice  trick  depends  the  general  fate: 
An  ace  of  hearts  steps  forth ;  the  king  unseen 
Lurked  in  her  hand,  and  mourneclhis  captive 

queen ; 
He  springs  to  vengeance  Avith  an  eager  pace. 
And  falls  like  thunder  on  the  prostrate  ace. 
The  nymph,  exulting,  fills  Avith  shouts  the 

sky; 
The  Avails,  the  Avoods,  and  long  canals  reply. 
O    thoughtless  mortals !  ever  blind  to  fatt, 
Too  soon  dejected,  and  too  soon  elate ! 
Sudden  these  honors  shall  be  snatched  aAvay, 
And  cursed  for  ever  this  victorious  day. 


THE    RAPE    OF    THE    LOCK, 


411 


For  lo !  the  board  with  cups  and  spoons  is 
crowned ; 
The  berries  crackle,  and  the  mill  turns  round ; 
On  shining  altars  of  japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp;  the  fiery  spirits  blaze; 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors  glide, 
While  China's  earth  receives  the  smoking  tide. 
At  once  they  gratify  their  scent  and  taste, 
And  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 
Straight  hover  round  the  fair  her  airy  band  : 
Some,  as  she  sipped,  the  fuming  liquor  fanned ; 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  dis- 
played, 
Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade. 
Coffee  (which  makes  the  politician  wise, 
And  see  through  all  things  with  his  half-shut 

eyes) 
Sent  up  in  vapors  to  the  baron's  brain 
New  stratagems,  the  radiant  lock  to  gain. 
Ah  cease,  rash  youth !  desist  ere  't  is  too  late; 
Fear  the  just  gods,  and  think  of  Scylla's  fate ! 
Changed  to  a  bird,  and  sent  to  flit  in  air, 
She  dearly  pays  for  Nisus'  injured  hair! 
But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their 
will. 
How  soon  they  find  fit  instruments  of  ill ! 
Just  then,  Clarissa  drew  with  tempting  grace 
A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case : 
So  ladies,  in  romance,  assist  their  knight — 
Present  the  spear  and  arm  him  for  the  fight. 
He  takes  the  gift  with  reverence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends; 
This  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread. 
As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her 

head. 
Swift  to  the  lock  a  thousand  sprites  repair, 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the 

hair ; 
And  thrice  tliey  twitched  the  diamond  in  her 

ear; 
Thrice  she  looked  back,  and  thrice  the  foe 

drew  near. 
Just  in  that  instant,  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  tlie  virgin's  thought : 
As  on  the  nosegay  ia  her  breast  reclined, 
He  watched  the  ideas  rising  in  her  mind. 
Sudden  he  viewed,  in  spite  of  all  her  art. 
An  earthly  lover  lurking  at  her  heart. 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  power  ex- 
pired, 
Resigned  to  fate,  and  with  a  sigh  retired. 


The  peer  now  spreads  the  glittering  forfex 

wide, 
T'  enclose  the  lock;  now  joins  it,  to  divide. 
E'en  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 
A  wretched  sylph  too  fondly  interposed ; 
Fate  urged  the  shears,  and  cut  the  sy]]A'i  in 

twain, 
(But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again :) 
The  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  for  ever,  and  for  ever  I 
Then  flashed  the  living  lightning  from  her 

eyes. 
And  screams  of  horror  rend  the  affrighted 

skies. 
Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  Heaven   are 

cast 
When  husbands,    or  when  lapdogs,  breathe 

their  last ; 
Or  when  rich  china  vessels,  fallen  from  high, 
In  glittering  dust  and  painted  fragments  lie! 
"Let  wreaths  of  triumph  now  my  temples 

twine," 
The  victor  cried   "  the  glorious  prize  is  mine ! 
While  fish  in  streams,  or  birds  delight  in  air ; 
Or  in  a  coach  and  six  the  British  fair ; 
As  long  as  Atalantis  shall  be  read, 
Or  the  small  pillow  grace  a  lady's  bed ; 
While  visits  shall  be  paid  on  solemn  days. 
When  numerous  wax-lights  in  bright  order 

blaze ; 
While  nymphs  take  treats,  or  assignations 

give. 
So  long  my  honor,  name,  and    praise  shall 

live! 
What  time  would  spare,  from  steel  receives 

its  date ; 
And  monuments,  like  men,  submit  to  fate ! 
Steel  could  the  labor  of  the  gods  destroy. 
And  strike  to  dust  the  imperial  towers  of 

Troy  ; 
Steel  could  the  works  of  mortal  pride  con- 
found. 
And  hew  triumphal  arches  to  the  ground. 
What  wonder  then,  fair  nymph!    thy  hairs 

should  feel 
The  conquering  force  of  unresisted  steel  ? " 


CANTO   IV. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  nymph  opprest, 
And  secret  passions  labored  in  her  breast. 


412 


rOEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


Xot  youtlii'ul  kings  in  battle  seized  alive ; 
Not  scornful  virgins  wbo  their  cbarnis  survive ; 
Not  ardent  lovers  robbed  of  all  their  bliss ; 
Not  ancient  ladies  when  refused  a  kiss ; 
Not  tyrants  fierce  that  nnrcpenting  die ; 
Not    Cynthia  when    her    mantua's  pinned 

awry, 
E'er  felt  such  rage,  resentment,  and  despair, 
As  thou,  sad  virgin !  for  thy  ravished  hair. 
For,  that  sad  moment,  when  the  sylphs 
withdrew. 
And  Ariel  weeping  from  Belinda  flew, 
Umbriel,  a  dusky,  melancholy  sprite. 
As  ever  sullied  the  fair  face  of  light, 
Down  to  the  central  earth,  his  proper  scene, 
Repaired  to  search  the  gloomy  cave  of  Spleen, 

Swift  on  his  sooty  pinions  flits  the  gnome, 
And  in  a  vapor  reached  the  dismal  dome. 
No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows; 
The  dreaded  east  is  all  the  wind  that  blows. 
Here  in  a  grotto  sheltered  close  from  air. 
And  screened  in  shades  from  day's  detested 

glare. 
She  sighs  for  ever  on  her  pensive  bed, 
Pain  at  her  side,  and  Megrim  at  her  head. 
Two  handmaids  wait  the  throne;   alike  in 
place, 
But  differing  far  in  figure  and  in  face. 
Here  stood  Ill-nature,  like  an  ancient  maid, 
Her  wrinkled  form  in  black  and  white  ar- 
rayed ; 
"With  store  of  prayers  for  mornings,  nights, 

and  noons, 
Her  hand  is  filled ;  her  bosom  with  lampoons. 
There  Afifectation  with  a  sickly  mien. 
Shows  in  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen ; 
Practised  to  lisp,  and  hang  the  head  aside, 
Faints  into  airs,  and  languishes  with  pride ; 
On  the  rich  quilt  sinks  with  becoming  woe, 
Wrapt  in  a  gown,  for  sickness,  and  for  show — 
The  fair  ones  feel  such  maladies  as  these, 
"When  each  new  night-dress  gives  a  new  dis- 
ease. 
A  constant  vapor  o'er  the  palace  flies ; 
Strange  phantoms  rising  as  the  mists  arise — 
Dreadful,   as    hermits'   dreams    in    haunted 

shades. 
Or  bright,  as  visions  of  expiring  maids. 
Now  glaring  fiends,  and  snakes   on  rolling 

spires, 
Pale  spectres,  gaping  tombs,  and  purple  fires; 


Now  lakes  of  liquid  gold,  Elysian  scenes, 
And  crystal  domes,  and  angels  in  machines. 
Unnumbered  throngs  on  every  side   are 
seen, 
Of  bodies  changed  to  various  forms  by  Spleen. 
Here  living  teapots  stand,  one  arm  held  out, 
One  bent — the  handle  this,  and  that  the  spout; 
A  pipkin  there,  like  Homer's  tripod  walks ; 
Here  sighs  ajar,  and  there  a  goose-pie  talks; 
Men  prove   with   child,   as  powerful  fancy 

works ; 
And  maids,   turned  bottles,   call  aloud  for 
corks. 
Safe  passed  the  gnome  through  this  fantastic 
band, 
A  branch  of  healing  spleenwort  in  his  hand. 
Then  thus  addressed  the  power — "  Hail,  way- 
ward queen ! 
"Who  rule  the  sex  to  fifty  from  fifteen ; 
Parent  of  vapors  and  of  female  wit, 
"Who  give  the  hysteric  or  poetic  fit, 
On  various  tempers  act  by  various  ways. 
Make  some  take  physic,  others  scribble  plays ; 
"Who  cause  the  proud  their  visits  to  delay, 
And  send  the  godly  in  a  pet  to  pray. 
A  nymph  there  is  that  all  your  power  dis- 
dains, 
And  thousands  more  in  equal  mirth  maintains. 
But  oh !  if  e'er  thy  gnome  could  spoil  a  grace, 
Or  raise  a  pimple  on  a  beauteous  face, 
Like  citron-waters  matrons'  cheeks  inflame, 
Or  change  complexions  at  a  losing  game — 
If  e'er  with  airy  horns  I  planted  heads. 
Or  rumpled  petticoats,  or  tumbled  beds, 
Or  caused  suspicion  when  no  soul  was  rude, 
Or  discomposed  the  headdress  of  a  prude, 
Or  e'er  to  costive  lapdog  gave  disease, 
"Which  not  the  tears  of  brightest  eyes  could 

ease — 
Hear  me,  and  touch  Belinda  with  chagrin ; 
That  single   act  gives  half   the  world  the 
spleen." 
The  goddess,  with  a  discontented  air. 
Seems  to  reject  him,  though  she  grants  his 

prayer. 
A  wondrous  bag  with  both  her  hands  she 

binds. 
Like  that  when  once  Ulysses  held  the  winds; 
There  she  collects  the  force  of  female  lungs. 
Sighs,   sobs,    and  passions,  and  the  war  of 
tongues. 


THE    RAPE    OF    THE    LOCK. 


413 


A  vial  next  she  fills  with  fainting  fears, 
Soft  sorrows,  melting  griefs,  and  flowing  tears. 
The  gnome  rejoicing  bears  her  gifts  away. 
Spreads  his  black  wings,  and  slowly  mounts 

to  day. 
Sunk  in  Thalestris'  ai-ms  the  nymph  he 

found. 
Her  eye  dejected,  and  her  hair  unbound. 
FuU  o'er  their  heads  the  swelling  bag  he 

rent. 
And  all  the  furies  issued  at  the  vent. 
Belinda  burns  with  more  than  mortal  ire. 
And  fierce  Thalestris  fans  the  rising  fire. 
"  O  wretched  maid !  "  she  spread  her  hands 

and  cried, 
(While  Hampton's  echoes,  "  Wretched  maid," 

replied,) 
"  Was  it  for  this  you  took  such  constant  care 
The  bodkin,  comb,  and  essence  to  prepare  ? 
For  this  your  locks  in  paper  durance  bound  ? 
For    this    with    torturing    irons    wreathed 

around  ? 
For  this  with  fillets    strained  your  tender 

head? 
And  bravely  bore  the  double  loads  of  lead? 
Gods !  shall  the  ravisher  display  your  hair. 
While  the  fops  envy,  and  the  ladies  stare? 
Honor  forbid!  at  whose  unrivalled  shrine 
Ease,  pleasure,  virtue,  all  our  sex  resign. 
Methinks  already  I  your  tears  survey, 
Already  hear  the  horrid  things  they  say ; 
Already  see  you  a  degraded  toast, 
And  all  your  honor  in  a  whisper  lost ! 
How  shall  I,  then,  your  hapless  fame  defend? 
'T  will  then  be  infamy  to  seem  your  friend ! 
And  shall  this  prize,  the  inestimable  prize, 
Exposed  through  crystal  to  the  gazing  eyes. 
And  heightened  by  the  diamond's  circling 

rays. 
On  that  rapacious  hand  for  ever  blaze  ? 
Sooner  shall  grass  in  Hyde  pai-k  circus  grow. 
And  wits  take  lodgings  in  the  sound  of  Bow ; 
Sooner  let  earth,  air,  sea,  to  chaos  fall, 
Men,  monkeys,  lapdogs,  parrots,  perish  all !  " 
She  said;  then,  raging,  to  Sir  Plume   re- 
pairs. 
And  bids  her  beau  demand  the  precious  hairs. 
Sir  Plume,  of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain. 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane, 
Witli  earnest  eyes,  and  round,  unthinking  face, 
He  first  the  snuff-box  opened,  then  the  case, 


And  thus  broke  out — "My  lord,  why,  what 

the  devil ! 
Z — ds !  damn  the  lock !  'fere  Gad,  you  must 

be  civil! 
Plague  on 't !  't  is  past  a  jest — nay,  prithee, 

pox! 
Give  her  the  hair." — He  spoke,  and  rapped 

his  box. 
"It  grieves  me  much   (replied  the  peer 

again) 
Who  speaks  so  well  should  ever  speak  in 

vain ; 
But  by  this  lock,  this  sacred  lock,  I  swear, 
(Which  never  more  shall  join  its  parted  hair ; 
Which  never  more  its  honors  shall  renew. 
Clipped  from  the  lovely  head  where  late  it 

grew,) 
That,  while  my  nostrils  draw  the  vital  air. 
This  hand,  which  won  it,  shall  for  ever  wear." 
He  spoke,  and  speaking,  in  proud  triumph 

spread 
The  long-contended  honors  of  her  head. 
But  Umbriel,  hateful  gnome,  forbears  not 

so; 
He  breaks  the  vial  whence  the  sorrows  flow. 
Then  see !  the  nymph  in  beauteous  grief  ap- 
pears. 
Her  eyes  half-languishing,  half  drowned  in 

tears ; 
On   her  heaved  bosom  hung  her  drooping 

head. 
Which  with  a  sigh  she  raised,  and  thus  she 

said: 
"  For  ever  cursed  be  this  detested  day, 
Which  snatched  my  best,  my  favorite  curl 

away ; 
Happy !  ah  ten  times  happy  had  I  been, 
If  Hampton  Court  these  eyes  had  never  seen  1 
Yet  am  not  I  the  first  mistaken  maid. 
By  love  of  courts  to  numerous  ills  betrayed. 
Oh  had  I  rather  unadmircd  remained 
In  some  lone  isle,  or  distant  northern  land ; 
Where  the  gilt  chariot  never  marks  the  way, 
Where  none  learn  ombre,   none  e'er  taste 

bohea ! 
There  kept  my  charms  concealed  from  mortal 

eye, 
Like  roses,  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die. 
What  moved  my  mind  with  youthful  lords  to 

roam  ? 
Oh  had  I  stayed,  and  said  my  prayers  at  home ! 


4  14 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY 


'T  -was  this  the  morning  omens  seemed  to  tell, 
Thrice  from  my  trembling  hand  the  patchbox 

fell ; 
The  tottering  china  shook  ■without  a  wind, 
Nay,  Poll  sat  mute,  and  Shock  was  most  un- 
kind! 
A  sylph,  too,  warned  me  of  the  threats  of 

fate, 
In  mystic  visions,  now  believed  too  late ! 
See  the  poor  remnant  of  these  slighted  hairs  I 
My  hands  shall  rend  what  e'en  thy  rapine 

spares : 
These  in  two  sable  ringlets  taught  to  break, 
Once  gave  new  beauties  to  the  snowy  neck ; 
The  sister-lock  now  sits  uncouth,  alone. 
And  in  its  fellow's  fate  foresees  its  own ; 
Uncurled  i-t  hangs,  the  fatal  shears  demands. 
And  tempts  once  more  thy  sacrilegious  hands. 
Oh  hailst  thou,  cruel!  been  content  to  seize 
Hairs  less  in  sight,  or  any  hairs  but  these !  " 

CANTO  y. 

She  said:  the  pitying  audience  melt  in  tears; 

But  Fate  and  Jove  had  stopped  the  baron's 
ears. 

In  vain  Thalestris  with  reproach  assails, 

For  who  can  move  when  fair  Belinda  fails? 

Not  half  so  fixed  the  Trojan  could  remain. 

While  Anna  begged  and  Dido  raged  in  vain. 

Then  grave  Clarissa  graceful  waved  her  fan ; 

Silence  ensued,  and  thus  the  nymph  began : 
"Say,  why  are  beauties  praised  and  hon- 
ored most, 

The  wise  man's  passion,  and  the  vain  man's 
toast? 

Why  decked  with  all  that  land  and  sea  afford? 

Why  angels  called,  and  angel-like  adored? 

Why  round  our  coaches   crowd  the  white- 
gloved  beaux  ? 

Why  bows  the  side-box  from  its  inmost  rows? 

How  vain  are  all  these  glories,  all  our  pains. 

Unless  good  sense  preserve  what  beauty  gains ; 

That  men  may  say,  when  we  the  front-box 
grace. 

Behold  the  first  in  virtue  as  in  face ! 

Oh  I  if  to  dance  all  night,  and  dress  all  day, 

Charmed  the  srnall-pox,  or  chased  old  age 
away, 

Who  would  not  scorn  what  housewife's  cares 
produce. 

Or  who  would  learn  one  earthly  thing  of  use? 


To  patch,  nay  ogle,  might  become  a  saint; 
Nor  could  it,  sure,  be  such  a  sin  to  paint. 
But  since,  alas !  frail  beauty  must  decay ; 
Curled  or  uncurled,  since  locks  will  turn  to 

gray ; 
Smce  painted,  or  not  painted,  all  shall  fade. 
And  she  who  scorns  a  man  must  die  a  maid ; 
What  then  remains,  but  well  our  power  to 

use. 
And  keep  good  humor  still,  whate'er  we  lose? 
And  trust  me,  dear,  good  humor  can  prevail, 
When  airs,    and  flights,   and    screams,   and 

scolding  fail. 
Beauties  in  vain  their  pretty  eyes  may  roll — 
Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins  the 

soul." 
So  spoke  the  dame,  but  no  applause  ensued ; 
Belinda  frowned,  Thalestris  called  her  prude. 
"To  arms,  to  arms!"  the  fierce  virago  cries. 
And  swift  as  lightning  to  the  combat  flies. 
All  side  in  parties,  and  begin  the  attack ; 
Fans  clap,  silks  rustle,  and  tough  whalebones 

crack ; 
Heroes'  and  heroines'  shouts  confusedly  rise, 
And  bass  and  treble  voices  strike  the  skies. 
No  common   weapons    in  their  hands    are 

found — 
Like   gods  they  fight,  nor  dread  a  mortal 

wound. 
So  when  bold  Homer  makes  the  gods  en- 
gage, 
And  heavenly  breasts  with  human  passions 

rag«; 
'Gainst  Pallas  Mars;  Latona  Hermes  arms ; 
And  all  Olympus  rings  with  loud  alarms ; 
Jove's  thunder  roars,   heaven  trembles   all 

around. 
Blue  Neptune  storms,  the  bellowing  deeps  re- 
sound ; 
Earth  shakes  her  nodding  towers,  the  ground 

gives  way. 
And  the  pale  ghosts  start  at  the  flash  of  day! 
Triumphant  Umbriel,  on  a  sconce's  height, 
Clapped  his  glad  wings,  and  sat  to  view  the 

fight; 
Propped  on  their  bodkin-spears,  the  sprites 

survey 
The  growing  combat,  or  assist  the  fray. 
While  through  the  press  enraged  Thalestris 

flies. 
And  scatters  death  around  from  both  her  eyes 


THE    RAPE    OF    THE    LOCK. 


415 


A  bean  and  witling  perished  in  the  throng — 
One  died  in  metaphor,  and  one  in  song : 
"O  cruel  nymph!  a  living  death  I  bear,'' 
Cried  Dapperwit,  and  sunk  beside  his  chair. 
A  mournful  glance  Sir  Fopling  upward  cast, 
"  Those  eyes  are  made  so  killing  " — was  his 

last. 
Thus  on  Mseanders  flowery  margin  lies 
The  expiring  swan,  and  as  he  sings  he  dies. 
When  bold  Sir  Plume  had  drawn  Clarissa 
down, 
Chloe  stepped  in,  and  killed  him  with  a  frown ; 
She  smiled  to  see  the  doughty  hero  slain, 
But  at  her  smile  the  beau  revived  again. 

Now  Jove  suspends  his  golden  scales  in  air. 
Weighs  the  men's  wits  against  the  lady's  hair; 
The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  to 

side; 
At  length  the  wits  mount  up,  the  hairs  sub- 
side. 
See,  fierce  Belinda  on  the  baron  flies. 
With  more  than  usual  lightning  in  her  eyes; 
N"or  feared  the  chief  th'  unequal  fight  to  try, 
Who  sought  no  more  than  on  his  foe  to  die. 
But  this  bold  lord,  with  manly  strength  en- 
dued. 
She  with  one  finger  and  a  thumb  subdued : 
Just  where  the  breath  of  life  his  nostrils  drew, 
A  charge  of  snuff  the  wily  virgin  threw ; 
The  gnomes  direct,  to  every  atom  just, 
The  pungent  grains  of  titillating  dust. 
Sudden,  with  starting  tears  each  eye  o'erflows, 
And  the  high  dome  reechoes  to  his  nose. 
"  Now  meet  thy  fate !  "  incensed  Belinda 
cried. 
And  drew  a  deadly  bodkin  from  her  side. 
(The  same,  his  ancient  personage  to  deck, 
Her  great-great-grandsire  wore  about  his  neck. 
In    three    seal-rings ;    which    after,   melted 

down. 
Formed  a  vast  buckle  for  his  widow's  gown; 
Her  infant  grandaine's  whistle  next  it  grew — 
The  bells  she  jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew; 
Tlien  in  a  bodkin  graced  her  mother's  hairs. 
Which    long    she   wore,    and    now  Belinda 
wears.) 
"Boast  not  my  fall  (he   cried),  insulting 
foe! 
Thou  by  some  other  shalt  be  laid  as  low  ; 
Nor  think  to  die  dejects  my  lofty  mind ; 
All  that  I  dread  is  leaving  you  behind ! 


Rather  than  so,  ah  let  me  still  survive. 
And  burn  m  Cupid's  flames — but  burn  alive." 
"Restore  the  lock!"    she  cries;    and  all 

around 
"Restore  the  lock!"    the  vaulted  roofs  re- 
bound. 
Not  flerce  Othello  in  so  loud  a  strain 
Roared  for  the  handkerchief  that  caused  his 

pain. 
But  see  how  oft  ambitious  aims  are  crossed, 
And  chiefs  contend  till  all  the  prize  is  lost! 
The  lock,  obtained  with  guilt,  and  kept  with 

pain, 
In  every  place  is  sought,  but  sought  in  vain; 
With  such  a  prize  no  mortal  must  be  blest. 
So  heaven  decrees!    with  heaven  who   can 

contest  ? 
Some   thought  it  mounted  to   the  lunar 

sphere. 
Since  all  things  lost  on  earth  are  treasured 

there ; 
There  heroes'  wits  are   kept  in  ponderous 

vases, 
And  beaux'  in  snuff-boxes  and  tweezer-cases; 
There  broken  vows,  and  deathbed  alms  are 

found. 
And  lovers'  hearts  with  ends  of  ribbon  bound, 
The    courtier's    promises,    and    sick    men's 

prayers. 
The  smiles  of  harlots,  and  the  tears  of  heirs, 
Cages  for  gnats,  and  chains  to  yoke  a  flea, 
Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  casuistry. 

But  trust  the  Muse — she  saw  it  upward  rise. 
Though  marked  by  none  but  quick  poetic 

eyes : 
(So  Rome's   great  founder  to  the  heavens 

withdrew. 
To  Proculus  alone  confessed  in  view  ;) 
A  sudden  star,  it  shot  through  liquid  air. 
And  drew  behind  a  radiant  trail  of  hair. 
Not  Berenice's  locks  first  rose  so  bright, 
The  heavens  bespangling  with  dish-evelled 

light. 
The  sylphs  behold  it  kindling  as  it  flies, 
And,  pleased,  pursue  its  progress  through  the 

skies. 
This  the  beau  monde  shall  from  the  Mall 

survey. 
And  hail  with  music  its  propitious  ray ; 
This  the  blest  lover  shall  for  Venus  take, 
And  send  up  vov.'s  from  Rosamonda's  lake ; 


416 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


This  rartfidge  soon  shall  view  in  cloudless 
skies 

"When  next  he  looks  through  Galileo's  eyes ; 

And  hence  the  egregious  wizard  shall  fore- 
doom 

The  fate  of  Louis,  and  the  fall  of  Rome. 
Then  cease,  bright  nymph !  to  mourn  thy 
ravished  hair, 

Which  adds  new  glory  to  the  shining  sphere! 

Not  all  the  tresses  that  fair  head  can  boast, 

Shall  draw  such  envy  as  the  lock  you  lost. 

For  after  all  the  murders  of  your  eye, 

When,  after  millions  slain,  yourself  shall  die ; 

When  those  fair  suns  shall  set,  as  set  they 
must. 

And  all  those  tresses  shall  be  laid  in  dust — 

This  lock  the  Muse  shall  consecrate  to  fame, 

And  'midst  the  stars  inscribe  Belinda's  name. 

Alexander  Pope. 


THE  DIVERTING  HISTORY  OF  JOHN 
GILPIN, 

6H0WIXG    now   HE    WEXT    FAETHEK    THAN    HE 
INTENDED,    AND    CAME   SAFE    HOME   AGAIN". 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown ; 
A  trainband  captain  eke  was  he. 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear — 
"  Though  wedded  we  have  been 

These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  Ave 
No  holiday  have  seen. 

"  To-morrow  is  our  wedding  day. 

And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

"  My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child, 

Myself,  and  children  three, 
Will  fill  the  chaise ;  so  you  must  ride 

On  horseback  after  we." 

He  soon  replied,  "  I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one, 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear ; 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 


"  I  am  a  linendraper  bold, 

As  all  the  world  doth  know ; 
And  my  good  friend,  the  calender, 

Will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  "  That's  well  said ; 

And,  for  that  wine  is  dear. 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own. 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear." 

John  Gilpin  kissed  Ms  loving  wife ; 

O'erjoyed  was  he  to  find 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent, 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought. 

But  yet  was  not  allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stayed 

Where  they  did  all  get  in — 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  wen     tuO 
wheels — 

Were  never  folks  so  glad  ; 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath, 

As  if  Oheapside  were  mad, 

John  Gilpin  at  Ms  horse's  side 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane. 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride — 

But  soon  came  down  again : 

For  saddletree  scarce  reached  had  ht, 

His  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came :  for  loss  of  time. 

Although  it  grieved  him  sore. 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew. 

Would  trouble  Mm  much  more. 

'T  was  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind ; 
When  Betty,  screaming,  came  down  stairs — 

"  The  wine  is  left  behind !  " 


THE    HISTORY    OF    JOHN    GILPIN. 


417 


"Good  lack!"  quoth  he — "yet  bring  it  me, 

My  leathern  belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword 

When  I  do  exercise." 

^ISTow  Mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul !) 

Had  two  stone  bottles  found. 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 

And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear, 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew. 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side. 
To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  and  neat, 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones, 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  well  shod  feet, 
Tlie  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 

Which  galled  him  in  his  seat. 

So,  "Fair  and  softly,"  John  he  cried. 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

fSo  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

Who  cannot  sit  upright. 
He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands, 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

[lis  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

(Vway  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out. 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow — the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamer  long  and  gay ; 
J.'ill,  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 
57 


Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

The  bottles  he  had  slung — 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side. 

As  Ijath  been  said  or  sung. 

Tlie  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed, 

Up  flew  the  windoAvs  all ; 
And  every  soul  cried  out,  "  Well  done  !  " 

As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin — who  but  he  ? 

His  fame  soon  spread  around — 
"  He  carries  weight !  he  rides  a  race ! 

'  Tis  for  a  thousand  pound!" 

And  still  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'  Twas  wonderful  to  vicAV 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low. 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road, 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen. 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 

As  they  had  basted  been. 

But  still  he  seemed  to  carry  weight. 

With  leathern  girdle  braced ; 
For  all  might  see  the  bottle  necks 

Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  did  he  play. 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay ; 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

" Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin !  here 's thehouse, 

They  all  at  once  did  cry  ; 
"  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired: " 

Said  Gilpin—"  So  am  I ! " 


418                                                    POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  -whit 

Incliued  to  tarry  there ; 
For  why  ? — his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  oft",  at  Ware. 

Said  John,  "  It  is  my  wedding  day, 
And  all  the  world  would  stare 

If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 
And  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, 
Shot  by  an  archer  strong ; 

So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to 
The  middle  of  my  song. 

So  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said 

"  I  am  in  haste  to  dine ; 
' Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  liero- 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine." 

Away  went  Gilpin  out  of  breath, 
And  sore  against  his  will, 

Till  at  his  friend  the  calender's 
Ills  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

Ah,  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast, 
For  which  he  paid  full  dear ! 

For,  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 
Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear; 

The  calender,  amazed  to  see 
His  neighbor  iu  such  trim, 

Laid  down  his  pij^e,  flew  to  the  gate. 
And  thus  accosted  him : 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  galloped  off  with  all  his  might. 

As  he  had  done  before. 

"What  news  ?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell ; 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all?" 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig : 

He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first, 
For  why  ? — they  were  too  big. 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 
And  loved  a  timely  joke ; 

And  thus  unto  the  calender 
In  merry  guise  he  spoke : 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 
Her  husband  posting  down 

Into  the  country  far  away. 
She  pulled  out  half  a  crown ; 

"  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come ; 

And,  if  I  well  forebode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 

They  are  upon  the  road." 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said, 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
"  This  shall  be  yours  when  you  bring  back 

My  husband  safe  and  well." 

The  calender,  right  glad  to  find 
His  friend  in  merry  pin, 

Eeturned  him  not  a  single  word. 
But  to  the  house  went  in ; 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 
John  coming  back  amain — 

Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop. 
By  catching  at  his  rein ; 

Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig : 

A  wig  that  flowed  behind, 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear — 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant, 
And  gladly  would  have  done. 

The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more. 
And  made  him  faster  run. 

lie  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 
Thus  showed  his  ready  wit — 

"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours, 
They  therefore  needs  must  fit. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  post-boy  at  his  heels, 
The  post-boy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 
The  lumbering  of  the  wheels. 

"  J>ut  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 
That  hangs  upon  your  face ; 

And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 
Be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road. 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  post-boy  scampering  in  the  rear. 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry : 

SIR    SIDNEY    SMITH. 


419 


"Stop  thief!  stop  thief! — a  higliwayman !  " 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute ; 
And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space ; 
The  toll-men  thinking  as  before, 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too. 

For  he  got  tirst  to  town ; 
Xor  stopped  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing,  long  live  the  king ! 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he  ; 
And  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad, 

ITay  I  be  there  to  see  ! 

"WlLLTAJil   COTTPER. 


AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  GLORY  OF  HER 
SEX,  MRS.  MARY  BLAIZE. 

Good  people  all,  with  one  accord 

Lament  for  Madame  Blaiz'^ 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  wora— 

From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  passed  her  door. 

And  always  found  her  kind ; 
She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 

Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighborhood  to  please 
With  manners  wondrous  winning ; 

And  never  followed  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satin  new. 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size, 

She  never  slumbered  in  her  pew — 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver, 

By  twenty  beaux  and  more  ; 
The  king  himself  has  followed  her — 

When  she  lias  walked  before. 

But  now,  her  wealth  and  finery  fled. 
Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all ; 


The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead — 
Her  last  disorder  mortal. 

Let  us  lament  in  sorrow  sore, 
For  Kent  street  well  may  say, 

That  had  she  lived  a  twelvemonth  more, 
She  ha  d  not  died  to-day. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


SIR  SIDNEY  SMITH. 

Gextlefolks,  in  my  time,  I  've  made  many  a 

rhyme, 
But  the  song  I  now  trouble  you  with. 
Lays   some   claim   to   applause,    and    you  'U 

grant  it,  because 
The  subject's  Sir  Sidney  Smith,  it  is  ; 
The  subject's  Sir  Sidney  Smith. 

We  all  know  Sir  Sidney,  a  man  of  such  kid- 
ney. 

He  'd  fight  every  foe  he  could  meet ; 

Give  him  one  ship  for  two,  and  without  more 
ado, 

He'd  engage  if  he  met  a  whole  fleet,  he 
would, 

He  'd  engage  if  he  met  a  whole  fleet. 

Thus  he  took  every  day,  all  that  came  in  his 

way, 
Till  fortune,  that  changeable  elf, 
Ordered  accidents  so,  that  while  taking  the 

foe. 
Sir  Sidney  got  taken  himself,  he  did, 
Sir  Sidney  got  taken  himself. 

His  captors  right  glad  of  the  prize  they  now 

had. 
Rejected  each  ofter  wo  bid. 
And  swore  he   should   stay  locked  up  till 

doomsday ; 
But  he  swore  he  'd  be  d d  if  he  did,  he 

did ; 
But  he  swore  he  'd  be  hanged  if  he  did. 

So  Sir  Sid  got  away,  and  Iiis  jniler  next  day 
Cried  ''  sacre,  diable,  morbleu, 
Monprisonnier 'scape ;  I  'ave  got  in  von  scrape, 
And  I  fear  I  must  run  away  too,  I  must, 
I  fear  I  must  run  away  too !  " 


420 


rOEMS     OF     COMEDY. 


If  Sir  Sidney  was  wrong,  why  then  blackball 

luy  song, 
E'en  liis  foes  he  would  scorn  to  deceive  ; 
His  escape  was  but  just,  and  confess  it  you 

must,  • 

For  it  only  was  taking  French  leave,  you 

know. 
It  only  was  taking  French  leave. 

Thomas  Dibdik. 


MASSACRE  OF  THE  MACPHERSOi^. 


FnAiRsnox  swore  a  feud 

Against  the  clan  M'Tavish — 
Marched  into  their  land 

To  murder  and  to  rafish ; 
For  he  did  resolve 

To  extirpate  the  vipers, 
"With  four-and-twenty  men. 

And  five-and-thirty  pipers. 

II. 
Bat  when  he  had  gone 

Half-way  down  Strath-Oanaan, 
Of  his  fighting  tail 

Just  three  were  remainln'. 
They  were  all  he  had 

To  back  him  in  ta  battle  ; 
All  the  rest  had  gone 

Off  to  drive  ta  cattle. 

nr. 
•'  Fery  coot !  "  cried  Fhairshon — 

"  So  my  clan  disgraced  is  ; 
Lads,  we  '11  need  to  fight 

Pefore  we  touch  ta  peasties. 
Here  's  Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh 

Coming  wi'  his  fassals — 
Gillies  seventy-three. 

And  sixty  Dhuinewassels  !  " 

IV. 

"  Coot  tay  to  you,  sir ! 

Are  you  not  ta  Fhairshon  ? 
"Was  you  coming  here 

To  visit  any  person  ? 


You  are  a  plackguard,  sir  ? 

It  is  now  six  hundred 
Coot  long  years,  and  more. 

Since  my  glen  was  plundered.'* 


"  Fat  is  tat  you  say? 

Dar  you  cock  your  peaver  ? 
I  will  teach  you,  sir. 

Fat  is  coot  pehaviour ! 
You  shall  not  exist 

For  another  day  more ; 
I  will  shot  you,  sir. 

Or  stap  you  with  my  claymore  1  '• 

TT. 

"I  am  fery  glad 

To  learn  what  you  mention, 
Since  I  can  prevent 

Any  such  intention." 
So  Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh 

Gave  some  warlike  howls, 
Trew  his  skhian-dhu. 

An'  stuck  it  in  his  powels. 

VII. 

In  this  fery  way 

Tied  ta  faliant  Fhau'shon, 
Who  was  always  thought 

A  superior  person. 
Fhairshon  had  a  son. 

Who  married  ISToah's  daughter, 
And  nearly  spoiled  ta  flood 

By  trinking  up  ta  water — 

VIII. 

Which  he  would  have  done, 

I  at  least  believe  it, 
Had  ta  mixture  peen 

Only  half  Glenlivet. 
This  is  all  my  tale  : 

Sirs,  I  hope  't  is  new  t'  ye  I 
Here 's  your  fery  good  healths. 

And  tamn  ta  whu^ky  tuty  ! 

William  Edmondstonk  Aytoum. 


TAM    O'SHANTER. 


421 


TAM  O'SHANTER. 


A   TALE. 


Of  Brownyis  and  of  Bogills  full  is  this  Buke. 

Gawin  Douglass, 

Whex  cliapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  droutliy  neebors  neebors  meet, 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late, 
An'  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate ; 
While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
An'  getting  fou  and  unco  happy, 
"We  think  na  on  the  lang  Scots  miles, 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  styles. 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 
Whare  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame. 
Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm. 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tam  o'  Shanter, 
As  he,  frae  Ayr,  ae  night  did  canter, 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses, 
For  honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses). 

O  Tam !  hadst  thou  been  but  sae  wise 
As  taen  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice ! 
She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  was  a  skellum, 
A  bleth'ring,  blust'ring,  drunken  blellum ; 
That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober ; 
That  ilka  melder,  wi'  the  miller, 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller ; 
That  every  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on, 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on  ; 
That  at  the  L — d's  house,  ev'n  on  Sunday, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirten  Jean  tiU  Monday. 
She  prophesied  that,  late  or  soon. 
Thou  would  be  found  deep  drowned  in  Doon; 
Or  catched  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk. 
By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames !  it  gars  me  greet 
To  think  how  monie  counsels  sweet, 
IIow  monie  lengtlicncd  sage  advices. 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises ! 

But  to  our  tale :  Ae  market  night 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right, 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleczing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely  ; 
And  at  his  elbow  souter  Johnny, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony — 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither — 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither. 


The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter. 
And  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better  ;- 
The  landlady  and  Tam  grew  gracious, 
Wi'  favors  secret,  sweet,  and  precious ; 
The  souter  tauld  jpis  queerest  stories ; 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus ; 
The  storm  without  might  rair  and  rustle, 
Tam  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drowned  himself  amang  the  nappy ; 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure. 
The  minutes  winged  their  way  wi'  pleasure; 
Zings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious. 
O'er  a'  the  iUs  o'  life  victorious. 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread, 
You  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed ; 
Or  like  the  snow-fall  in  the  river, 
A  moment  white — then  melts  for  ever ; 
Or  like  the  boreahs  race. 
That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place ; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form 
Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 
Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide ; 
The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride — 
That  hour  o'  night's  black  arch  the  keystane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  m; 
And  sic  a  night  he  takes  the  road  in 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last ; 
The  rattling  showers  rose  on  the  blast ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallowed ; 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellowed ; 
That  night  a  child  might  understand 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 

Weel  mounted  on  his  gray  mare,  Meg, 
(A  better  never  lifted  leg), 
Tam  skelpit  on  thro'  dub  and  mire, 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire — 
Whyles  holding  fast  his  guid  blue  bonnet, 
Whyles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots  sonnet, 
Whyles  glow'riug  round  wi'  prudent  cares, 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  imawares  ; 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Where  ghaists  and  houlets  niglitly  cry. 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  furd, 
Whare  in  the  snaw  the  chapman  smoored; 
And  past  the  bu-ks  and  meikle  gtaue, 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak  's  neck  bane  ; 
And  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn, 
Whare  hunters  fand  the  murdered  bakn ; 


L 


4"J2 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  tlic  well, 
AYhere  Mango's  mithcr  hanged  hersel. 
Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods: 
The  doubling  storm  roars  through  the  woods ; 
The  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole ; 
Xear  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll ; 
"When  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk  Alloway  seemed  in  a  bleeze ; 
Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancing, 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing. 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn! 
What  dangers  tliou  canst  make  us  scorn  ! 
"Wi'  tippenny  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Wi'  usquabae  we  'h  face  the  Devil ! — 
The    swats    sac  ream'd  in   Tammie's  nod- 
dle, 
Fair  play,  he  cared  na  Deils  a  bodle. 
But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonished. 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonished. 
She  ventured  forward  on  the  light ; 
And,  wow !  Tarn  saw  an  unco  siglit ; 
Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance  : 
Xae  cotillion  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspreys,  and  reels 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 
A  winnock-bunker  in  the  east, 
There  sat  auld  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast — 
A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large — 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge ; 
He  screwed  the  pipes  and  gart  them  skirl. 
Till  roof  an'  rafter  a'  did  dirl. 
Coffins  stood  round  like  open  presses, 
That  shawed  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses; 
And  by  some  devilish  cantrips  sleight. 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light — 
By  which  heroic  Tam  was  able 
To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 
A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  aims ; 
Twa  span-lang,  Avee,  unchristened  bairns ; 
A  thief,  new  cutted  fra  a  rape, 
Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape  ; 
Five  tomahawks,  wi'  bluid  red  rusted ; 
Five  scymitars,  wi'  murder  crusted  ; 
A  garter  which  a  babe  had  strangled  ; 
A  knife  a  father's  throat  had  mangled. 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft — 
The  gray  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ; 
Tliree  lawyers'  tongues  turned  inside  out, 
Wi'  lies  seamed  like  a  beggar's  clout ; 
And  priests'  hearts,  rotten,  black  as  muck. 
Lay  stinking,  vile,  in  every  neuk : 


Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu' 

Wliich  cv'u  to  name  would  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glowred,  amazed,  and  curious, 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious ; 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew  ; 
The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew  ; 
They  reeled,  they   set,    they   crossed,    they 

cleckit. 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit. 
And  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark. 
And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark. 

Novr  Tam,  0  Tam !  had  they  been  queans 
A'  plump  and  strapping  in  their  teens : 
Their  sarks,  instead  of  creeshie  flannen, 
Been  snaw- white  seventeen-hunder  linen ; 
Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair, 
That  ance  were  plush,  o'  guid  blue  hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  aff  my  hurdies, 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonnie  burdies ! 

But  withered  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Eigwoodie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal, 
Lowping  an'  flinging  on  a  crummock — 
I  wonder  did  na  turn  thy  stomach. 

But  Tam  kenn'd  what  was  what  fa'  brawlie. 
There  was  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie. 
That  night  inlisted  in  the  core, 
(Lang  after  kenn'd  on  Carrick  shore ! 
For  monie  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot. 
And  perished  monie  a  bonnie  boat. 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear, 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear), 
Her  cutty-sark  o'  Paisley  harn, 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn — 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scanty. 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vaunty. 
Ah  !  little  kenn'd  thy  reverend  grannie 
That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots  (twas  a'  her  riches) — 
Wad  ever  graced  a  dance  o'  witches ! 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun  cower, 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  power ; 
To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang, 
(A  souple  jad  she  was  and  Strang) ; 
And  how  Tam  stood,  like  ane  hewitched, 
And  thought  his  very  een  enriched. 
Ev'n  Satan  glowred,  and  fidged  fu'  fain. 
And  botched  and  blew  wi'  might  and  main 
Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither — 
Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 
And  roars  out,  "  Weel  done,  Cutty-sark !  " 
And  in  an  instant  a'  was  dark ; 


THE    DEVIL'S    THOUGHTS. 


423 


And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied, 
When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied, 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke, 
When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke ; 
As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes, 
When  pop  !  she  starts  before  their  nose ; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd, 
When  Catch  the  thief !  resounds  aloud; 
So  Maggie  runs — the  witches  follow, 
Wi'  raonie  an  eldritch  skreech  and  hollow. 

Ah,  Tarn !    ah,  Tarn !    thou  '11  get  thy  fair- 
in' ! 
In  hell  they  '11  roast  thee  like  a  herrin ! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin' — 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman ! 
Xow,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  key-stane  of  the  brig ; 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss — 
A  running  stream  they  dare  na  cross. 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make. 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake ; 
For  iSTannie,  far  before  the  rest. 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest. 
And  flew  at  Tarn  wi'  furious  ettle : 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle — 
Ae  spring  brought  aff  her  master  hale, 
But  left  behind  her  ain  grey  tail : 
The  carlin  claught  her  by  the  rump, 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

ISTow,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
nk  man  and  mother's  son  take  heed ; 
Whene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclined, 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind, 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joys  o'er  dear, 
Remember  Tarn  o'  Shanter's  mare. 

liOBEKT  BUENS. 


COLOGNE. 

Ix  Kciln,  a  town  of  monks  and  bones. 

And  pavements  fanged  with  murderous  stones, 

And  rags,  and  hags,  and  hideous  wenches — 

I  counted  two  and  seventy  stenches, 

All  well  defined  and  several  stinks ! 

Ye  nymphs  that  reign  o'er  sewers  and  sinks, 

The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  known. 

Doth  wash  your  city  of  Cologne  ; 

But  tell  me,  nymphs  I  what  power  divine 

Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhine  ? 

Sajiuel  Taylou  Coleeidge. 


THE  DEVIL'S  THOUGHTS. 


Feom  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day 

A  walking  the  devil  is  gone. 
To  visit  his  snug  little  farm,  the  earth. 

And  see  how  his  stock  goes  on. 

n. 

Over  the  hiU  and  over  the  dale. 

And  he  went  over  the  plain ; 
And  backward  and  forward  he  switched  his 
long  tail. 

As  a  gentleman  switches  his  cane. 

in. 

And  how  then  was  the  devil  drest? 

Oh !  he  was  in  his  Sunday's  best : 

His  jacket  was  red  and  his  breeches  were 

blue, 
And  there  was  a  hole  where  the  tail  came 

through. 

IV. 

He  saw  a  lawyer  killing  a  viper 

On  a  dunghill  hard  by  his  own  stable ; 

And  the  devil  smiled,  for  it  put  him  in  mind 
Of  Cain  and  his  brother  Abel. 


He  saw  an  apotliecary  on  a  white  horse 

Ride  by  on  his  vocations ; 
And  the  devil  thought  of  his  old  friend 


Death,  in  the  Revelations. 


VI. 


He  saw  a  cottage  with  a  double  coach-house, 

A  cottage  of  gentility; 
And  the  devil  did  grin,  for  his  darling  sin 

Is  pride  that  apes  humility. 


vn. 


He  peeped  into  a  rich  bookseller's  shop — 
Quoth  he,  "  Wo  are  both  of  one  college ! 

For  I  sate,  myself,  like  a  cormorant,  once, 
Hard  by  the  tree  of  knowledge." 


VIII. 


Down  the  river  did  glide,  with  wind  and  with 
tide, 
A  pig  with  vast  celerity ; 


424 


rOEMS     OF     COMEDY. 


And  tlie  devil  looked  wise  as  ho  saw  liow, 

the  while, 
It  cut  its  own  throat.     "  There !  "  quoth  he 

"with  a  smile, 
"  Goes  England's  commercial  prosperity." 

IX. 

As  he  went  through  Cold-Bath  Fields  he  saw 

A  solitary  cell ; 
And  the  devil  was  pleased,  for  it  gave  him  a 
hint 

For  imjiroving  his  prisons  in  hell. 


He  saw  a  turnkey  in  a  trice 

Fetter  a  troublesome  blade ; 
"  Ximbly,"  quoth  he,  "  do  the  fingers  move 

If  a  man  be  but  used  to  his  trade." 

SI. 

He  saw  the  same  turnkey  unfetter  a  man 

With  but  little  expedition ; 
Which  put  him  in  mind  of  the  long  debate 

On  the  slave-trade  abolition. 

XII. 

He  saw  an  old  acquaintance 

As  he  passed  by  a  Methodist  meeting ; 
She  holds  a  consecrated  key, 

And  the  devil  nods  her  a  greeting. 

xni. 

She  turned  up  her  nose,  and  said, 
"  Avaunt ! — my  name  's  Eeligion!  " 

And  slie  looked  to  Mr.  , 

And  leered  like  a  love-sick  pigeon. 

XIV. 

He  saw  a  certain  minister, 

A  minister  to  his  mind, 
Go  up  into  a  certain  house, 

AYith  a  majority  behind; 

XV. 

The  devil  quoted  Genesis, 

Like  a  very  learned  clerk. 
How  "  ISToah  and  his  creeping  things 

Went  up  into  the  ark." 


XVI. 

lie  took  from  tlie  poor. 

And  he  gave  to  the  rich. 
And  he  shook  hands  with  a  Scotchman, 

For  he  was  not  afraid  of  the 

*  *  *  * 


General 


XVII. 

burning  face 


He  saw  with  consternation, 
And  back  to  hell  his  way  did  he  take — 
For  the  devil  thought  by  a  slight  mistake 

It  was  a  general  conflagration. 

Samuel  Tatloe  Colekidgb, 


THE  HAG. 

The  hag  is  astride, 

This  night  for  to  ride— 
The  devil  and  she  together ; 

Through  thick  and  through  thin, 

Now  out  and  then  in, 
Though  ne'er  so  foul  be  the  weather. 

A  thorn  or  a  burr 

She  takes  for  a  spur ; 
With  a  lash  of  the  bramble  she  rides  now 

Through  brakes  and  through  briers, 

O'er  ditches  and  mires, 
She  follows  the  spirit  that  guides  now. 

No  beast,  for  his  food. 

Dares  now  range  the  wood, 
But  husht  in  his  lair  he  lies  lurking ; 

While  mischiefs,  by  these, 

On  land  and  on  seas, 
At  noon  of  night  are  a-working. 

The  storm  will  arise. 

And  trouble  the  skies, 
This  night;  and,  more  the  wonder, 

The  ghost  from  the  tomb 

Affrighted  shall  come. 
Called  out  by  the  clap  of  the  thunder. 

EOBEET  HrEEKIK, 


SONG. 


425 


THE  FEEEND  OF  HUMANITY  AND  THE 
XNIFE-GPJNDEK. 

FRIEXD    OF    HUilAXITT. 

"  Needy    knife-grinder !    wliitlier    are    you 

going? 
Rougli  is  the  road ;  your  wheel  is  out  of  order. 
Bleak  blows  the  blast ; — your  hat  has  got  a 

hole  in 't ; 
So  have  your  breeches! 

"  Weary  knife-grinder !  little  think  the  proud 

ones, 
Who  in  their  coaches  roll  along  the  turnpike- 
road,  what  hard  work  't  is  crying  all   day 

'  Knives  and 
Scissors  to  grind  0 ! ' 

"  Tell  me,  knife-grinder,  how  came  you  to 

grind  knives  ? 
Did  some  rich  man  tyrannically  use  you  ? 
Was  it  the  squire?  or  parson  of  the  parish? 

Or  the  attorney? 

"  Was  it  the  squire  for  killing  of  his  game?  or 
Covetous  parson  for  his  tithes  distraining  ? 
Or  roguish  lawyer  made  you  lose  your  little 
AH  in  a  lawsuit  ? 

"  (Have  you  not  read  the  Rights  of  Man,  by 

Tom  Paine?) 
Drops  of  compassion  tremble  on  my  eyelids. 
Ready  to  fall  as  soon  as  you  have  told  your 

Pitiful  story." 


KNIFE-GKIXDEE. 

"  Story !  God  bless  you !  I  liave  none  to  tell, 

sir; 
Only,  last  night,  a-drinking  at  the  Chequers, 
This  poor  old  hat  and  breeches,  as  you  see, 

were 
Torn  in  a  scuffle. 

"  Constables  came  up  for  to  take  me  into 
Custody;  they  took  me  before  the  justice; 
Justice  Oldmixon  put  me  in  the  parish- 
stocks  for  a  vagrant. 
58 


"I   should  be  glad  to  drink  your  honor's 

health  in 
A  pot  of  beer,  if  you  will  give  me  sixpence ; 
But  for  my  part,  I  never  love  to  meddle 
With  politics,  sir." 

FEIEXD   OF  mjMAKITT. 

"  I  give  thee  sixpence !  I  will  see  thee  damned 

first — 
Wretch !  whom  no  sense  of  wrongs  can  rouse 

to  vengeance — 
Sordid,  unfeeling,  reprobate,  degraded, 
Spiritless  outcast ! " 

[Kicks  the  knife-grinder,  overturns  his  wheel,  and  eayit 
■  in  a  transport  of  republican  entlnisiasm  and  uni- 
ter  sal  philanthropy. 1 

Geoege  Canxisg. 


SONG 


OF   OXE   ELEVE^r  TEAES   IX  PRISON. 

WnENE'EE  with  haggard  eyes  I  view 
This  dungeon  that  I  'm  rotting  in, 
I  think  of  those  companions  true 
Who  studied  with  me  at  the  U- 

niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[  Weeps  and  pxills  out  a  Hue  kerchief  icitfi  which  hi 
icipes  his  eyes;  gazing  tenderly  at  it,  he  proceeds ;] 

Sweet  kerchief,  checked  with  heavenly  blue, 

Which  once  my  love  sat  knotting  in — 
Alas,  Matilda  then  was  t-ie ! 
At  least  I  thought  so  a\  rhe  TJ- 

niven'sity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[At  the  repetition  qf  this  line  he  clanks  his  chains  in 
cadence.] 

Barbs !  barbs !  alas !  how  swift  you  flew, 

Her  neat  post-wagon  trotting  in  ! 
Ye  bore  Matilda  from  my  view ; 
Forlorn  I  languished  at  the  TJ- 

niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

This  faded  form !  this  pallid  hue ! 

This  blood  my  veins  is  clotting  in ! 
My  years  a)'e  many — they  were  few 
When  first  I  entered  at  the  U- 

niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 


4-JG 


POEMS    OF     COJTEDY. 


There  first  for  thee  my  passion  grew, 

Sweet,  sweet  Matilda  Pottingen ! 
Thou  wast  the  daughter  of  my  tu- 
tor, law-professor  at  the  U- 

niversity  of  Gottingen, 
diversity  of  Gottingen. 

Sun,  moon,  and  thou,  vain  world,  adieu. 
That  kings  and  priests  are  plotting  in  ; 
Here  doomed  to  starve  on  water  gru- 
el, never  shall  I  see  the  TJ- 

niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[During  the  last  stanza  he  dashes  his  head  repeatedly 
against  the  walla  of  his  prison,  and  finally  so 
hard  as  to  produce  a  visible  contusion.  He  then 
thrones  Jiimself  on  the  floor  in  an  agony.  The  cur- 
tain drops,  the  music  still  continuing  to  play  till  it 
is  Kholly  fallen.] 

Geokge  Canning. 


A  RECEIPT  FOR  SALAD. 

To  make  this  condiment  yom-  poet  begs 

The  pounded  yellow  of  two  hard-boiled  eggs ; 

Two  boiled  potatoes,  passed  through  kitchen 
sieve. 

Smoothness  and  softness  to  the  salad  give ; 

Let  onion  atoms  lurk  within  the  bowl. 

And,  half  suspected,  animate  the  whole  ; 

Of  mordent  mustard  add  a  single  spoon, 

Distrust  the  condiment  that  bites  so  soon ; 

But  deem  it  not,  thou  man  of  herbs,  a  fault 

To  add  a  double  quantity  of  salt ; 

Four  times  the  spoon  with  oil  from  Lucca 
crown. 

And  twice  with  vinegar,  procured  from  town ; 

And  lastly,  o'er  the  flavored  compound  toss 

A  magic  soupgon  of  anchovy  sauce. 

Oh,   green   and  glorious!      Oh,   herbaceous 
treat ! 

'T  would  tempt  the  dying  anchorite  to  eat ; 

Back  to  the  world  he  'd  turn  his  fleeting  soul. 

And  plunge  his  fingers  in  the  salad  bowl ; 

Serenely  full,  the  epicure  would  say, 

"  Fate  cannot  harm  me, — I  have  dmed  to- 
day." 

Sydney  Smith. 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  OPERA; 

OR,  ALMANZOE  AND  IMOGEN. 

An  Opera.,  in  three  Acts. 


SUBJECT   OF  THE   OPERA. 
A  brave  young  prince  a  young  princess  adores ; 
A  combat  kills  him,  but  a  god  restores. 

PROLOGUE. 

A  Musician.    People,  appear,  approach,  ad- 
vance ! 

To  Singers. 
You  that  can  sing,  the  chorus  bearl 

To  Dancers. 
You  that  can  turn  your  toes  out,  dance ! 
Let 's  celebrate  this  faithful  pair. 


ACT  L 

Imogen.    My  love ! 
Almanzoe.  My  soul ! 

Both.        At  length  then  we  unite ! 
People,  sing,  dance,  and  show  us  your  delight  1 
Chorus.    Let's  sing,  and  dance,  and  show 
'era  our  delight. 


ACT  IL 

Imogen.     O  love ! 

[A  noise  of  war.  The  prhice  appears,  pursued  iy  hia 
enemies.  Comlat.  The  princess  faints.  The  prince 
is  mortally  wounded.] 

Almanzoe.     Alas ! 
Imogen.  Ah,  what! 

Almanzoe.  I  die ! 

Imogen.  Ah  me ! 

People,  sing,  dance,  and  show  your  misery ! 
Chorus.    Let 's  sing,  and  dance,  and  show 
our  misery. 


ACT  IIL 

[Pallas  descends  in  a  cloud  to  Almanzor  and  sjieaks.] 
Pallas.     Almanzor,  live ! 
Imogen.     Oh,  bliss! 
Almanzoe.     What  do  I  see  ? 
Teio.     People,  sing,  dance,  and  hail  this 

prodigy ! 
Chorus.    Let's  sing,  and  dance,  and  hail 
this  prodigy. 


Anonymous  TranslatioD. 


ANO^ryMoca.    (French.) 


A    FAREWELL    TO    TOBACCO. 


427 


HYPOCHOXDRIACUS. 

By  myself  walking, 
To  myself  talking 
"When  as  I  ruminate 
On  my  untoward  fate, 
Scarcely  seem  I 
Alone  sufficiently. 
Black  thoughts  continually 
Crowding  my  privacy. 
They  come  unbidden, 
Like  foes  at  a  wedding, 
Thrusting  their  faces 
In  better  guests'  places, 
Peevish  and  malcontent, 
Clownish,  impertinent, 
Dashing  the  merriment : 
So,  in  hke  fashions, 
Dim  cogitations 
Follow  and  haunt  me, 
Striving  to  daunt  me. 
In  my  heart  festering. 
In  my  ears  whispering — 
"Thy  friends  are  treacherous, 
Thy  foes  are  dangerous, 
Thy  dreams  ominous." 

Fierce  anthropophagi. 
Spectres,  diaboli — 
"What  scared  St.  Anthony — 
Hobgoblins,  lemures. 
Dreams  of  antipodes ! 
Night-riding  incubi 
Troubling  the  fantasy, 
AU  dire  illusions 
Causing  confusions : 
Figments  heretical, 
Scruples  fantastical. 
Doubts  diabolical ! 
Abaddon  vexeth  me, 
Mahu  pcrplexeth  me ; 
Lucifer  teareth  me — 

Jesu !  Maria !   liberate  nos  ah   hh  diris 
tentationibis  Inimici. 

Chables  Lamb. 


A  FAREWELL  TO  TOBACCO. 

May  the  Babylonish  curse 

Strait  confound  my  stammering  verse, 

If  I  can  a  passage  see 

In  this  word-perplexity. 

Or  a  fit  expression  find, 

Or  a  language  to  my  mind 

(StiU  the  phrase  is  wide  or  scant), 

To  take  leave  of  thee,  great  plant ! 

Or  in  any  terms  relate 

Half  my  love,  or  half  my  hate ; 

For  I  hate,  yet  love,  thee  so. 

That,  whichever  thing  I  shew. 

The  plain  truth  wiU  seem  to  be 

A  constrained  hyperbole, 

And  the  passion  to  proceed 

More  for  a  mistress  than  a  weed. 


Sooty  retainer  to  the  vine ! 
Bacchus's  black  servant,  negro  fine ! 
Sorcerer !  that  mak'st  us  dote  upon 
Thy  begrimed  complexion, 
And,  for  thy  pernicious  sake. 
More  and  greater  oaths  to  break 
Than  reclaimed  lovers  take 
'G  ain  st  women !     Thou  thy  siege  dost  lay 
Much,  too,  in  the  female  way. 
While  thou  suck'st  the  lab'ring  breath 
Faster  than  kisses,  or  than  death. 

Thou  in  such  a  cloud  dost  bind  us 
That  our  worst  foes  cannot  find  us, 
And  ill  fortune,  that  would  thwart  us. 
Shoots  at  rovers,  shooting  at  us; 
While  each  man,  through  thy  height'ning 

steam. 
Does  like  a  smoking  Etna  seem ; 
And  all  about  us  does  express 
(Fancy  and  wit  iu  richest  dress) 
A  Sicilian  fruitfulness. 


Thou  through  such  a  mist  dost  show  us 
That  our  best  friends  do  not  know  us. 
And,  for  those  allowed  features 
Due  to  reasonable  creatures, 
Liken'st  us  to  fell  chimeras. 
Monsters — that  wlio  see  us,  fear  us; 


42S 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


"Worse  than  Cerberus  or  Gerjon, 
Or,  wlio  first  loved  a  cloud,  Ixion. 

Bacclius  we  know,  and  -we  allow 
llis  tipsy  rites.     But  what  art  thou. 
That  but  by  reflex  can'st  shew 
What  his  deity  can  do — 
As  the  false  Egyptian  spell 
Aped  the  true  Hebrew  miracle  ? 
Some  few  vapors  thou  may'st  raise. 
The  weak  brain  may  serve  to  amaze ; 
But  to  the  reins  and  nobler  heart 
Oan'st  nor  life  nor  heat  impart. 

Brother  of  Bacchus,  later  born  1 
The  old  world  was  sure  forlorn, 
"Wanting  thee,  that  aidest  more 
The  god's  victories  than,  before. 
All  his  panthers,  and  the  brawls 
Of  his  piping  Bacchanals. 
These,  as  stale,  we  disallow. 
Or  judge  of  thee  meant :  only  thou 
His  true  Indian  conquest  art ; 
And,  for  ivy  round  his  dart. 
The  reformed  god  now  weaves 
A  finer  thyrsus  of  thy  leaves. 

Scent  to  match  thy  rich  perfume 
Chemic  art  did  ne'er  presume — 
Through  her  quaint  alembic  strain, 
None  so  sovereign  to  the  brain. 
Nature,  that  did  in  thee  excel, 
Framed  again  no  second  smell. 
Roses,  violets,  but  toys 
For  the  smaller  sort  of  boys, 
Or  for  greener  damsels  meant ; 
Thou  art  the  only  manly  scent. 

Stinkingest  of  the  stinking  kind ! 
Filth  of  the  mouth  and  fog  of  the  mind ! 
Africa,  that  brags  her  foyson, 
Breeds  no  such  prodigious  poison ! 
Henbane,  nightshade,  both  together. 
Hemlock,  aconite 

Nay,  rather, 
Plant  divine,  of  rarest  virtue ! 
Bhsters  on  the  tongue  would  hurt  you  ! 


'T  was  but  in  a  sort  I  blamed  thee ; 

None  e'er  prospered  who  defamed  thee ; 

Irony  all,  and  feigned  abuse, 

Such  as  perplext  lovers  use 

At  a  need,  when,  in  despair 

To  paint  forth  their  fairest  foir, 

Or  in  part  but  to  express 

That  exceeding  comeliness 

Which  their  fancies  doth  so  strike, 

They  borrow  language  of  dislike  ; 

And,  instead  of  dearest  Miss, 

Jewel,  honey,  sweetheart.  Miss, 

And  those  forms  of  old  admiring, 

Call  her  cockatrice  and  siren, 

Basilisk,  and  all  that 's  evil, 

"Witch,  hyena,  mermaid,  devil, 

Ethiop,  wench,  and  blackamoor. 

Monkey,  ape,  and  twenty  more — 

Friendly  trait'ress,  loving  foe — 

Not  that  she  is  truly  so, 

But  no  other  way  they  know, 

A  contentment  to  express 

Borders  so  upon  excess 

That  they  do  not  rightly  wot 

Whether  it  be  from  pain  or  not. 


Or,  as  men,  constrained  to  part 
With  what 's  nearest  to  their  heart. 
While  their  sorrow 's  at  the  height 
Lose  discrimination  quite, 
And  their  hasty  wrath  let  fall. 
To  appease  their  frantic  gall. 
On  the  darling  thing,  whatever, 
Whence  they  feel  it  death  to  sever, 
Though  it  be,  as  they,  perforce, 
Guiltless  of  the  sad  divorce. 


For  I  must  (nor  let  it  grieve  thee, 
Friendliest  of  plants,  that  I  must)  leave 

thee. 
For  thy  sake,  tobacco,  I  ' 
Would  do  anything  but  die. 
And  but  seek  to  extend  my  days 
Long  enough  to  sing  thy  praise. 
But,  as  she,  who  once  hath  been 
A  king's  consort,  is  a  queen 
Ever  after,  nor  will  hate 
Any  tittle  of  her  state  , 


FAITHLESS    XELLIE     GRAY. 


429 


Thougli  a  widow,  or  divorced — 
So  I,  from  thy  converse  forced, 
The  old  name  and  style  retain, 
A  right  Catherine  of  Spain ; 
And  a  seat,  too,  'mongst  the  joys 
Of  the  blest  tobacco  boys ; 
Where  though  I,  by  sour  physician, 
Am  debaiTed  the  full  fruition 
Of  thy  favors,  I  may  catch 
Some  collateral  sweets,  and  snatch 
Sidelong  odors,  that  give  life 
Like  glances  from  a  neighbor's  wife ; 
And  still  live  in  the  by-places 
And  the  suburbs  of  thy  graces ; 
And  in  thy  borders  take  delight, 
An  unconquered  Cauaanite. 

Charles  Laiib. 


FAITHLESS  NELLY  GRAY. 

A  PATHETIC   BALLAD. 

Bex  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold, 
And  used  to  war's  alarms; 

But  a  cannon-ball  took  off  his  legs, 
So  he  laid  down  liis  arms. 


Now  as  they  bore  hhn  off  the  field, 
Said  he,  "Let  others  shoot ; 

For  here  I  leave  my  second  leg. 
And  the  Forty-second  foot." 

The  army-surgeons  made  him  limbs  : 
Said  he,  "  They  're  only  pegs  ; 

But  there 's  as  Avoodcn  members  quite, 
As  represent  my  legs." 

Now  Ben  he  loved  a  pretty  maid — 
Her  name  was  Nelly  Gray ; 

So  he  went  to  pay  her  his  devours, 
When  he  devoured  his  pay. 

But  when  he  called  on  Nelly  Gray, 
She  made  him  quite  a  scoff; 

And  when  she  saw  his  wooden  leg?. 
Began  to  take  thoni  off. 


"  0,  Nelly  Gray!  O,  Nelly  Gray ! 

Is  this  your  love  so  warm  ? 
The  love  that  loves  a  scarlet  coat 

Should  be  more  uniform." 


Said  she,  "I  loved  a  soldier  once, 
For  he  was  blithe  and  brave ; 

But  I  will  never  have  a  man 
"With  both  legs  in  the  grave. 


"  Before  you  had  those  timber  toes 

Your  love  I  did  allow  ; 
But  then,  you  know,  you  stand  upon 

Another  footing  now." 


"  0,  Nelly  Gray !  O,  Nelly  Gray ! 

For  all  your  jeering  speeches, 
At  duty's  call  I  left  my  legs 

In  Badajos's  breaches." 

"  Why  then,"  said  she,  "  you  've  lost  tl.e 
feet 

Of  legs  in  war's  alarms. 
And  now  you  cannot  wear  your  shoes 

Upon  your  feats  of  arms." 

"  0,  false  and  fickle  Nelly  Gray  ! 

I  know  why  you  refuse : 
Though  I've  no  feet,  some  other  man 

Is  standing  in  my  shoes. 


"  I  wish  I  ne'er  had  seen  your  face ; 

But,  now,  a  long  farewell ! 
For  you  will  be  my  death ; — alas ! 

You  will  not  be  my  Nell !  " 


Now  when  he  went  from  Nelly  Gray 

His  heart  so  heavy  got. 
And  life  was  such  a  burden  grown, 

It  made  him  take  a  knot. 


So  round  Ins  melancholy  neck 
A  rope  he  did  entwine. 

And,  for  his  second  time  in  life, 
Enlisted  in  the  line. 


430 


POEMS    or    COMEDY. 


One  oncl  lie  tied  around  a  beam, 
And  then  removed  bis  pegs ; 

And,  as  bis  legs  were  off, — of  course 
He  soon  was  off  bis  legs. 

And  there  be  bung,  till  be  was  dead 

As  any  nail  in  town  ; 
For,  though  distress  had  cut  bim  up. 

It  could  not  cut  him  down. 

A  dozen  men  sat  on  bis  corjise, 

To  find  out  why  be  died — 
And  they  buried  Ben  in  four  cross-roads, 

"With  a  stake  in  bis  inside. 

Thomas  IIood. 


ITAITHLESS  SALLY  BKOWN. 

AN   OLD   BALLAD. 

ToirxG  Ben^  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 

A  carpenter  by  trade ; 
And  he  fell  in  love  with  Sally  Brown, 

That  was  a  lady's  maid. 

But  as  they  fetched  a  walk  one  day, 

They  met  a  press-gang  crew ; 
And  Sally  she  did  faint  away. 

Whilst  Ben  be  was  brought  to. 

The  boatswain  swore  with  wicked  words. 

Enough  to  shock  a  saint. 
That  though  she  did  seem  in  a  fit, 

'T  was  nothing  but  a  feint. 

"  Come,  girl,"  said  he,"boldup  your  bead— 

He'll  be  as  good  as  me ; 
For  when  your  swain  is  in  our  boat 

A  boatswain  be  will  be." 

So  when  they  'd  made  their  game  of  her, 

And  taken  off  her  elf. 
She  roused,  and  found  she  only  was 

A-coming  to  herself. 

"And  is  be  gone,  and  is  be  gone  ?  " 
She  cried,  and  wept  outright ; 

*'  Then  I  will  to  the  water-side, 
And  see  bim  out  of  sight." 

A  waterman  came  up  to  her; 

"Now,  young  woman,"  said  be, 
"  If  you  weep  on  so,  you  wiU  make 

Eye  water  in  the  sea." 


"  Alas !  they  've  taken  my  beau,  Ben, 

To  sail  witli  old  Benbow ;  " 
And  her  woe  began  to  run  afresh, 

As  if  she  'd  said.  Gee  woe ! 

Says  he,  "  They  've  only  taken  him 

To  the  tender  ship,  you  see." 
"  The  tender  ship,"  cried  Sally  Brown— 

"  What  a  hard  sbip  that  must  be  ! 

"  Oh  !  would  I  were  a  mermaid  now. 

For  then  I  'd  follow  him  ; 
But  ob ! — I  'm  not  a  fish  woman, 

And  so  I  cannot  swim. 

"  Alas !  I  was  not  born  beneath 

The  vu-gin  and  the  scales. 
So  I  must  curse  my  cruel  stars, 

And  walk  about  in  Wales." 

Now  Ben  bad  sailed  to  many  a  place 
That's  underneath  the  world  ; 

But  in  two  years  the  sbip  came  home, 
And  all  her  sails  were  furled. 

But  when  be  called  on  Sally  Brown, 

To  see  how  she  got  on. 
He  found  she  'd  got  another  Ben, 

Whose  Christian-name  was  John. 

"0,  Sally  Brown,  0,  Sally  Brown, 
How  could  you  serve  me  so  ? 

I  've  met  with  many  a  breeze  before, 
But  never  such  a  blow !  " 

Then  reading  on  bis  'bacco  box. 

He  heaved  a  heavy  sigh, 
And  then  began  to  eye  his  pipe, 

And  then  to  pipe  his  eye. 

And  then  he  tried  to  sing  "All 's  Well  I  " 
But  could  not,  though  be  tried ; 

His  head  was  turned — and  so  he  chewed 
His  pigtail  till  be  died. 

His  death,  which  happened  in  bis  berth. 

At  forty-odd  befell ; 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  tolled  the  bell. 

Thomas  Hood 


THE     WHITE     SQUALL. 


431 


THE  LADY  AT  SEA. 

Cables  entangling  her ; 
Ship-spars  for  mangling  her ; 
Eopes  sure  of  strangling  her ; 
Blocks  over-dangling  her ; 
Tiller  to  hatter  her ; 
Topmast  to  shatter  her ; 
Tobacco  to  spatter  her ; 
Boreas  blustering ; 
Boatswain  quite  flustering ; 
Thunder-clouds  mustering, 
To  blast  her  with  sulphur — 
If  the  deep  don  't  ingulph  her ; 
Sometimes  fear 's  scrutiny 
Pries  out  a  mutiny, 
Sniffs  conflagration, 
Or  hints  at  starvation ; 
All  the  sea  dangers. 
Buccaneers,  rangers, 
Pirates,  and  Sallee-men, 
Algerine  galleymen. 
Tornadoes  and  typhous. 
And  horrible  syphons, 
And  submarine  travels 
Thro'  roaring  sea-navels ; 
Every  thing  wrong  enough — 
Long-boat  not  long  enough ; 
Vessel  not  strong  enough  ; 
Pitch  marring  frippery ; 
The  deck  very  slippery ; 
And  the  cabin — built  sloping ; 
The  captain  a-toping ; 
And  the  mate  a  blasphemer. 
That  names  his  Eedeemer — 
"With  inward  uneasiness ; 
Tlie  cook  known  by  greasiness ; 
The  victuals  beslubbered ; 
Her  bed — in  a  cupboard; 
Things  of  strange  christening, 
Snatched  in  her  listening ; 
Blue  lights  and  red  lights, 
And  mention  of  dead  lights ; 
And  shrouds  made  a  theme  of — 
Things  horrid  to  dream  of; 
And  buoys  in  the  water ; 
To  fear  all  exhort  her. 
Her  friend  no  Leander — 
Herself  no  sea  gander ; 


And  ne'er  a  cork  jacket 
On  board  of  the  packet ; 
The  breeze  still  a-stiffening ; 
The  trumpet  quite  deafening ; 
Thoughts  of  repentance, 
And  doomsday,  and  sentence ; 
Every  thing  sinister — 
Not  a  church  minister ; 
Pilot  a  blunderer ; 
Coral  reefs  under  her. 
Ready  to  sunder  her : 
Trunks  tipsy-topsy ; 
The  ship  in  a  dropsy ; 
Waves  oversurging  her ; 
Sirens  a-dirging  her ; 
Sharks  all  expecting  her ; 
Sword-fish  dissecting  her ; 
Crabs  with  their  hand-vices 
Punishing  land  vices ; 
Sea-dogs  and  unicorns, 
Things  with  no  puny  horns ; 
Mermen  carnivorous — 
"  Good  Lord  deliver  us !  " 

TnOMAS   IIOOD 


THE  WHITE  SQUALL. 

Ox  deck,  beneath  the  awning, 
I  dozing  lay  and  yawning ; 
It  was  the  gray  of  dawning, 

Ere  yet  the  sun  arose ; 
And  above  the  funnel's  roaring, 
And  the  fitful  wind's  deploring, 
I  heard  the  cabin  snoring 

With  universal  nose. 
I  could  hear  the  passengers  snorting — 
I  envied  their  disporting — 
Yainly  I  was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a  doze. 

So  I  lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight, 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight, 

That  shot  across  the  deck  ; 
And  the  binnacle  pale  and  steady. 
And  the  dull  glimpse  of  tlie  dead-eye, 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy 

That  whirled  from  the  chimney  neck. 
In  our  jovial  floating  prison 


432 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


There  was  sleep  from,  fore  to  mizzen, 
And  never  a  star  had  risen 

The  liazy  sky  to  speck. 
Strange  company  we  harbored : 
"We  'd  a  Imndred  Jews  to  larboard, 
Unwaslied,  uncombed,  unbarbcrcd — 

Jews  black,  and  brown,  and  gray. 

"With  terror  it  would  seize  ye, 
And  make  your  souls  uneasy, 
To  see  those  Rabbis  greasy, 

"Who  did  nought  but  scratch  and  pray. 
Their  dirty  children  puking — 
Their  dirty  saucepans  cooking — 
Their  dirty  lingers  hooking 

Their  swarming  fleas  away. 

To  starboard  Turks  and  Greeks  were — 
"Whiskered  and  brown  their  cheeks  were- 
Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were — 

Their  pipes  did  puflf  away ; 
Each  on  his  mat  allotted 
In  silence  smoked  and  squatted, 
"Whilst  round  their  children  trotted 

In  pretty,  pleasant  play. 
He  can't  but  smile  who  ,ti"aces 
The  smiles  on  those  brown  faces, 
And  the  pretty,  prattling  graces 

Of  those  small  heathens  gay. 

And  so  the  hours  kept  tolling — 
And  through  the  ocean  rolling 
AYent  the  brave  Iberia  bowling. 
Before  the  break  of  day 

"When  a  squall,  upon  a  sudden, 
Came  o'er  the  waters  scudding ; 
And  the  clouds  began  to  gather, 
And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather, 
And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled. 
And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tumbled  ; 
And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 
"Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 
Then  the  wind  set  up  a  howling. 
And  the  poodle  dog  a  yowling, 
And  the  cocks  began  a  crowing. 
And  the  old  cow  raised  a  lowing, 
As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing ; 
And  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle ; 
And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle ; 


And  the  spray  dashed  o'er  the  funnels. 
And  down  the  deck  in  runnels ; 
And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all, 
Erom  the  seamen  in  the  fo'ksal 
To  the  stokers,  whose  black  faces 
Peer  out  of  their  bed-places ; 
And  the  captain  he  was  bawling, 
And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling. 
And  the  quarter-deck  tarpauling 
"Was  shivered  in  the  squalling ; 
And  the  passengers  awaken, 
Most  pitifully  shaken ; 
And  the  steward  jumps  up,  and  hastens 
Eor  the  necessary  basins. 

Then  the  Greeks  they  groaned  and  quiv- 
ered, 
And  they  knelt,  and  moaned,  and  shivered. 
As  the  plunging  waters  met  them, 
And  splashed  and  overset  them ; 
And  they  called  in  their  emergence 
TJpon  countless  saints  and  virgins ; 
And  their  marrowbones  are  bended, 
And  they  think  the  world  is  ended. 
And  the  Turkish  women  for'ard 
"Were  frightened  and  behorrored , 
And,  shrieking  and  bewilderi-ng, 
The  mothers  clutched  their  children ; 
The  men  sang  "  Allah  1  lUah  ! 
Mashallah  Bismillah !  " 
As  the  warring  waters  doused  them,  . 
And  splashed  them  and  soused  them ; 
And  they  called  upon  the  prophet. 
And  thought  but  little  of  it. 

Then  all  the  fleas  in  Jewry 

Jumped  up  and  bit  like  fury : 

And  the  progeny  of  Jacob 

Did  on  the  main-deck  wake  uj), 

(I  wot  those  greasy  Rabbins 

"Would  never  pay  for  cabins ;) 

And  each  man  moaned  and  jabbered  in 

His  filthy  Jewish  gabardine. 

In  woe  and  lamentation. 

And  howling  consternation. 

And  the  splashing  water  drenches 

Their  dirty  brats  and  wenches ; 

And  they  crawl  from  bales  and  benches, 

In  a  hundred  thousand  stenches. 

This  was  the  white  squall  famouh;. 
"Which  latterly  o'ercame  ua, 


ST.    PATRICK    WAS    A    GENTLEMAN. 


And  which  all  will  remember, 

On  the  28th  September : 

When  a  Prussian  captain  of  Lancers 

(Those  tight-laced,  whiskered  prancers) 

Came  on  the  deck  astonished, 

By  that  wild  squall  admonished, 

And  wondering  cried,  "  Potz  tausend, 

Wie  ist  der  Sturm  jetzt  brausend?  " 

And  looked  at  captain  Lewis, 

Who  calmly  stood  and  blew  his 

Cigar  in  all  the  bustle, 

And  scorned  the  tempest's  tussle ; 

And  oft  we  've  thought  thereafter 

IIow  he  beat  the  storm  to  laughter  ; 

For  well  he  knew  his  vessel 

With  that  vain  wind  could  wrestle ; 

And  when  a  wreck  we  thought  her. 

And  doomed  ourselves  to  slaughter, 

IIow  gaily  he  fought  her. 

And  through  the  hubbub  brought  her. 

And  as  the  tempest  cauglit  her, 

Cried,  "  Geoz-ge,  some  brandy  and  water ! " 

And  when,  its  force  expended, 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended. 
And  as  the  sunrise  splendid 

Came  blushing  o'er  the  sea, — 
I  thought,  as  day  was  breaking, 
My  little  girls  were  waking, 
And  smiling,  and  making 

A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeeay. 


ST.  PATPvICK  WAS  A  GENTLEMAN. 

Oh  !  St.  Patrick  was  a  gentleman. 

Who  came  of  decent  people  ; 
He  built  a  church  in  Dublin  town, 

And  on  it  put  a  steeple. 
His  father  was  a  Gallagher ; 

Ills  mother  was  a  Brady  ; 
His  aunt  was  an  O'Shaughnessy, 

His  uncle  an  O'Grady. 
So,  success  attend  St.  PatricFsJist, 

For  he 's  a  saint  so  clever  ; 
Ok!  he  gave  the  snaJces  and  toads  a  ttcist, 

And  Jwthered  1  hem  for  ever  ! 
59 


The  Wicklow  hills  are  very  high, 

And  so 's  the  Hill  of  Howth,  sir : 
But  there  's  a  hill,  much  bigger  still, 

Much  higher  nor  them  botli,  sir. 
'T  was  on  tlie  top  of  this  high  hill 

St.  Patrick  preached  his  sarmint 
That  drove  the  frogs  into  the  bogs. 

And  banished  all  the  varmint. 
So,  success  attend  St.  Patriclc'sjist, 

For  he  's  a  saint  so  clever  ; 
Oh  !  he  gave  the  snaTces  and  toads  a  tic  ist, 

And  lothered  them  for  ever  ! 

There  's  not  a  mile  in  Ireland's  isle 

Where  dirty  varmin  musters, 
But  there  he  put  his  dear  fore-foot, 

And  murdered  them  in  clusters. 
The  toads  went  pop,  the  frogs  went  hop. 

Slap-dash  into  tlie  water ; 
And  the  snakes  committed  suicide 

To  save  themselves  from  slaughter. 
So,  success  attend  St.  Pair  ids' s  fist, 

For  he 's  a  saint  so  clever  ; 
Oh!  he  gaze  the  snalces  and  toads  a  twisty 

And  lathered  them  for  ever  ! 

Nine  hundred  thousand  reptiles  blue 

He  charmed  with  sweet  discourses, 
And  dined  on  them  at  Killaloe 

In  soups  and  second  courses. 
Where  blind  worms  crawling  in  the  grass 

Disgusted  all  the  nation. 
He  gave  them  a  rise,  which  opened  their 
eyes 

To  a  sense  of  their  situation. 
So,  success  attend  St.  Patricias  Jist, 

For  he 's  a  saint  so  clever  ; 
Oh  !  he  gave  the  snalces  and  toads  a  ticist. 

And  iothercd  ihcmfor  ever  ! 

No  wonder  that  those  Irish  lads 

Should  be  so  gay  and  frisky. 
For  sure  St.  Pat  he  taught  them  that, 

As  well  as  making  whiskey ; 
No  wonder  tliat  the  saint  himself 

Should  understand  distilling. 
Since  his  mother  kept  a  shebeen  shop 

In  the  town  of  Enniskillen. 
So,  success  attend  St.  Patricks fst. 

For  he''s  a  saint  so  clever  ; 
Oh  !  he  gave  the  snalces  and  toads  a  twist. 

And  lathered  them  for  ever  ! 


434 


POEMS    or    COMEDY. 


Oil !  was  I  but  so  fortunate 

As  to  be  back  in  Munster, 
'T  is  I  \1  bo  bound  that  from  that  ground 

I  never  more  would  once  stir. 
For  there  St.  Patrick  planted  turf, 

And  plenty  of  the  praties, 
"With  ])igs  galore,  ma  gra,  ma  'store, 

And  cabbages — and  ladies ! 
TTien  my  Messing  on  St.  PatricFs  fist, 

For  lieh  the  darling  saint  oh  ! 
Oh  !  he  gate  the  snakes  and  toads  a  tioist; 

IIe''s  a  leaiity  icithout paint  oh! 

IIenky  Bennett. 


BT.  PATRICK  OF  IRELAXD,  MY  DEAR! 

A  no  for  St.  Denis  of  France — 

lie  's  a  trumpery  fellow  to  brag  on  ; 
A  fig  for  St.  George  and  his  lance, 

Which  spitted  a  heathenish  dragon ; 
And  the  saints  of  the  Welshman  or  Scot 

Are  a  couple  of  pitiful  pipers, 
Both  of  whom  may  just  travel  to  pot. 

Compared  with  that  patron  of  swipers —  - 
St.  Patrick  of  Ireland,  my  dear ! 


He  came  to  the  Emerald  Isle 

On  a  lump  of  a  paving-stone  mounted  ; 
The  steamboat  he  beat  by  a  mile. 

Which  mighty  good  sailing  was  counted. 
Says  he,  "The  salt  water,  I  think. 

Has  made  me  most  bloodily  thirsty  • 
So  bring  me  a  flagon  of  drink 

To  keep  down  the  mulligrubs,  burst  ye! 
Of  drink  that  is  fit  for  a  saint !  " 


He  preached,  then,  with  wonderful  force, 

The  ignorant  natives  a-teaching; 
With  a  pint  he  washed  down  his  discourse, 

"For,"  says  he,  "I  detest  your  dry  preach- 
ing." 
The  people,  with  wonderment  struck 

At  a  pastor  so  pious  and  civil. 
Exclaimed — "We  're  for  yon,  my  old  buck  ! 

And  we  pitch  our  blind  gods  to  the  devil. 
Who  dwells  in  hot  water  below  1  " 


This  ended,  our  worshipful  spoon 

Went  to  visit  an  elegant  fellow, 
Whose  practice,  each  cool  afternoon. 

Was  to  get  most  delightfully  mellow. 
That  day,  with  a  black-jack  of  beer, 

It  chanced  he  was  treating  a  party  ; 
Says  the  saint — "  This  good  day,  do  you  heaj 

I  drank  nothing  to  speak  of,  my  hearty  ! 
So  give  me  a  pull  at  the  pot !  " 

The  pewter  he  lifted  in  sport 

(Believe  me,  I  tell  you  no  fable)  ; 
A  gallon  he  drank  from  the  quart. 

And  then  placed  it  full  on  the  table. 
"A  miracle!  "  every  one  said — 

And  they  all  took  a  haul  at  the  stingo ; 
They  were  capital  hands  at  the  trade, 

And  drank  till  they  fell ;  yet,  by  jingo, 

The  pot  stiU  frothed  over  the  brim ! 

Next  day,  quoth  his  host,  "  'Tis  a  fast, 

And  I  've  nought  in  my  larder  but  mutton ; 
And  on  Fridays  who  'd  make  such  repast. 

Except  an  i;nchristian-like  glutton  ?  " 
Says  Pat,  "  Cease  your  nonsense,  I  beg — 

What  you  tell  me  is  nothing  but  gammon , 
Take  my  compliments  down  to  the  leg, 

And  bid  it  come  hither  a  salmon !  " 

And  the  leg  most  politely  complied. 

You  've  heard,  I  suppose,  long  ago, 

How  the  snakes,  in  a  manner  most  antic. 
He  ma^'ched  to  the  county  Mayo, 

And  trundled  them  into  tli'  Atlantic, 
Hence,  not  to  use  water  for  drink, 

The  people  of  Ireland  determine — 
With  mighty  good  reason,  I  think, 

Since  St.  Patrick  has  filled  it  with  vermin, 
And  vipers,  and  such  other  stuff! 

Oh. !  he  was  an  elegant  blade 
As  you  'd  meet  from  Fairhead  to  Kilcrum- 
per ; 
And  though  under  the  sod  he  is  laid, 

Yet  here  goes  his  health  in  a  bumper! 
I  wish  he  was  here,  that  my  glass 

He  might  by  art  magic  replenish ; 
But  since  he  is  not — why,  alas! 
My  ditty  must  come  to  a  finish, — 
Because  aU  the  liquor  is  out ! 

"William  Maginx 


THE     GROVES    OF    BLARNEY, 


435 


THE  lEISHMAK 


There  was  a  lady  lived  at  Leith, 

A  lady  very  stylish,  man — 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  her  teeth. 
She  fell  in  love  ^vith  an  Irishman— 
A  nasty,  ugly  Irishman — 
A  wild,  tremendous  Irishman — 


tearmg. 


swearing,   thumping,    bumping, 


ranting,  roaring  Irishman. 


II. 


His  face  was  no  ways  beautiful, 

For  with  small-pox  'twas  scarred  across; 
And  the  shoulders  of  the  ugly  dog 
Were  almost  double  a  yard  across. 
Oh,  the  lump  of  an  Irishman — 
The  whiskey  devouring  Irishman — 
The  great  he-rogue  with  his  wonderful  brogue 
— the  fighting,  rioting  Irishman ! 

III. 

One  of  liis  eyes  was  bottle  green. 

And  the  other  eye  was  out,  my  dear ; 
And  the  calves  of  his  wicked-looking  legs 
Were  more  than  two  feet  about,  my  dear ! 
Oh,  the  great  big  Irishman — 
The  rattling'  battling  Irisliman — 
Tlie  stamping,  ramping,  swaggering,  stagger- 
ing, leathering  swash  of  an  Irishman. 

IV. 

lie  took  so  much  of  Lundy-foot 

That  he  used  to  snort  and  snuffle  oh  ; 
And  in  shape  and  size  the  fellow's  neck 
Was  as  bad  as  the  neck  of  a  buffalo. 
Oh,  the  horrible  Irisliman — 
The  thundering,  blundering  Irishman — 
The    slashing,    dashing,    smashing,    lashing, 
thrashing,  hashing  Irishman, 


His  name  was  a  terrible  name,  indeed, 

Being  Timotliy  Thady  Mulligan ; 
And  wlicncver  he  emptied  his  tumbler  of 
punch 


He  'd  not  rest  till  he  filled  it  full  again ; 
The  boozing,  bruising  Irishman — 
The  'toxicated  Irishman — 
The  whiskey,  frisky,  rummy,  gummy,  brandy, 
no  dandy  Irishman. 

TI. 

This  was  the  lad  the  lady  loved. 

Like  all  the  girls  of  quality ; 

And  he  broke  the  skulls   of  the  men  of 

Leith, 

.Just  by  the  Avay  of  jollity ; 

Oh,  the  leathering  Mshman — 

The  barbarous,  savage  Irishman — 

The  hearts  of  the  maids  and  the  gentlemen's 

heads  were  bothered  I'm  sure  by  this 

Irishman. 

William  Magikn. 


THE  GROVES  OF  BLAEXET. 

The  groves  of  Blarney  they  look  so  charming, 

Down  by  the  purlings    of   sweet    silent 
brooks — 
All  decked  by  posies,  that  spontaneous  grow 
there. 

Planted  in  order  in  the  rocky  nooks. 
'Tis  there  the  daisy,  and  the  sweet  carnation. 

The  blooming  pink,  and  the  rose  so  fair ; 
Likewise  the  lily,  and  the  daffodilly — 

All  flowers  that  scent  the  sweet,  open  air. 

'T  is  Lady  Jeffers  owns  this  plantation, 

Like  Alexander,  or  like  Helen  fair ; 
There's  no  commander  in  all  the  nation 

For  regulation  can  with  her  compare. 
Such  walls  surround  her,  that  no  nine-pounder 

Could  ever  plunder  her  place  of  strength ; 
But  Oliver  Cromwell,  he  did  her  pommel, 

And  made  a  breach  in  her  battlement. 

There's  gravel  walks  there  for  speculation, 

And  conversation  in  sweet  solitude ; 
'Tis  there  the  lover  may  hear  the  dove,  or 

The  gentle  plover,  in  the  afternoon. 
And  if  a  young  lady  should  be  so  engaging 

As  to  walk  alone  in  those  shady  bowers, 
'Tis  there  her  courtier  he  may  transport  her 

In  some  dark  fort,  or  under  the  ground. 


436 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


For  't  is  there 's  tlio  cave  where  no  dayliglit 
enters, 

But  bats  and  badgers  are  for  ever  bred ; 
Being  mossed  by  natiir',  that  makes  it  sweeter 

Than  a  coach  and  six,  or  a  feather  bed. 
'Tis  there's  the  lake  that  is  stored  with 
per  dies, 

And  comely  eels  in  the  verdant  mud ; 
Besides  the  leeches,  and  the  groves  of  beeches, 

All  standing  in  order  for  to  guard  the  flood. 

'T  is  there 's  the  kitchen  hangs  many  a  flitch 
in, 

With  the  maids  a-stitchiug  upon  the  stair ; 
The  bread  and  biskc',  the  beer  and  whiskey, 

"Would  make  you  frisky  if  you  were  there. 
'T  is  there  you  'd  see  Peg  Murphy's  daughter 

A  washing  praties  forenent  the  door, 
"With  Eoger  Clcary,  and  Father  Healy, 

All  blood  relations  to  my  Lord  Donough- 
more. 

There 's  statues  gracing  this  noble  place  in, 

All  heathen  goddesses  so  fair — 
Bold  Neptune,  Plutarch,  and  Nicodemus, 

AU  standing  naked  in  the  open  air. 
So  now  to  finish  this  brave  narration, 

"Which  my  poor  geni'  could  not  entwine ; 
But  were  I  Homer,  or  Nebuchadnezzar, 

'T  is  in  every  featm-e  I  would  make  it  shine. 

RiCHAED  Alfred  Millikin. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIMERICK. 

Ye  genii  of  the  nation, 

"Who  look  with  veneration, 
And  Ireland's  desolation  onsaysingly  deplore. 

Ye  sons  of  Gineral  Jackson, 

Who  thrample  on  the  Saxon, 
Attend  to  the  tliransaction  upon  Shannon 
shore. 

"When  "Wilham,  Duke  of  Schumbug, 
A  tyrant  and  a  liumbug, 
"With  cannon  and  with  thunder  on  our  city 
bore, 
Our  fortitude  and  valliance 
Insthructed  his  battalions, 
To  rispict  the  galliant  Irish  upon  Shannon 
shore. 


Since  that  capitulation. 

No  city  in  the  nation 
So  grand  a  reputation  could  boast  before, 

As  Limerick  prodigious, 

That  stands  with  quays  and  bridges. 
And  sliips  np  to  the  windies  of  the  Shannon 
shore. 


A  chief  of  ancient  line, 
'Tis  Wihiam  Smith  O'Brine, 
Reprisints  this  darling  Limerick  this  ten  yeara 
or  more ; 
Oh  the  Saxons  can't  endure 
To  see  him  on  the  flure, 
And  thrimble  at  the  Cicero  from  Shannon 
shore ! 

This  valiant  son  of  Mars 

Had  been  to  visit  Par's, 
That  laud  of  revolution,  that  grows  the  tri- 
coloi" ; 

And  to  welcome  his  return 

From  pilgrimages  furren. 
We  invited  him  to  tay  on  the  Shannon  shore. 

Then  we  summoned  to  our  board 
Young  Meagher  of  the  sword  ; 
'T  is  he  will  sheathe  that  battle-axe  in  Saxon 
gore ; 
And  Mitchil  of  Belfast 
We  bade  to  our  repast. 
To  dthrink  a  dish  of  coffee  on  the  Shannon 
shore. 

Convaniently  to  hould 
These  patriots  so  bould, 
We  took  the  opportunity  of  Tim  Doolan's, 
store ; 
And  with  ornamints  and  banners 
(As  becomes  gintale  good  manners) 
We  made  the  loveliest  tay-room  upon  Shannon 
shore. 

'T  would  binifit  your  sowls 

To  see  the  butthered  rowls. 
The  sugar-tongs  and  sangwidges  and  cr|iim 
galyore, 

And  the  mufiins  and  the  crumpets, 

And  the  band  of  harps  and  thrumpcts. 
To  celebrate  the  sworry  upon  Shannon  sliore. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIMERICK. 


437 


Sure  the  imperor  of  Bohay 
Would  be  proud  to  dtbrink  the  tay 
That  Misthrcss  Biddy  Rooney  for  O'Brine  did 
pour; 
And,  since  the  days  of  Strongbow, 
There  never  was  such  Congo — 
Mitchil  dthrank  sis  quarts  of  it — by  Shannon 
shore. 

But  Clarndon  and  Corry 
Connellan  beheld  this  sworry 
With  rage  and  imulation  in  their  black  hearts' 
core; 
And  they  hired  a  gang  of  rufiSns 
To  interrupt  the  muffins, 
And  the  fragrance  of  the  Congo  on  the  Shan- 
non shore, 

When  full  of  tay  and  cake, 

O'Brine  began  to  spake. 
But  juice  a  one  could  hear  hira,  for  a  sudden 
roar 

Of  a  ragamuffin  rout 

Began  to  yeU  and  sliout, 
And  frighten  the  propriety  of  Shannon  shore. 

As  Smith  O'Brine  harangued, 
They  batthered  and  they  banged ; 
Tim  Doolan's  doors  and  windies  down  they 
tore ; 
They  smashed  the  lovely  windies 
(Hung  with  muslin  from  the  Indies), 
Purshuing  of  their  shindies  upon  Shannon 
shore. 

With  throwing  of  brickbats, 
Drowned  puppies  and  dead  rats. 

These  ruffin  democrats  themselves  did  lower ; 
Tin  kettles,  rotten  eggs. 
Cabbage-stalks,  and  wooden  legs. 

They  flung  among  the  patriots  of  Shannon 
shore. 

Oil,  the  girls  began  to'  scrame, 
And  upset  the  milk  and  crame; 
A.nd  the  honorable  jintlcmin  they  cursed  and 
swore : 
And  Mitchil  of  Belfast, 
'T  was  he  that  looked  aghast, 
When  they  roasted  him  in  effigy  by  Shannon 
shore. 


Oh,  the  lovely  tay  was  spilt 
On  that  day  of  Ireland's  guilt ; 
Says  Jack  Mitchil,  "  I  am  kilt !  Boys,  where 's 
the  back  door  ? 
'T  is  a  national  disgrace ; 
Let  me  go  and  veil  me  face !  " 
And   he  boulted  with  quick  pace  from  the 
Shannon  shore. 

"Cut  down  the  bloody  horde !  " 
Says  Meagher  of  the  sword, 
"This  conduct  would  disgrace  any  blacka- 
moor ; " 
But  millions  were  arrayed. 
So  he  shaytbed  his  battle-blade, 
Rethrayting  undismayed  from  the  Shannon 
shore. 

Immortal  Smith  O'Brine 
Was  raging  like  a  line ; 
'T  would  have  done  your  sowl  good  to  have 
heard  him  roar ; 
In  his  glory  he  arose. 
And  he  rushed  upon  his  foes, 
But  they  hit  him  on  the  nose  by  the  Shannon 
shore. 

Then  the  futt  and  the  dthragoons 
In  squadthrons  and  platoons. 
With  their  music  playing  chunes,  down  upon 
us  bore ; 
And  they  bate  the  rattatoo. 
And  the  Peelers  came  in  view, 
And  ended  the  shaloo  on  the  Shannon  shore. 
William  Makepeace  Thaokerat. 


MOLOXY'S  LAMENT. 

O  Tim,  did  you  licar  of  thira  Saxons, 

And  read  what  the  peepers  repoort  ? 
They  're  goan  to  recal  the  liftinant, 

And  shut  up  the  castle  and  coort! 
Our  desolate  counthry  of  Oircland 

They  're  bint,  the  blagyards,  to  de^throy ; 
And  now,  having  murdthercd  our  counthry, 

They're  goin  to  kill  the  viceroy, 
Dear  boy!  — 

'T  was  he  was  our  proide  and  our  joy. 


43S 


POEMS     OF     COMEDY. 


And  will  Ave  no  longei*  bchoiiM  him, 

Surrounding  his  carnage  in  throngs, 
As  he  weaves  his  cocked  hat  from  the  win- 
dies, 

And  smiles  to  liis  bould  aid-de-congs? 
I  liked  for  to  see  the  young  haroes, 

All  shoining  with  sthripes  and  with  stars, 
A  horsing  about  in  the  Phaynix, 

And  winking  the  girls  in  the  cyars — 
Like  Mars, 

A  smokiu'  their  poipes  and  cigyars, 

Dear  Mitchel,  exoiled  to  Bermndies, 

Your  beautifid  oilids  you'll  ope! — 
And  there  '11  he  an  abondance  of  croyin 

From  O'Brine  at  the  Keep  of  Good  Hope — 
"When  they  read  of  this  news  in  the  peepers, 

Acrass  the  Atlantical  wave, 
That  the  last  of  the  Oirish  liftinants 

Of  the  oisland  of  Seents  has  tuck  lave. 
God  save 

The  queen — she  should  betther  behave ! 

And  what 's  to  become  of  poor  Dame  sthreet, 

And  wlio  '11  ait  the  puffs  and  the  tarts, 
TVhin  the  coort  of  iraparial  splindor 

From  Doblin's  sad  city  departs  ? 
And  who  '11  have  the  fiddlers  and  pipers 

When  the  deuce  of  a  coort  there  remains ; 
And  where  '11  be  the  bucks  and  the  ladies, 

To  hire  the  coort-shuits  and  the  thrains  ? 
In  sthrains 

It's  thus  that  ould  Erin  corapkins! 

There 's  Counsellor  Flanagan's  leedy, 

'T  was  she  in  the  coort  didn't  fail. 
And  she  wanted  a  plinty  of  popplin 

For  her  dthress,  and  her  flounce,  and  her 
tail ; 
She  bought  it  of  Misthress  O'Grady — 

Eight  shillings  a  yard  tabinet — 
But  now  that  the  coort  is  concluded 

The  divvle  a  yard  will  she  get : 
I  bet, 

Bedad,  that  she  wears  the  old  set. 

There  's  Surgeon  O'Toole  and  Miss  Leary, 
They'd  daylings  at  Madam  O'Riggs'; 

Each  year,  at  the  dthrawing-room  sayson. 
They  mounted  the  natest  of  wigs. 


When  spring,  with  its  buds  and  its  daisies. 
Comes  out  iu  her  beauty  and  bloom, 

Thim  tu  '11  never  think  of  new  jasies, 
Because  thei-e  is  no  dthrawing-room. 

For  whom 
They  'd  choose  the  expense  to  ashume. 

There 's  Alderman  Toad  and  his  lady, 

'Twas  they  gave  the  clart  and  the  poort. 
And  the  poine-apples,  turhots,  and  lobsters, 

To  feast  the  lord  liftinant's  coort. 
But  now  that  the  quality 's  goin, 

I  warnt  that  the  aiting  will  stop. 
And  you  'U  get  at  the  alderman's  teeble 

The  divvle  a  bite  or  a  dthrop, 
Or  chop. 

And  the  butcher  may  shut  up  his  shop. 

Yes,  the  grooms  and  the  ushers  are  goin ; 

And  his  lordship,  the  dear,  honest  man  : 
And  the  duchess,  his  eemiable  leedy  ; 

And  CorVy,  tlie  bould  Connellan  ; 
And  little  Lord  Hyde  and  the  chUdthren  ; 

And  the  chewter  and  governess  tu ; 
And  the  servants  are  packing  their  boxes — 

Ob,  inurther,  but  what  shall  I  due 
Without  you? 

0  Meery,  with  ois  of  the  blue  ! 

"William  Makepeace  Thackeeat. 


MR.    MOLOIlTY'S    ACCOUNT    OF    THE 
BALL 

GIVESr  TO  THE  NEPAULESE  AMBASSADOE  BY  THE 
PENIXSrLAR  ASD    'FIENTAL   COMPANY. 

Oh  wUl  ye  cljoose  to  hear  the  news  ? 

Bedad,  I  cannot  pass  it  o'er : 
I'll  toll  you  all  about  the  ball 

To  the  Naypaulase  ambassador. 
Begor !  this  fete  all  balls  does  bate 

At  which  I  worn  a  pump,  and  I 
Must  here  relate  the  splendthor  great 

Of  th'  Oriental  company. 

These  men  of  sinse  dispoised  expinse, 

To  fete  these  black  Achilleses. 
"We'll  show  the  blacks,"  says  they,   "Al- 
niack's, 

And  take  the  rooms  at  Willis's." 


THE    RAIL. 


439 


With  flags  and  shawls,  for  these  aSTepauls, 

They  hung  the  rooms  of  Wilhs  up, 
And  decked  the  walls,  and  stairs,  and  halls, 

With  roses  and  with  lilies  up. 
And  Jullien's  band  it  tuck  its  stand, 

So  sweetly  in  the  middle  there. 
And  soft  bassoons  played  heavenly  chunes, 

And  violins  did  fiddle  there. 
And  when  the  coort  was  tired  of  spoort, 

I  'd  lave  you,  boys,  to  think  there  was 
A  nate  buffet  before  them  set, 

Where  lashins  of  good  dhrink  there- was  ! 

At  ten,  before  the  ball-room  door 

His  moighty  excellency  was ; 
He  sraoiled  and  bowed  to  all  the  crowd — 

So  gorgeous  and  immense  he  was. 
His  dusky  shuit,  sublime  and  mute. 

Into  the  door-Avay  followed  him ; 
And  oh  the  noise  of  the  blackguard  boys. 

As  they  hurrood  .and  hollowed  him ! 

The  noble  chair  stud  at  the  stair, 

Aud  bade  the  dthrums  to  thump ;  and  ho 
Did  thus  evince  to  that  black  prince 

The  welcome  of  his  company. 
Oh  fair  the  gu-ls,  and  rich  the  curls. 

And  bright  the  oys  you  saw  there,  was  ; 
And  fixed  each  oye,  ye  there  could  spoi, 

On  Gineral  Jung  Bahawther  was! 

This  gineral  great  then  tuck  his  sate. 

With  all  the  other  ginerals, 
(Bedad,  his  troat,  his  belt,  his  coat. 

All  bleezed  v.'ith  precious  minerals;) 
And  as  he  there,  with  princely  air, 

Eecloinin  on  his  cushion  was, ' 
All  round  about  his  royal  chair 

The  squeezin  aud  the  pushin  was. 

O  Pat,  such  girls,  such  jukes  and  earls, 

Such  fashion  and  nobilitee ! 
Just  tbink  of  Tim,  and  fancy  him 

Amidst  the  hoigh  gentility ! 
There  was  Lord  De  L'lluys,  and  the  Porty- 
geese 

Ministher  and  his  lady  there ; 
And  I  reckoni?ed,  with  much  surprise, 

Our  messmate,  Bob  O'Grady,  there. 


There  was  Baroness  Brunow,  that  looked 
like  Juno, 

And  Baroness  Eehausen  there. 
And  Countess  Roullier,  that  looked  pecuhar 

Well  in  her  robes  of  gauze,  in  there. 
There  was  Lord  Crowhurst  (I  knew  him  first 

When  only  Mr.  Pips  he  was), 
And  Mick  O'Toole,  the  great  big  fool, 

That  after  supper  tipsy  was. 

There  was  Lord  Fingall  and  his  ladies  all, 

And  Lords  Killcen  and  Dufi^erin, 
And  Paddy  Fife,  with  his  fat  wife — 

I  wondther  how  he  could  stuff  her  in. 
There  was  Lord  Belfast,  that  by  me  past. 

And  seemed  to  ask  how  should  /  go  there ; 
And  the  widow  Macrae,  and  Lord  A.  Hay, 

And  the  marchioness  of  Sligo  there. 

Yes,  jukes  and  earls,  and  diamonds  and  pearls, 

And  pretty  girls,  was  spoorting  there ; 
And  some  beside  (the  rogues !)  I  spied 

Behind  the  windies,  coorting  there. 
Oh,  there 's  one  I  know,  bedad,  would  show 

As  beautiful  as  any  there; 
And  I  'd  like  to  hear  the  pipers  blow. 

And  shake  a  fut  with  Fanny  there ! 

WiLLiAii  Makepeace  THACKBRiY. 


THE  PvAIL. 

I  MET  him  in  the  cars. 
Where  resignedly  he  sat ; 

His  hair  was  full  of  dust. 
And  so  was  his  cravat ; 

He  was  furthermore  embellished 
By  a  ticket  in  his  hat. 

The  conductor  touched  his  arm, 
And  awoke  him  from  a  nap  ; 

When  he  gave  the  feeding  flies 
An  admonitory  slap, 

And  his  ticket  to  the  man 
In  the  yellow-lettered  cap. 

So,  launching  into  talk. 

We  rattled  on  our  v>'ay, 
With  allusions  to  the  crops 

That  along  the  meadows  lay- 
Whereupon  his  eyes  were  lit 
AVith  a  speculative  ray. 


440 


POEMS    OF     COMEDY. 


The  lieads  of  many  mea 
"Were  bobbing  as  in  sleep, 

And  many  babies  lifted 
Their  voices  np  to  weep ; 

"^'hile  the  coal-dust  darkly  fell 
On  bonnets  in  a  heap. 

All  the  while  the  swaying  cars 
Kept  rumbling  o'er  tlic  rail, 

And  the  frequent  whistle  sent 
Shrieks  of  anguish  to  the  gale. 

And  the  cinders  pattered  down 
On  the  grimy  floor  like  hail. 

'When  suddenly  a  jar, 

And  a  thrice-repeated  bump, 
Made  the  people  in  alarm 

From  their  easy  cushions  jump  ; 
For  they  deemed  the  sounds  to  be 

The  inevitable  trump. 

A  splintering  crash  below, 
A  doom-foreboding  twitch, 

As  the  tender  gave  a  lurch 
Beyond  the  flying  switch — 

And  a  mangled  mass  of  men 
Lay  writhing  in  the  ditch. 

"With  a  palpitating  heart 
My  friend  essayed  to  rise ; 

There  were  bruises  on  his  limbs 
And  stars  before  his  eyes, 

And  his  face  was  of  tlie  hue 
Of  the  dolphin  when  it  dies. 


I  was  very  well  content 

In  escaping  with  my  life ; 
But  my  mutOated  friend 

Commenced  a  legal  strife- 
Being  thereunto  incited 
By  his  lawyer  and  his  wife. 

And  he  writes  me  the  result. 
In  his  quiet  way  as  follows : 

That  his  case  came  up  before 
A  bench  of  legal  scholars, 

"Who  awarded  him  his  claim, 
Of  $1500 ! 

Geoege  H.  Claek. 


ST.  ANTHONY'S  SERMON  TO  THE 

FISHES. 

St.  Anthony  at  church 
"Was  left  in  the  lurch, 
So  he  went  to  the  ditches 
And  preached  to  the  fishes ; 
They  wriggled  their  tails, 
In  the  sun  glanced  their  scales. 

The  carps,  with  their  spawn. 

Are  all  hither  drawn ; 

Have  opened  their  jaws. 

Eager  for  each  clause. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  carps  so  edified. 

Sharp- snouted  pikes, 
"Who  keep  fighting  like  tikes, 
Now  swam  up  harmonious 
To  hear  St.  Antonius. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  pikes  so  edified. 

And  that  very  odd  fish, 

"Who  loves  fast  days,  the  cod-fish, — 

The  stock-fish,  I  mean, — 

At  the  sermon  was  seen. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  cods  so  edified. 

Good  eels  and  sturgeon, 
"Which  aldermen  gorge  on, 
Went  out  of  their  way 
To  hear  preaching  that  day. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  eels  so  edifled. 

Crabs  and  turtles  also. 
Who  always  move  slow, 
Made  haste  from  the  bottom. 
As  if  the  devil  had  got  'em. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  crabs  so  edified. 

Fish  great  and  fish  small. 
Lords,  lackeys,  and  all, 
Each  looked  at  the  preacher. 
Like  a  reasonable  creature : 
At  God's  word. 
They  Anthony  heard. 


THE    VICAR    OF    BtvAY. 


441 


The  sermon  now  ended, 

Each  turned  and  descended ; 

The  pikes  went  on  stealing, 

The  eels  went  on  eeling  ; 

Much  delighted  were  they, 
But  preferred  the  old  way. 

The  crabs  are  backsliders, 

The  stock-fish  thick-siders, 

The  carps  are  sharp-set, 

All  the  sermon  forget ; 

Much  delighted  were  they, 
But  preferred  the  old  way. 

AlfONYMOUa. 


THE  VICAR  OF  BRAY. 

Iir  good  King  Charles's  golden  days, 

"When  loyalty  no  harm  meant, 
A  zealous  high-chm-chman  was  I, 

And  so  I  got  preferment. 
To  teach  my  flock  I  never  missed  : 

Kings  were  by  God  appointed. 
And  lost  are  those  that  dare  resist 
Or  touch  the  Lord's  anointed. 
And  this  is  law  that  I  HI  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day^  sir, 
That  wliatsoever  Tcing  shall  reign., 
Still  I  HI  l>e  tJie  vicar  of  Bray.,  sir. 

"When  royal  James  possessed  the  crown, 

And  popery  grew  in  fashion. 
The  penal  laws  I  hooted  down, 

And  read  the  declaration ; 
The  Church  of  Rome  I  found  would  fit 

Full  well  my  constitution  ; 
And  I  had  been  a  Jesuit, 
But  for  the  revolution. 
And  this  is  law  that  I  HI  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  Icing  shall  reign, 
Still  I  HI  1)6  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

"When  "William  was  our  king  declared, 
To  ease  the  nation's  grievance ; 

With  this  new  wind  about  I  steered, 
And  swore  to  him  allegiance ; 

Old  principles  I  did  revoke, 

Set  conscience  at  a  distance ; 
60 


Passive  obedience  was  a  joke, 
A  jest  was  non-resistance. 

A7ul  this  is  law  that  I  HI  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  Tcing  shall  reign, 
Still  I  HI  le  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

"When  royal  Anne  became  our  queen, 

The  church  of  England's  glory, 
Another  face  of  things  was  seen 

And  I  became  a  tory ; 
Occasional  conformists  base, 

I  blam'd  their  moderation  ; 
And  thought  the  church  in  danger  was, 
By  such  prevarication. 
And  this  is  law  that  IHl  maintain, 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
T/iat  tchatsoever  Icing  shall  reign, 
Still  I  HI  he  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

"When  George  in  pudding-tnne  came  o'er, 

And  moderate  men  looked  big,  sir, 
My  principles  I  changed  once  more. 

And  so  became  a  whig,  sir  ; 
And  thus  preferment  I  procured 

From  our  new  faith's  defender ; 
And  almost  every  day  abjured 
The  pope  and  the  pretender. 

And  this  is  laio  that  IHl  maintain, 

Until  my  dyimg  day,  sir, 
Tliat  ichatsoever  Icing  shall  reign. 
Still  IHl  he  tlie  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

Th'  illustrious  house  of  Hanover, 

And  Protestant  succession, 
To  these  I  do  allegiance  swear — 

"While  they  can  keep  possession : 
For  in  my  faith  and  loyalty 
I  never  more  will  falter. 
And  George  my  lawful  king  #hall  be — 
Until  the  times  do  alter. 

And  this  is  law  that  IHl  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir. 
That  whatsoever  Tcing  shall  reign, 
Still  IHl  he  tTie  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

AKONYMOnS. 


4-12 


POEMS    OF     COMEDY. 


THE  VICAR. 

Some  years  ago,  crc  tiiiie  aud  tasto 

ILid  turned  our  parish  topsy-turvy, 
When  Darnel  park  was  Dai'nel  waste, 

Aud  roads  as  Uttlc  known  as  scurvy, 
The  man  wlio  lost  his  way  between 

St.  Mary's  Hill  and  Sandy  Thicket 
Was  always  shown  across  the  green. 

And  guided  to  the  parson's  wicket. 

Back  flew  the  bolt  of  lissom  lath; 

Fair  Margaret,  in  her  tidy  kirtle, 
Led  the  lorn  traveller  up  the  path. 

Through  clean-clipt  rows  of  box  and  myrtle ; 
And  Don,  and  Sancho,  Tramp  and  Ti-ay, 

Upon  the  parlor  steps  collected, 
"Wagged  all  their  tails,  and  seemed  to  say, 

"  Oiu-  master  knows  you ;  you  're  expected." 

Up  rose  the  reverend  Doctor  Brown, 

Up  rose  the  doctor's  "  winsome  marrow;" 
The  lady  laid  her  knitting  down, 

Her  husband  clasped  his  ponderous  Barrow. 
Whate'er  the  stranger's  caste  or  creed, 

Pundit  or  papist,  saint  or  sinner, 
He  found  a  stable  for  his  steed. 

And  welcome  for  himself,  and  dinner. 

If,  when  he  reached  his  journey's  end. 

And  warmed  hyusclf  in  court  or  college, 
He  had  not  gained  an  honest  friend. 

And  twenty  curious  scraps  of  knowledge  ; 
If  he  departed  as  he  came. 

With  no  new  light  on  love  or  liquor, 
Good  sooth,  the  traveller  was  to  blame, 

And  not  the  vicarage  or  the  vicar. 

His  talk  was  like  a  stream  which  runs 

W^ith  rapid  change  from  rocks  to  roses  ; 
It  slipped  from  politics  to  puns  ; 

It  passed  trom  Mahomet  to  Moses ; 
Beginning  with  the  laws  which  keep 

The  [jlanets  in  their  radiant  courses, 
And  ending  with  some  precept  deep 

For  dressing  eels  or  shoeing  horses. 

He  was  a  shrewd  and  sound  divine, 
Of  loud  dissent  the  mortal  terror  ; 

And  when,  by  dint  of  page  and  line, 
He  'stablished  truth  or  startled  error, 


The  Baptist  found  him  far  too  deep. 
The  Deist  sighed  with  saving  sorrow. 

And  the  lean  Levite  went  to  sleep 

And  dreamt  of  eating  pork  to-morrow. 

His  sermon  never  said  or  showed 

That  earth  is  foul,  that  heaven  is  gracious. 
Without  refreshment  on  the  road, 

From  Jerome  or  from  Athanasius ; 
And  sure  a  righteous  zeal  inspired 

The  hand  and  head  that  penned  and  planned 
them. 
For  all  who  understood  admired, 

And  some  who  did  not  understand  them. 

He  wrote  too,  in  a  quiet  way, 

Small  treatises,  and  smaller  verses. 
And  sage  remarks  on  chalk  and  clay, 

And  hints  to  noble  lords  and  nurses ; 
True  histories  of  last  year's  ghost ; 

Lines  to  a  ringlet  or  a  turban ; 
And  trifles  for  the  "Morning  Post;  " 

And  nothiugs  for  Sylvanus  Urban. 

He  did  not  think  all  mischief  fair. 

Although  he  had  a  knack  of  joking; 
He  did  not  make  himself  a  bear. 

Although  he  had  a  taste  for  smoking ; 
And  when  religious  sects  ran  mad. 

He  held,  in  spite  of  all  his  learning. 
That  if  a  man's  belief  is  bad, 

It  will  not  be  improved  by  burning. 

And  he  was  kind,  and  loved  to  sit 

In  the  low  hut  or  garnished  cottage. 
And  praise  the  farmer's  homely  wit. 

And  share  the  widow's  homelier  pottage. 
At  his  approach  complaint  grew  mild, 

And  when  his  hand  unbarred  the  shutter 
The  clammy  lips  of  fever  smiled 

The  welcome  that  they  could  not  utter. 

He  always  had  a  tale  for  me 

Of  Julius  Caisar  or  of  Venus; 
From  him  I  learned  the  rule  of  three, 

Cat's-cradle,  leap-frog,  and  Quce  gemis. 
I  used  to  singe  liis  powdered  wig, 

To  steal  the  staff  he  put  such  trust  in, 
And  make  the  puppy  dance  a  jig 

When  he  began  to  quote  Augustine. 


TWEXTY-EIGHT    AND     TWENTY-NINE. 


4-i3 


Alack,  the  change  !    In  vain  I  look 

For  haunts  in  whicli  my  boyhood  trifled ; 
The  level  lawn,  the  trickling  brook, 

The  trees  I  climbed,  the  beds  I  rifled ! 
The  churcli  is  larger  than  before, 

You  reach  it  by  a  carriage  entry ; 
It  holds  three  hundred  people  more. 

And  pews  are  fitted  for  the  gentry. 

Sit  in  the  vicar's  seat ;  you  '11  hear 

The  doctrine  of  a  gentle  Johnian, 
Whose  hand  is  white,  whose  voice  is  clear, 

Whose  tone  is  very  Ciceronian. 
Where  is  the  old  man  laid?    Look  down 

And  construe  on  the  slab  before  you — 
"Hiojacet  GuUelmus  Brotcn, 

Vir  nulla  non  donanclus  laiiro.'''' 

"WiNTnnop  Mackwokth  Peaed. 


TWEXTY-EIGHT  AXD  TWENTY-NIKE. 

I  HEAED  a  sick  man's  dying  sigh, 

And  an  mfant's  idle  laughter: 
The  old  year  went  with  mourning  by — 

Tlie  new  came  dancing  after ! 
Let  sorrow  shed  her  lonely  tear — 

Let  revelry  hold  her  ladle ; 
Bring  boughs  of  cypress  for  the  bier — 

Fling  roses  on  the  cradle ; 
Mutes  to  wait  on  the  funeral  state, 

Pages  to  pour  the  wine : 
A  requiem  for  twenty-eight. 

And  a  health  to  twenty-nine  ! 

Ala?  for  human  happiness! 

Alas  for  human  sorrow ! 
Our  yesterday  is  nothingness — 

What  else  will  be  our  morrow  ? 
Still  beauty  must  be  stealing  hearts, 

And  knavery  stealing  purses; 
Still  cooks  must  live  by  making  tarts, 

And  wits  by  making  verses  ; 
While  sages  prate,  and  courts  debate, 

The  same  stars  set  and  shine; 
And  the  world,  as  it  rolled  through  twen- 
ty-eight. 

Must  roll  through  twenty-nine. 

Some  king  will  come,  in  Heaven's  good 
time, 
To  the  tomb  his  father  came  to  ; 


Some  thief  will  wade  through  blood  and 
ci"ime 

To  a  crown  he  has  no  claim  to ; 
Some  suffering  land  will  rend  in  twain 

The  manacles  that  bound  her, 
Aad  gather  the  links  of  the  broken  chain 

To  fasten  them  proudly  round  her ; 
The  grand  and  great  wiU  love  and  hate, 

And  combat  and  combine ; 
And  much  where  we  were  in  twenty-eight, 

We  shall  be  in  twenty-nine. 

O'Connell  wiU  toil  to  raise  the  rent. 

And  Kenyon  to  sink  the  nation ; 
And  Shiel  will  abuse  the  Parliament, 

And  Peel  the  association  ; 
And  thought  of  bayonets  and  swords 

Will  make  ex-chancellors  merry ; 
And  jokes  will  be  cut  in  the  house  of 
lords. 

And  throats  in  the  county  of  Kerry ; 
And  writers  of  weight  will  speculate 

On  the  cabinet's  design ; 
And  just  what  it  did  in  twenty-eight 

It  will  do  in  twenty-nine. 

And  the  goddess  of  love   will  keep  her 
smiles. 

And  the  god  of  cups  his  orgies ; 
And  there  '11  be  riots  in  St.  Giles, 

And  weddings  in  St.  George's: 
And  mendicants  wiU  sup  like  kings, 

And  lords  will  swear  like  lacqueys; 
And  black  eyes  oft  will  lead  to  rings, 

And  rings  wiU  lead  to  black  eyes ; 
And  pretty  Kate  will  scold  her  mate. 

In  a  dialect  all  divine ; 
Alas  !  they  married  in  twenty-eight, 

They  Avill  part  in  twenty-nine. 

My  uncle  will  swathe  his  gouty  limbs. 
And  talk  of  his  oils  and  blubbers ; 

My   aunt.   Miss  Dobbs,    will  play  longer 
hymns. 
And  rather  longer  rubbers: 

My  cousin  in  Parliament  will  prove 

.    1  low  utterly  ruined  trade  is ; 

My  brother,  at  Eton,  will  fall  in  love 
With  half  a  hundred  ladies  ; 


Ui 


POEMS    OF    COMEDY. 


Mj  patron  will  sate  his  pride  from  plate, 
And  his  thirst  from  Bordeaux  wine — 

His  nose  was  red  in  twenty-eight, 
'  T  will  be  redder  in  twenty-nine. 

And  oil !  I  shall  find  how,  day  by  day, 
All  thoughts  and  things  look  older — 

Uow  the  laugh  of  pleasure  grows  less  gay, 
And  the  heart  of  friendship  colder ; 


But  still  I  shall  bo  what  I  have  been, 

Sworn  foe  to  Lady  Reason, 
And  seldom  troubled  with  the  spleen, 

And  fond  of  talking  treason  ; 
I  shall  buckle  my  skate,  and  leap  my  gate, 

And  throw  and  write  my  line ; 
And  the  woman  I  worshipped  in  twenty- 
eight 

I  shall  worship  in  twenty-nine. 

WlNTHKOP  MACKWOKTH  PBAED. 


PAET  yii. 

POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


The  mournful  funeral  slow  proceeds  behind, 
AiTayed  in  black,  the  heav}'  head  declined  ; 
Wide  yawns  the  grave  ;  dull  tolls  the  solemn  bell ; 
Dark  lie  the  dead ;  and  long  the  last  farewell. 
There  music  sounds,  and  dancers  shake  the  hall ; 
But  here  the  silent  tears  incessant  fall. 
Ere  Mirth  can  well  her  comedy  begin. 
The  tragic  demon  oft  comes  thundering  in. 
Confounds  the  actors,  damps  the  merry  show, 
Aiid  turns  the  loudest  laugh  to  deepest  woe. 

Jomf  "Wilson. 


• 

POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

SIR  PATRICK  SPENS. 

They  ioysed  their  sails  on  Monenday  morn 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may  ; 

The  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  town, 

They  hae  landed  in  Noroway 

Drinking  the  blude-red  wine: 

Upon  a  Wodensday. 

"  Oh  where  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper 

To  sail  this  new  ship  of  mine  ?  " 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week 

In  Noroway,  but  twae, 

Oh  up  and  spake  an  eldern  kiiight, 

When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee : 

Began  aloud  to  say : 

"Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor 

That  ever  sailed  the  sea."' 

"  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  king's  gowd 

And  a'  our  queenis  fee." 

Oui  king  has  written  a  braid  letter, 

"  Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud ! 

And  sealed  it  with  his  hand, 

Fu'  loud  I  hear  ye  lie ! 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

"Was  walking  on  the  strand. 

"For  I  hae  brought  as  much  white  monie 

As  gane  my  men  and  me, — 

"  To  !N'oroway,  to  Noroway, 

And  I  hae  brought  a  half-fou  o'  gudc  red 

To  Xoroway  o'er  the  faem ; 

gowd 

The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

Out  owre  the  sea  wi'  me. 

'T  is  thou  maun  bring  her  hame!" 

"Make    ready,    make    ready,    my  merry 

The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

men  a' ! 

Sac  loud,  loud  laughed  he  ; 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn." 

Tlie  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

"  Now,  ever  alake !  my  master  dear. 

The  tear  blindit  his  e'e. 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm  ! 

"  Oh  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

"  I  saw  the  new  moon,  late  yestreen, 

And  tauld  the  king  o'  me. 

Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm ; 

To  send  us  out  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

And  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master. 

To  sail  upon  the  sea  ? 

I  fear  we  '11  come  to  harm." 

"  I'e  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it 

They  hadna  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

sleet. 

A  league,  but  barely  three. 

Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem  ; 

When  the  lift  grew  dark,  and  the  Avind 

The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

blew  loud. 

'T  is  we  must  fetch  her  hame." 

And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

44S 


rOEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


The  ankers  brak,  and  the  topmasts  lap, 

It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm  ; 
And  the  waves  came  o'er  the  broken  ship 

Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

■'  Oh  where  will  I  get  a  gnde  sailor 

To  take  my  helm  in  hand, 
Till  I  get  nj)  to  the  tall  topmast 

To  see  if  I  can  spy  land  ?  " 

"  Oh  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude, 

To  take  the  helm  in  hand, 
Till  you  go  up  to  the  tall  topmast, — 

But  I  fear  you  '11  ne'er  spy  land." 

lie  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step,  but  barely  ane, 
"When  a  boult  flew  out  of  our  goodly  ship. 

And  the  salt  sea  it  came  in. 

"  Gae  fetch  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith. 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  wap  them  into  our  ship's  side,  ■ 

And  letna  the  sea  come  in." 

They  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  they  wapped  them  roun'  that  gude 
ship's  side, 

— T5ut  still  the  sea  came  in. 

Oh  laith,  laith  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 
To  weet  their  cork-heeled  shoon ! 

But  lang  or  a'  the  play  was  played, 
They  wat  their  hats  aboon. 

And  mony  was  the  feather-bed 

That  floated  on  the  faem ; 
And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son 

That  never  mair  came  hame. 

The  ladyes  wrang  tlioir  fingers  white, — 

The  maidens  tore  their  hair ; 
A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves, — 

For  them  they  '11  see  na  mair. 

Oh  lang,  lang  may  the  ladyes  sit, 
"Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand. 

Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Come  sailing  to  the  strand ! 


And  lang  lang  may  the  maidens  sit, 
Wi'  their  gowd  kaims  in  their  hair, 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves, — 
For  them  they  '11  see  na  mair. 

Oh  forty  miles  off  Aberdour 

'T  is  fifty  fathoms  deep. 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

W  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 

,  Anonymous. 


CHILD  NORYCE. 

Child  Noetce  is  a  clever  young  man — 

He  wavers  wi'  the  wind  ; 
His  horse  was  silver  shod  before, 

"With  the  beaten  gold  behind. 

He  called  to  his  little  man  John, 
Saying,  "  You  don't  see  what  I  see ; 

For  oh  yonder  I  see  the  very  first  woman 
That  ever  loved  me. 

"  Here  is  a  glove,  a  glove,"  he  said, 

"  Lined  with  the  silver  gray ; 
You  may  tell  her  to  come  to  the  merry 
green  wood. 

To  speak  to  child  Nory, 

"  Here  is  a  ring,  a  ring,"  he  says, 

"It 's  all  gold  but  the  stane ; 
You  may  tell  her  to  come  to  the  merry 
green  wood. 

And  ask  the  leave  o'  nane." 

"  So  well  do  I  love  your  errand,  my  master, 
But  far  better  do  I  love  my  life  ; 

Oh  would  ye  have  me  go  to  Lord  Barnard's 
castel, 
To  betray  away  his  wife  ?  " 

"Oh  do  n't  I  give  you  meat,"  he  says, 

"And  do  n't  I  pay  you  fee? 
How  dare  you  stop  my  errand? "  he  says; 

"  My  orders  you  must  obey." 

Oh  when  he  came  to  Lord  Barnard's  castel, 

lie  tinkled  at  the  ring ; 
Who  was  as  ready  as  Lord  Barnard  himself 

To  let  this  little  boy  in  ? 


FAIR    ANNIE    OF    LOCHROYAN. 


449 


"  Here  is  a  glove,  a  glove,"  he  says, 

"  Lined  with  the  silver  gray ; 
You  are  bidden  to  come  to  the  merry  green 
wood. 

To  speak  to  Child  Nory. 

"  Here  is  a  ring,  a  ring,"  he  says, 

"  It 's  all  gold  but  the  stane: 
You  are  bidden  to  come  to  the  merry  green 
wood. 

And  ask  the  leave  o'  nane." 

Lord  Barnard  he  was  standing  by, 

And  an  angry  man  was  he : 
''  Oh  little  did  I  think  there  was  a  lord  in 
this  world 

My  lady  loved  but  me !  " 

Oh  he  dressed  himself  in  the  Holland  smocks, 

And  garments  that  was  gay ; 
And  he  is  away  to  the  merry  green  wood. 

To  speak  to  Child  Nory. 

Child  iToryce  sits  on  yonder  tree — 

He  whistles  and  he  sings : 
"  Oh  wae  be  to  me,"  says  Child  ISToryce, 

"  Yonder  my  mother  comes !  " 

Child  Noryce  he  came  off  the  tree. 
His  mother  to  take  of?  the  horse : 

"  Och  alace,  alace!"says  Child  Noryce, 
"  My  mother  was  ne'er  so  gross." 

Lord  Barnard  he  had  a  little  small  sword, 
That  hung  low  down  by  his  knee ; 

He  cut  the  head  off  Child  Noryce, 
And  put  the  body  on  a  tree. 

And  when  he  came  to  his  castel, 

And  to  his  lady's  hall. 
He  threw  the  head  into  her  lap, 

Saying,  "  Lady,  there  is  a  balll  '■ 

She  turned  up  the  bloody  head, 
She  kissed  it  frae  cheek  to  chin : 

"  Far  better  do  I  love  this  bloody  head 
Than  all  my  royal  kin. 

"  When  I  was  in  my  father's  castel. 

In  my  virginitie. 
There  came  a  lord  into  the  north, 

Gat  Child  Noryce  with  me." 
01 


"  Oh  wae  be  to  thee,  Lady  Margaret,"  he 
said, 
"  And  an  ill  death  may  you  die ; 
For  if  you  had  told  me  he  was  your  son. 
He  had  ne'er  been  slain  by  me." 

Anonymous. 


FAIR  ANNIE  OF  LOCHROYAK 

"  On  wha  will  shoe  my  fair  foot. 

And  wha  will  glove  my  han'  ? 
And  wha  will  lace  my  middle  jimp 

"Wi'  a  new  made  London  ban'  ? 

"  Or  wha  will  kerab  my  yellow  hair 

Wi'  a  new-made  silver  kemb  ? 
Or  wha  '11  be  father  to  my  young  bairn, 

Till  love  Gregor  come  hame  ?  " 

"  Your  father  '11  shoe  your  fair  foot, 
Your  mother  glove  your  han' ; 

Your  sister  lace  your  middle  jimp 
Wi'  a  new-made  London  ban' ; 

"  Your  brethren  will  kemb  your  yellow  hair 

Wi'  a  new  made  silver  kemb ; 
And  the   king  o'    heaven  will  father  your 
bairn. 

Till  love  Gregor  come  hame." 

"  Oh  gin  I  had  a  bonny  ship. 

And  men  to  sail  wi'  me. 
It 's  I  wad  gang  to  my  true  love, 

Sin  he  winna  come  to  me!  " 

Her  father 's  gien  her  a  bonny  ship. 

And  sent  her  to  the  stran' ; 
She 's  taen  her  young  son  in  her  arras, 

And  turned  her  back  to  the  Ian.' 

She  hadna  been  o'  the  sea  sailin' 

About  a  month  or  more. 
Till  landed  lias  she  her  bonny  ship 

Near  her  true-love's  door. 

The  nicht  was  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  cald, 

And  her  love  was  fast  asleep, 
And  the  bairn  that  was  in  her  twa  arms 

Fu'  sair  began  to  greet. 


460 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW, 


Lang  stood  she  at  her  true  love's  door, 

And  hang  tirled  at  the  pin ; 
At  length  up  gat  his  fause  mother, 

Says,  "  Wha  's  that  wad  he  in  ?  " 

"  Oh  it  is  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

Your  love,  come  o'er  the  sea, 
But  and  your  young  son  in  her  arms ; 

So  open  the  door  to  me." 

"  Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman  ! 

You  're  nae  come  here  for  gude ; 
You  're  but  a  witch,  or  a  vile  warlock. 

Or  mermaid  o'  the  flude." 

"I'm  uae  a  witch  or  vile  warlock. 

Or  mermaiden,"  said  she ; — 
"I  'm  but  your  Annie  of  Lochroyan; — 

Oh  open  the  door  to  me  !  " 

"Oh  gin  ye  be  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

As  I  trust  not  ye  be. 
What  taiken  can  ye  gie  that  e'er 

I  kept  your  companie  ?  " 

"  Oh  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregor,"  she  says, 

"  Whan  we  sat  at  the  wine. 
How  we  changed   the  napkins  frae   our 
necks  ? 

It 's  nae  sae  lang  sinsyne. 

"  And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  enough, 

But  nae  sae  gude  as  mine  ; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  cambrick  clear, 

But  mine  o'  the  silk  sae  fine. 

"  And  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregor,"  she 
says, 

"  As  we  twa  sat  at  dine, 
How  we  changed  the  rings  frae  our  fingers. 

And  I  can  shew  thee  thine : 

"  And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  enough. 

Yet  nae  sae  gude  as  mine ; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  gude  red  gold, 

But  mine  o'  the  diamonds  fine. 

"  Sae  open  the  door,  now,  love  Gregor, 

And  open  it  wi'  speed ; 
Or  your  young  son,  that  is  in  my  arms, 

For  cald  will  soon  he  dead." 


"  Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman  I 

Gae  frae  my  door  for  shame ; 
For  I  hae  gotten  anither  fair  love— 

Sae  ye  may  hie  you  hame." 

"Oh  hae  ye  gotten  anither  fair  love. 

For  a'  the  oaths  ye  sware  ? 
Then  fare  ye  weel,  now,  fause  Gregor. 

For  me  ye's  never  see  niair !  " 

Oh  hooly,  hooly  gaed  she  back, 

As  the  day  began  to  peep ; 
She  set  her  foot  on  good  ship  board, 

And  sair,  sair  did  she  weep. 

"  Tak  down,  tak  down  the  mast  o'  goud ; 

Set  up  the  mast  o'  tree  ; 
111  sets  it  a  forsaken  lady 

To  sail  sae  gallantlie. 

"  Tak  down,  tak  down  the  sails  o'  silk ; 

Set  up  the  sails  o'  skin ; 
111  sets  the  outside  to  be  gay, 

Whan  there 's  sic  grief  Avithin !  " 

Love  Gregor  started  frae  his  sleep, 

And  to  his  mother  did  say  : 
"  I  dreamt  a  dream  this  night,  mither, 

That  maks  my  heart  richt  wae ; 

"  I  dreamt  that  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

The  flower  o'  a'  her  kin. 
Was  standin'  mournin'  at  my  door; 

But  nane  wad  lat  her  in." 

"  Oh  there  was  a  woman  stood  at  the  door, 
Wi'  a  bairn  intill  her  arms ; 
But  I  wadua  let  her  within  the  bower, 
For  fear  she  had  done  you  harm." 

Oh  quickly,  quickly  raise  he  up. 

And  fast  ran  to  the  strand ; 
And  there  he  saw  her,  fair  Annie, 

Was  sailing  frae  the  land. 

And  " heigh,  Annie !  "  and  "how,  Annie! 

O,  Annie,  winna  ye  bide?  " 
But  ay  the  louder  that  he  cried  "  Annie," 

The  higher  raired  the  tide. 

And  "heigh,  Annie!  "  and  "how,  Annie! 

O,  Annie,  speak  to  me!  " 
But  ay  the  louder  that  he  cried  "  Annie," 

The  louder  raired  the  sea. 


THE  DOWIE  DENS  OF  YARROW. 


451 


The  wind  grew  loud,   and  the  sea  grew 
rough, 

Aud  the  ship  was  rent  in  twain ; 
And  soon  he  saw  her,  fair  Annie, 

Come  floating  o'er  the  main. 

He  saw  his  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Baith  tossed  aboon  the  tide  ; 
He  wrang  his  hands,  and  fast  he  ran. 

And  plunged  in  the  sea  sae  wide. 

He  catched  her  by  the  yellow  hair, 

And  drew  her  to  the  strand ; 
But  cald  and  stiff  was  every  limb. 

Before  he  reached  the  land. 

Oh  first  he  kist  her  cherry  cheek, 

And  syne  he  kist  her  chin  : 
And  sair  he  kist  her  ruby  lips, 

But  there  was  nae  breath  within. 

Oh  he  has  mourned  o'er  fair  Annie, 
Till  the  sun  was  ganging  down; 

Syne  wi'  a  sich  his  heart  it  bi'ast. 
And  his  saul  to  heaven  has  flown. 

ANONTMOrS. 


THE  DOWIE  DENS  OF  TAEEOW. 

Late  at  e'en,  drinking  the  wine, 
And  ere  they  paid  the  lawing. 

They  set  a  combat  them  between, 
To  fight  it  in  the  dawing. 

"  Oh  stay  at  hame,  my  noble  lord! 

Oh  stay  at  hame,  my  marrow! 
My  cruel  brother  will  you  betray 

On  the  dowie  houms  of  Yarrow." 

"  Oh  fare  ye  weel,  my  ladye  gaye ! 

Oh  fare  ye  weel,  my  Sarah  ! 
For  I  maun  gae,  though  I  ne'er  return 

Frae  the  dowie  banks  o'  Yarrow." 

She  kissed  his  cheek,  she  kaimed  his  hair. 
As  oft  she  had  done  before,  oli ; 

Slie  belted  him  with  his  noble  brand, 
And  he  's  away  to  Yarrow. 


As  he  gaed  up  the  Tennies  banli:, 

I  wot  he  gaed  wi'  sorrow, 
Till,  down  in  a  den,  he  spied  nine  armed 
men, 

On  the  dowie  houms  of  Yarrow. 

"  Oh  come  ye  here  to  part  your  land. 

The  bonnie  forest  thorough  ? 
Or  come  ye  here  to  wield  your  brand, 

On  the  dowie  houms  of  Yarrow  ? " — 

"  I  come  not  here  to  part  my  land. 
And  neither  to  beg  nor  borrow  ; 

I  come  to  wield  my  noble  brand, 
On  the  bonnie  banks  of  Yarrow. 

"  If  I  see  all,  ye  're  nine  to  ane ; 

And  that 's  an  unequal  marrow : 
Yet  will  I  fight,  while  lasts  my  brand, 

On  the  bonnie  banks  of  Yarrow." 

Four  has  he  hurt,  and  five  has  slain. 
On  the  bloody  braes  of  Yarrow, 

Till  that  stubborn  knight  came  him  behind, 
And  ran  his  body  thorough. 

"  Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  good  brother  John, 

And  tell  your  sister  Sarah, 
To  come  and  lift  her  leafu'  lord ; 

He 's  sleepin'  sound  on  Yarrow." — 

"  Yestreen  I  dreamed  a  dolefu'  dream : 

I  fear  there  will  be  sorrow  ! 
I  dreamed  I  pu'd  the  heatlier  green, 

"Wi'  my  true  love,  on  Y'arrow. 

"  O  gentle  wind,  that  bloweth  south. 
From  where  my  love  rcpaii'eth. 

Convey  a  kiss  from  his  dear  mouth. 
And  tell  me  how  he  fareth ! 

"  But  in  the  glen  strive  armed  men ; 

They  've  wrought  me  dole  and  sorrow ; 
They  've  slain — the  comeliest  knight  they  've 
slain — 

He  bleeding  lies  on  Y'arrow." 

As  she  sped  down  yon  high,  high  hill, 
She  gaed  wi'  dole  and  sorrow, 

And  in  the  den  spied  ten  slain  men, 
On  the  dowie  banks  of  Yarrow-. 


452 


POEMS  or  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


Sho  kissed  his  cheeks,  she  kaimed  his  hair, 
She  searched  his  wounds  all  thorough ; 

She  kissed  them,  till  her  lips  grew  red, 
On  tlie  dowie  houms  of  Yarrow. 

"ISTow  haud  your   tongue,  my   daughter 
dear ! 

For  a'  this  breeds  but  sorrow ; 
I  '11  wed  ye  to  a  better  lord, 

Than  him  ye  lost  on  Yarrow." — 

"  Oh  haud  your  tongue,  my  father  dear ! 

Ye  mind  me  but  of  sorrow ; 
A  fairer  rose  did  never  bloom 

Than  now  lies  cropped  on  Yarrow." 

Anonymous. 


THE  BRAES  OF  YAEROW. 

"  Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  bride! 

Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  winsome  marrow ! 
Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  bride. 

And  think  nae  mair  of  the  braes  of  Yarrow." 


"  "Where  got  ye  that  bonnie,  bonnie  bride. 
Where  got  ye  that  winsome  marrow  ? " 

"  I  got  her  where  I  daurna  weel  be  seen, 
Pu'ing  the  birks  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow. 


"Weep  not,  weep  not,  my  bonnie,  bonnie 
bride, 

Weep  not,  weep  not,  my  winsome  marrow! 
Nor  let  thy  heart  lament  to  leave 

Pu'ing  the  birks  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow." 

"Why  does  she  weep,  thy  bonnie,  bonnie 
bride? 

Why  does  she  weep,  thy  winsome  marrow? 
And  why  daur  ye  nae  mair  weel  be  seen 

Pu'ing  the  birks  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow  ? " 

"  Lang  maun  she  weep,  lang  maun  she,  maun 
she  weep — 

Lang  maun  she  Aveep  wi'  dule  and  sorrow. 
And  lang  maun  I  nae  mair  weel  be  seen 

Pu'ing  the  birks  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow. 


"  For  she  has  tint  her  lover,  lover  dear — 
Ilor  lover  dear,  the  cause  of  sorrow; 

And  I  hac  slain  the  comeliest  swain 

That  e'er  pu"d  birks  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow. 

"Why  runs  thy  stream,  O  Yarrow,  Yarrow, 
red? 
Why  on  thy  braes  heard  the  voice  of  sor- 
row? 
And  why  yon  melancholious  weeds 
Hung  on  the  bonnie  birks  of  Yarrow  ? 

"What's  yonder  floats  on  the  rueful,  rueful 
flood? 
What 's  yonder  floats  ? — Oh,  dule  and  sor- 
row! 
'Tis  he,  the  comely  swain  I  slew 
Upon  the  dulefu'  braes  of  Yarrow. 

"  Wash,  Oh  wash  his  wounds,  his  Avounds  in 
tears. 

His  wounds  in  tears  o'  dule  and  sorrow ; 
And  wrap  his  limbs  in  mourning  weeds. 

And  lay  him  on  the  banks  of  Yarrow. 

"  Then  build,  then  build,  ye  sisters,  sisters  sad, 
Ye  sisters  sad,  his  tomb  wi'  sorrow ; 

And  weep  aroimd,  in  waeful  wise. 
His  hapless  fate  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow ! 

"  Curse  ye,  curse  ye,  his  useless,  useless  shield, 
The  arm  that  wrought  the  deed  of  sorrow, 

The  fatal  spear  that  pierced  his  breast. 
His  comely  breast,  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow! 

"  Did  I  not  warn  thee  not  to,  not  to  love. 
And  warn  from  fight?     But,  to  my  sorrow, 

Too  rashly  bold,  a  stronger  arm  thou  met'st, 
Thou  met'st,  and  fell  on  the   braes  of  Yar- 
row. 

Sweet  smells  the  birk;    green  grows,  green 
grows  the  grass; 

Yellow  on  Yarrow's  braes  the  gowan ; 
Fair  hangs  the  apple  frae  the  rock ; 

Sweet  the  wave  of  Yarrow  flowing! 

"Flows  Yarrow  sweet?    As  sweet,  as  sweet 
flows  Tweed ; 

As  green  its  grass ;  its  gowan  as  yellow ; 
As  sweet  smells  on  its  braes  the  birk ; 

The  apple  from  its  rocks  as  mellow ! 


RARE    WILLIE    DROWNED    IN    YARROW. 


453 


"Fair  vv^as  tliy  love !  fair,  fair  indeed  thy  love ! 

In  flowery  bands  thou  didst  him  fetter ; 
Though  he  was  fair,  and  well-beloved  again, 

Than  I  he  never  loved  thee  better. 

"Busk  ye,  then,  busk,  my  bonnie,  bonnie 
bride ! 
Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  winsome  marrow ! 
Busk  ye,  and  lo'e  me  on  the  banks  of  Tweed 
And  think  nae  mair  on  the  braes  of  Yar- 
row." 

"How  can  I  busk  a  bonnie,  bonnie  bride? 

HoAV  can  I  busk  a  winsome  marrow  ? 
How  can  I  lo'e  him  on  the  banks  of  Tweed, 

That  slew  my  love  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow  ? 

"  Oh  Yarrow  fields,  may  never,  never  rain, 
jSTor  dew,  thy  tender  blossoms  cover  I 

For  there  was  basely  slain  my  love, 
My  love,  as  he  had  not  been  a  lover. 

"  The  boy  put  on  his  robes,  his  robes  of  green. 
His  purple  vest — 'twas  my  ain  sewing; 

Ah,  wretched  me!  I  little,  little  kenned 
He  was,  in  these,  to  meet  his  ruin. 

"The  boy  took  out  his  milk-white,  milk-white 
steed. 

Unmindful  of  my  dule  and  sorrow ; 
But  ere  the  too  fa'  of  the  night. 

He  lay  a  corpse  on  the  banks  of  Yarrow ! 

"Much  I  rejoiced  that  waefu',  waefu'  day ; 

I  sang,  my  voice  the  woods  returning ; 
But  lang  ere  night  the  spear  was  flown 

That  slew  my  love,  and  left  me  mourning. 

"What  can  ray  barbarous,  barbarous  father  do. 
But  with  his  cruel  rage  pursue  me? 

My  lover's  blood  is  on  thy  spear — 
How  canst  thou,  barbarous  man,  then  woo 
me? 

"My  haj)f>y  sisters  may  be,  may  be  proud; 

With  cruel  and  ungentle  scoffing 
May  bid  me  seek,  on  Yarrow  braes. 

My  lover  nailed  in  his  coffin. 

"My  brother  Douglas  may  upbraid. 
And  strive,   with  threatening  words,   to 
move  me ; 

My  lover's  blood  is  on  thy  spear — 
How  canst  thou  ever  bid  me  love  thee  ? 


"  Yes,  yes,  prepare  the  bed,  the  bed  of  love  I 
With  bridal-sheets  my  body  cover ! 

Unbar,  ye  bridal-maids,  the  door ! 
Let  in  the  expected  husband-lover ! 

"But  who  the  expected  husband,  husband  is? 

His  hands,  methinks,  are  bathed  in  slaugh- 
ter! 
Ah  me !  what  ghastly  spectre 's  yon 

Comes  in  his  pale  shroud,  bleeding  after  ? 

"  Pale  as  he  is,  here  lay  him,  lay  him  down ; 

Oh  lay  his  cold  head  on  my  pillow ! 
Take  off,  take  off  these  bridal  weeds, 

And  crown  my  careful  head  with  willow. 

"Pale  though  thou  art,  yet  best,  yet  best  be- 
loved. 

Oh  could  my  warmth  to  life  restore  thee  I 
Yet  lie  all  night  within  my  arms — 

No  youth  lay  ever  there  before  thee ! 

"  Pale,  pale  indeed,  O  lovely,  lovely  youth ! 

Forgive,  forgive  so  foul  a  slaughter, 
And  lie  all  night  within  my  arms, 

No  youth  shall  ever  lie  there  after ! " 

"  Eeturn,    return,     O     mournful,    mournful 
bride ! 
Return,  and  dry  thy  useless  sorrow ! 
Thy  lover  heeds  nought  of  thy  sighs ; 

He  lies  a  corpse  on  the  braes  of  Yarrow." 

William  Hamiltok, 


RARE  WILLY  DROWNED  IN  YARROW. 

"Willy's  rare,  and  Willy's  fair. 
And  Willy 's  wondrous  bonny  ; 

And  Willy  heght  to  marry  me. 
Gin  e'er  he  married  ony. 

"  Yestreen  I  made  my  bed  fir  braid, 
This  night  I  '11  make  it  narrow ; 

For  a'  the  livelang  winter  night 
I  ly  twined  of  my  marrow. 

"  Oh  came  you  by  yon  water-side  ? 

Pou'd  you  the  rose  or  lily  ? 
Or  came  you  by  yon  meadow  green? 

Or  saw  you  my  sweet  Willy  ? " 


454                                 POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

She  songlit  bim  east,  she  sought  liim  west, 

No  longer  seek  him  east  or  west, 

She  sought  him  braid  and  narrow ; 

And  search  no  more  the  forest  thorougli  •, 

Sjne  in  the  cleaving  of  a  craig, 

For,  wandering  in  the  night  so  dark,               i 

She  found  liim  drowned  iu  Yarrow. 

He  fell  a  lifeless  corse  in  Y'arrow. 

Anonymous. 

The  tear  shall  never  leave  my  cheek, 
No  other  youth  shall  bo  my  marrow  ; 

▼  "■ 

I  '11  seek  thy  body  in  the  stream. 

SONG. 

And  then  with  thee  I'll  sleep  in  Yarrow. 

John  Logan. 

TnY  braes  were  bonny,  Y'arrow  stream ! 
When  first  on  tliem  I  met  my  lover ; 

Thy  braes  how  dreary,  Y'arrow  stream ! 

W  hen  now  thy  waves  his  body  cover. 

THE  CEUEL  SISTEE. 

For  ever  now,  0  Y'arrow  stream ! 

Thou  art  to  me  a  stream  of  sorrow ; 

There  were  two  sisters  sat  in  a  hour, 

For  never  on  thy  banks  shall  I 

£innorie,  OBinnorie; 

•      Behold  my  love,  the  flower  of  Y'arrow. 

There  came  a  knight  to  be  their  wooer ; 

By  the  tonmj  milldams  of  Bmnorie. 

He  promised  me  a  milk-white  steed. 

To  bear  me  to  his  father's  bowers ; 

He  courted  the  eldest  with  glove  and  ring, 

He  promised  me  a  little  page. 

Bmnorie^  0  Binnorie  ; 

To  'squire  me  to  his  father's  towers ; 

But  he  lo'ed  the  youngest  abune  a'  thing ; 

He  promised  me  a  wedding-ring — 

By  the  lonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

The  wedding-day  was  fixed  to-morrow  ; 

Now  he  is  wedded  to  his  grave. 

He  courted  the  eldest  with  broach  and  knife 

Alas,  his  watery  grave,  in  Y'arrow ! 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 

But  he  lo'ed  the  youngest  abune  his  life ; 

Sweet  were  his  words  when  last  we  met ; 

By  the  lonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

My  passion  I  as  freely  told  him ! 

Clasped  in  his  arms,  I  little  thought 

The  eldest  she  was  vexed  sair. 

That  I  should  never  more  behold  him! 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 

Scarce  was  he  gone,  I  saw  his  ghost ; 

And  sore  envied  her  sister  fair; 

It  vanished  with  a  shriek  of  sorrow ; 

By  the  lonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

Thrice  did  tlie  water-wraith  ascend. 

And  gave  a  doleful  groan  thro'  Y'arrow. 

The  eldest  said  to  the  youngest  ane, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie 

His  mother  from  the  window  looked. 

"  Will  ye  go  and  see  our  father's  ships  come 

AVith  all  the  longing  of  a  mother ; 

in?" 

His  little  sister  weeping  walked 

By  the  lonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

The  green-wood  path  to  meet  her  brother. 

They  sought  him  east,  they  sought  him  west. 

She 's  ta'en  her  by  the  lily  hand, 

They  sought  him  all  the  forest  thorough  ; 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie — 

They  only  saw  the  cloud  of  night. 

And  led  her  doAvn  to  the  river  strand ; 

They  only  heard  the  roar  of  Y'arrow  ! 

By  the  honny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

No  longer  from  thy  window  look, 

The  youngest  stude  upon  a  stane, 

Thou  hast  no  son,  thou  tender  mother ! 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 

No  longer  walk,  thou  lovely  maid ; 

The  eldest  came  and  pushed  her  in ; 

Alas,  thou  hast  no  more  a  brother ! 

By  the  lonny  milldams  of  Binnorie 

THE    CRUEL    SISTER. 


45  n 


She  took  her  by  the  middle  sma', 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  dashed  her  bonny  back  to  the  jaw  ; 

By  the  'bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

"  O  sister,  sister,  reach  your  hand, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  ye  shall  be  heir  of  half  my  land." — 
By  tlie  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

"  O  sister,  I'll  not  reach  my  hand, 

Binnorie.,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  I'll  be  heir  of  all  your  land ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  B inner ie. 

"  Shame  fa'  the  hand  that  I  should  take, 

Binnorie.,  0  Binnorie : 
It's  twined  me  and  my  world's  make." — 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

"  0  sister,  reach  me  but  your  glove, 
Binnorie.,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  sweet  "William  shall  be  your  love." — 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

"  Sink  on,  nor  hope  for  hand  or  glove ! 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  sweet  William  shall  better  be  my  love. 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

'*  Your  cherry  cheeks  and  your  yellow  hair, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
Garred  me  gang  maiden  evermair." 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

Sometimes  she  sunk,  and  sometimes  she  swam, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
Until  she  cam  to  the  miller's  dam  ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

"  0  father,  father,  draw  your  dam ! 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
There's  either  a  mermaid,  or  a  milk-white 

Bwan." 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

The  miller  hasted  and  drew  his  dam, 
Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  there  he  found  a  drowned  woman  ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 


You  could  not  see  her  yellow  hair, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
For  gowd  and  pearls  that  were  so  rare ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

You  could  not  see  her  middle  sma', 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
Her  gowden  girdle  was  sae  bra' ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

A  famous  harper  passing  by, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
The  sweet  pale  face  he  chanced  to  spy ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

And  when  he  looked  that  lady  on, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
He  sighed  and  made  a  heavy  moan ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

He  made  a  harp  of  her  breast-bone, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
Whose  sounds  would  melt  a  heart  of  stone  ; 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

The  strings  he  framed  of  her  yellow  hair, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie — 
Whose  notes  made  sad  the  listening  ear ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

He  brought  it  to  her  father's  hall, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  there  was  the  court  assembled  all ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

He  laid  his  harp  upon  a  stone, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie ; 
And  straight  it  began  to  play  alone  ; 

By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

*'  Oh  yonder  sits  my  father,  the  king, 
Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  yonder  sits  my  mother,  the  queen ; " 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

"And  yonder  stands  my  brother  Hugh, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
And  by  him  my  William,  sweet  and  true." 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

But  the  last  tune  that  the  harp  played  then, 

Binnorie,  0  Binnorie  ; 
■\Vas — "  Woe  to  my  sister,  false  Helen  I " 
By  the  bonny  milldams  of  Binnorie. 

Anonymous. 


45(5 


rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW 


LORD  EANDAL. 

"  On  where  liae  ye  been,  Lord  Randal,  my 

son? 
Oh  where  hae  ye  been,  my  liandsome  young 

man  ?  " 
"I  liae  been  to  the   wild   wood;    mother, 

make  my  bed  soon, 
For  I  'm  weary  wi'  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie 

down." 


"  Where  gat  ye  your  dinner.  Lord  Randal, 

my  son  ? 
What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner,  my  handsome 


young  man 


%  " 


"  I  dined  wi'  my  true-love ;   mother,  make 

my  bed  soon. 
For  I'm  weary  wi'  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie 

down." 

'•  What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner.  Lord  Randal, 

my  son  ? 
What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner,  my  handsome 

young  man  ?  " 
"  I  gat  eels  boiled  in  broo  ;  mother,  make  my 

bed  soon. 
For  I'm  weary  wi'  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie 

down." 

"  What  became  of  your  bloodhounds,  Lord 
Randal,  my  son  ? 

What  became  of  your  bloodhounds,  my  hand- 
some young  man  ? " 

"  Oh  they  swelled  and  they  died ;  mother, 
make  my  bed  soon, 

For  I'm  weary  wi'  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie 
down." 

"  Oh  I  fear  ye  are  poisoned,  Lord  Randal,  my 

son ! 
Oh  I  fear  ye  are  poisoned,  my  handsome  young 

man!  " 
''Oh yes!  I  am  poisoned;  mother,  make  my 

bed  soon. 
For  I  'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wald  he 

down." 

Akontmous. 


EDWARD,  EDWARD. 

"  QuHT  dois  zour  brand  sae  drop  wi'  bluid, 

Edward,  Edward : 
Qnhy  dois  zour  brand  sae  drop  wi'  bluid. 

And  quhy  sae  sad  gang  zee  oh  ?  " 
"Oh  I  hae  killed  my  hauke  sae  guid, 

Mither,  mither : 
Oh  I  hae  killed  my  hauk  sae  guid. 

And  I  had  nae  mair  hot  bee  oh." 

"  Zour  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid, 

Edward,  Edward : 
Zour  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid — 

My  deir  son,  I  tell  thee  oh." 
"  Oh  I  hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

Mither,  mither : 
Oh  I  hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid. 

That  erst  was  sae  fair  and  free  oh." 

"Zom"  steid  was  auld,  and  ze  hae  gat  mair, 

Edward,  Edwai'd: 
Zour  steid  was  auld,  and  ze  hae  got  mail* — 

Sum  other  dule  ze  drie  oh." 
"  Oh  I  hae  killed  my  fader  deii", 

Mither,  mither : 
Oh  I  hae  killed  my  fader  deir — 

Alas !  and  wae  is  mee  oh !  " 

"  And  quhatten  penance  wul  ze  drie  for  that, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  quhatten  penance  wul  ze  drie  for  that  ? 

My  deir  son,  now  tell  me  oh." 
"  He  set  my  feit  in  zonder  boat, 

Mither,  mither : 
He  set  my  feit  in  zonder  boat. 

And  Re  fare  ovir  the  sea  oh." 

"And  quhat  wul  zo  doe  wi'  zour  towirs  and 
zour  ha', 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  quhat  wul  zo  doe  wi'  zour  towirs  and 
zour  ha'. 
That  were  sae  fair  to  see  oh  ?  " 
"  He  let  tliame  stand  til  they  douu  fa', 

Mither,  mither : 
He  let  thame  stand  til  they  doun  fa', 

For  here  nevir  mair  maun  I  bee  oh." 


THE    TWA    BROTHERS. 


457 


"And  quhat  wul  ze  leive  to  zour  bairns  and 

zour  wife, 

Edward,  Edward? 

And  quhat  wul  ze  leive  to  zour  bairns  and 

zour  wife, 

Quhan  ze  gang  ovir  the  sea  oh  ?  " 

"  The  warldis  room — late  them  beg  throw  life, 

Mither,  mither: 

The  warldis  room — ^late  them  beg  throw  life, 

For  thame  nevir  mair  wul  Isee  oh." 

"  And  quhat  wul  ze  leive  to  zour  ain  mither 
deir, 

Edward,  Edward? 
And  quhat  wul  ze  leive  to  zour  ain  mither 
deir? 

My  deir  son,  now  tell  me  oh.  " 
"  The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ze  heir, 

Mither,  mither:     ' 
The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ze  beir — • 

Sic  counseils  ze  gave  to  me  oh.  " 

Anontmoits. 


THE  TWA  BROTHEES. 

$ 
There  were  twa  brothers  at  the  scule. 

And  when  they  got  awa',— ^ 
"  It 's  will  ye  play  at  the  stane-chucking. 

Or  will  ye  play  at  the  ba'  ? 
Or  will  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill  head, 

And  there  we  '11  warsel  a  fa'  ?  " 

"  I  winna  play  at  the  stane-chucking, 

Nor  will  I  play  at  the  ba' ; 
But  I  '11  gae  up  to  yon  bonnie  green  hill. 

And  there  we  '11  warsel  a  fa'  ? " 

They  warsled  up,  they  warsled  down. 

Till  John  fell  to  the  ground ; 
A  dirk  fell  out  of  William's  pouch. 

And  gave  John  a  deadly  wound. 

"  Oh  lift  me  upon  your  back — 

Tak  me  to  yon  well  fair; 
And  wash  my  bluidy  wounds  o'er  and  o'er. 

And  they  '11  ne'er  bleed  nae  mair." 

lie  's  lifted  his  brother  upon  his  back, 

Ta'cn  him  to  yon  well  fair ; 
He's  washed  his  bluidy  Avounds  o'er  and  o'er. 

But  they  bleed  ay  mair  and  mair. 
62 


"  Tak  ye  aff  my  Holland  sark. 

And  rive  it  gair  by  gair. 
And  row  it  in  my  bluidy  wounds, 

And  they  '11  ne'er  bleed  nae  mair." 

He  's  taken  aff  his  Holland  sark, 

And  torn  it  gair  by  gair ; 
He 's  rowit  it  in  his  bluidy  wounds, 

But  they  bleed  ay  mair  and  mair. 

"  Tak  now  aff  my  green  cleiding, 

And  row  me  saftly  in ; 
And  tak  me  up  to  yon  kirk  style, 

Whare  the  grass  grows  fair  and  green." 

He  's  taken  aff  the  green  cleiding, 

And  rowed  him  saftly  in  ; 
He 's  laid  him  down  by  yon  kirk  style, 

Whare  the  grass  grows  fair  and  green. 

"What  will  ye  say  to  your  father  dear. 

When  ye  gae  hame  at  e'en  ?  " 
"I  '11  say  ye  're  lying  at  yon  kirk  style, 
Whare  the  grass  grows  fair  and  green." 

"  Oh  no,  oh  no,  my  brother  dear. 

Oh  you  must  not  say  so ; 
But  say  that  I  am  gane  to  a  foreign  land, 

Where  nae  man  does  me  know." 

When  he  sat  in  his  father's  chair, 

He  grew  baith  pale  and  wan : 
"  Oh  what  blude  's  that  upon  your  brow  ? 

0  dear  son,  tell  to  me." 
"  It  is  the  blude  o'  my  gudc  gray  steed — 

He  wadna  ride  wi'  me." 

"  Oh  thy  steed's  blude  was  ne'er  sae  red, 

Nor  e'er  sae  dear  to  me. 
Oh  what  blude  's  this  upon  your  cheek? 

O  dear  son,  tell  to  me." 
"  It  is  the  blude  of  my  greyhound — 

He  wadna  hunt  for  me." 

"  Oh  thy  hound's  blude  was  ne'er  sae  red, 

Nor  e'er  sae  dear  to  me. 
Oh  what  blude  's  this  upon  your  liand  ? 

O  dear  son,  tell  to  me." 
"It  is  the  blude  of  my  gay  goss  hawk — 

He  wadna  flee  for  me." 


458 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


"  Oh  tliy  hawk's  bludo  was  ne'er  sae  red, 

Nor  e'er  sae  dear  to  nae. 
Oh  what  hhide  's  this  upon  your  dirk? 

Dear  Willie,  tell  to  me." 
"  It  is  the  bludo  of  my  ae  brother, 

Oh  dale  and  wae  is  me!  " 

"  Oh  what  will  ye  say  to  your  fothcr? 

Dear  Willie,  tell  to  me." 
"  I  '11  saddle  my  steed,  and  awa'  I  '11  ride 

To  dwell  in  some  fiir  countrie." 

"  Oh  when  will  ve  come  hame  aL^ain? 

Dear  Willie,  tell  to  me." 
"  When  sun  and  mune  leap  on  yon  hill — 

And  that  will  never  be." 

She  turned  hersel'  right  round  about. 
And  her  heart  burst  into  three : 

"My  ae  best  son  is  deid  and  gane, 
And  my  tother  aiie  I  '11  ne'er  see." 

Anonymous. 


THE  TWA  CORBIES. 

As  I  gaed  doun  by  yon  house-en' 

Twa  corbies  there  were  sittan  their  lane : 

The  tane  unto  the  tother  sae, 

"  Oh  where  shall  we  gae  dine  to-day  ?  " 

"Oh  down  beside  yon  new-foun  birk 

There  lies  a  new-slain  knicht; 

Nae  livin  kens  that  he  lies  there, 

But  his  horse,  his  hounds,  and  his  lady  fair. 

"  His  horse  is  to  the  huntin  gane. 

His  hounds  to  bring  the  wild  deer  hame ; 

His  lady 's  taen  another  mate ; 

Sae  we  may  make  our  dinner  swate. 

"  Oh  we  'U  sit  on  his  bonnie  briest-bane, 
And  we  '11  pyke  out  his  bonnie  grey  een ; 
Wi  ae  lock  o'  his  gowden  hair 
We  '11  theek  our  nest  when  it  blaws  bare. 

"  Mony  a  ane  for  him  maks  mane, 
But  nane  sail  ken  where  he  is  gane ; 
Ower  his  banes,  when  they  are  bare. 
The  wind  sail  blaw  for  evermair !  " 

Anonymous. 


BONNIE  GEORGE  CAMPBELL. 

Hie  upon  Hielands, 

And  low  upon  Tay, 
Bonnie  George  Campbell 

Rade  out  on  a  day. 
Saddled  and  bridled 

And  gallant  rade  he ; 
Hame  cam  his  gude  horse, 

But  never  cam  he  ! 

Out  cam  his  auld  mither. 

Greeting  fu'  sair ; 
And  out  cam  his  bonnie  bride, 

Rivin'  her  hair. 
Saddled  and  bridled 

And  booted  rade  he  ; 
Toom  hame  came  the  saddle. 

But  never  cam  he  ! 

"  My  meadow  lies  green. 
And  my  corn  is  unshorn ; 

My  barn  is  to  big, 

,    And  my  baby 's  unborn." 

Saddled  and  bridled 
And  booted  rade  ho ; 

Toom  hame  cam  the  saddle, 
But  never  cam  he ! 

AN0NYM0C3. 


LAMENT  OF  THE  BORDER  WIDOW 

My  love  he  built  me  a  bonny  bower, 
And  clad  it  a'  wi'  lilye  flour ; 
A  brawer  bower  ye  ne'er  did  see 
Than  my  true  love  he  built  for  me. 

There  came  a  man,  by  middle  day ; 
He  spied  his  sport,  and  went  away  ; 
And  brought  the  king  that  very  night, 
Who  brake  my  bower,  and  slew  my  knight. 

He  slew  my  knight,  to  me  sae  dear ; 
He  slew  my  knight,  and  poin'd  his  gear ; 
My  servants  all  for  life  did  flee, 
And  left  me  in  extremitie. 


SONG. 


459 


I  sewed  his  sheet,  making  my  mane  ; 
I  VN^atclied  the  corpse,  myself  alane  ; 
I  watched  his  body,  night  and  day ; 
No  living  creature  came  that  way. 

I  tuk  his  body  on  my  back, 

And  whiles  I  gaed,  and  whiles  I  sat ; 

I  digged  a  grave,  and  laid  him  in. 

And  happed  him  with  the  sod  sae  green. 

But  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  sair, 
"When  I  laid  the  moul'  on  his  yellow  hair? 
Oh  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  wae. 
When  I  turned  about,  away  to  gae  ? 

Nae  living  man  I  '11  love  again. 
Since  that  my  lovely  knight  is  slam  ; 
Wi'  ae  lock  of  his  yellow  hair 
I'll  chain  my  heart  for  evermair. 

Anonymous. 


FAIR  HELEK 

I  WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies ; 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries. 
Oh  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
On  fair  Zirconnell  lee ! 

Curst  be  the  heart  that  thought  the  thought. 
And  curst  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot, 
When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt. 
And  died  to  succour  me ! 

Oh  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  sair. 
When  my  love  dropt  down  and  spak  nae  mair  ? 
There  did  slie  swoon  wi'  meikle  care. 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lee. 

As  I  went  down  the  water  side, 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide — 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lee — 

I  lighted  down  my  sword  to  draw  ; 
I  hacked  him  in  jjieces  sma' — 
T  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma', 
For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

0  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare, 

1  '11  make  a  garland  of  thy  hair, 
Shall  bind  my  heart  for  evermair. 

Until  the  day  I  die ! 


Oh  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies ! 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 
Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise — 
Says,  "Haste  and  come  to  me !  " 

0  Helen  fair !  O  Helen  chaste  ! 
If  I  Avere  with  thee  I  were  blest, 
Where  thou  lies  low,  and  takes  thy  rest, 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lee. 

1  wish  my  grave  were  growing  green, 
A  winding-sheet  drawn  ower  my  een. 
And  I  in  Helen's  arms  lying, 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lee. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies ! 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 
And  I  am  weary  of  the  skies, 
For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

Anonymous. 


SONG. 


"  0  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home. 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee  !  " 
The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  wi'  foair, 
And  all  alone  went  she. 

The  creeping  tide  came  up  along  the  sand, 
And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand. 
And  round  and  round  the  sand. 
As  far  as  eye  could  see  ; 
The  blinding  mist  came  down  and  hid  the  land : 
And  never  home  came  she. 

"  Oh  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair — 
A  tress  o'  golden  hair, 
O'  drowned  maiden's  hair — 
Above  the  nets  at  sea  ? 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair, 
Among  the  stakes  on  Dee." 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam — 
The  cruel,  crawling  foam, 
The  cruel,  hungry  foam — 
To  her  grave  beside  tlio  sea  ; 
But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  tlje  cattle 
home 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee. 

Chables  Kingslst. 


4G0 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORKOW. 


BOHRAB  AND  RUSTUM. 

AN   EPISODE. 

AxD  the  first  gray  of  morning  filled  the  east, 
And  the  fog  rose  out  of  the  Oxus  stream ; 
JUit  all  the  Tartar  camp  along  the  stream 
^Yas  hushed,  and  still  the  men  Avere  plunged 

in  sleep. 
Sohrab  alone,  he  slept  not ;  all  night  along 
He  had  lain  \vakeful,  tossing  on  his  bed  ; 
But  when  the  gray  dawn  stole  into  his  tent. 
He  rose,  and  clad  himself,  and  girt  his  sword. 
And  took  his  horseman's  cloak,  and  left  his 

tent, 
And  went  abroad  into  the  cold  wet  fog. 
Through  the  dim  camp  to  Peran-TVisa's  tent. 
Through  the  black  Tartar  tents  he  passed, 

which  stood. 
Clustering  like  bee-hives,    on   the  low  flat 

strand 
Of  Oxus,  where  the  summer  floods  o'erflow 
When  the  sun  melts  the  snows  in  high  Pa- 
mere  : 
Through  tlie  black  tents  he  passed,  o'er  that 

low  strand. 
And  to  a  hillock  came,  a  little  back 
From  the  stream's  brink,  the  spot  where  first 

a  boat. 
Crossing  the  stream  in  summer,  scrapes  the 

land. 
The  men  of  former  times  had  crowned  the 

top 
With  a  clay  fort.     But  that  was  fallen  ;  and 

now 
The  Tartars  built  there  Peran-Wisa's  tent, 
A  dome  of  laths  ;    and   o'er  it  felts  were 

spread. 
And  Sohrab  came  there,  and  went  in,  and 

stood 
Upon  the  thiclr-piled  carpets  in  the  tent. 
And  found  the  old  man  sleeping  on  his  bed 
Of  rugs  and  felts  ;  and  near  him  lay  his  arms. 
And  Peran-Wisa  heard  him,  though  the  step 
Was  dulled ;  for  he  slept  light,  an  old  man's 

sleep ; 
And  he  rose  quickly  on  one  arm,  and  said  : 
"  Who  art  thou  ?  for  it  is  not  yet  clear 

dawn. 
Speak !  is  there  news,  or  any  night  alarm  ?  " 


But  Sohrab  came  to  the  bedside,  and  said: 
"  Thou  know'st  me,  Peran-Wisa ;  it  is  I. 
The  sun  is  not  yet  risen,  and  tlie  foe 
Sleep  ;  but  I  sleep  not.     All  night  long  I  lie 
Tossing  and  wakeful ;  and  I  come  to  thee. 
For  so  did  King  Afrasiab  bid  me  seek 
Thy  counsel,  and  to  heed  thee  as  thy  son, 
In  Samarcand,  before  the  army  marched  ; 
And  I  will  tell  thee  what  ray  heart  desires. 
Thou  knowest  if,  since  from  Ader-baijan  first 
I  came  among  the  Tartars,  and  bore  arms, 
I  have  still  served  Afrasiab  well,  and  shown, 
At  my  boy's  years,  the  courage  of  a  man. 
This,  too,  thou  know'st,  that  while  I  still 

bear  on 
The  conquering  Tartar  ensigns  through  the 

world. 
And  beat  the  Persians  back  on  every  field, 
I  seek  one  man,  one  man,  and  one  alone. 
Rustum,  my  father;  who,  I  hoped,  should 

greet. 
Should  one  day  greet  upon  some  well-fought 

field 
Ilis  not  unworthy,  not  inglorious  son. 
So  I  long  hoped,  but  him  I  never  find. 
Come  then,  hear  now,  and  grant  me  what 

ask. 
Let  the  two  armies  rest  to-day ;  but  I 
Will  challenge  forth  the  bravest  Persian  lords 
To  meet  me,  man  to  man.     If  I  prevail, 
Rustum  will  surely  hear  it ;  if  I  fall — 
Old  man,  the  dead  need  no  one,  claim  no  kin. 
Dim  is  the  rumor  of  a  common  fight. 
Where  host  meets  host,  and  many  names  are 

sunk ; 
But  of  a  single  combat  fame  speaks  clear." 

He  spoke  :  and  Peran-Wisa  took  the  hand 
Of  the  young  man  in  his,  and  sighed,  and 

said : 
"  O  Sohrab,  an  unquiet  heart  is  thine  ! 
Canst  thou  not  rest  among  the  Tartar  chiefs. 
And  share  the  battle's  common  chance  with 

us 
Who  love  thee,  but  nmst  press  for  ever  first, 
In  single  fight  incurring  single  risk. 
To  find  a  father  thou  hast  never  seen  ? 
That  were  far  best,  my  son,  to  stay  with  us 
Unmurmuring — in  our  tents,  while  it  is  war ; 
And  when   't  is  truce,   then    in  Afrasiab'a 

towns. 
But,  if  tliis  one  desire  indeed  rules  all. 


SOHRAB    AND    RUSTUM. 


461 


To  seek  out  Eustuin — seek  him  not  through 

fight; 
Seek  him  in  peace,  and  carry  to  his  arms — 
O  Sohrab,  carry  an  uuwounded  son ! 
But  far  hence  seek  him  ;  for  he  is  not  here. 
For  now  it  is  not  as  when  I  was  young, 
When  Rustum  was  in  front  of  every  fray  ; 
But  now  he  keeps  apart,  and  sits  at  home. 
In  Siestan,  witli  Zal,  his  father  old ; 
Whether  that  his  own  mighty  strength  at  last 
Feels  the  abhorred  approaches  of  old  age ; 
Or  in  some  quarrel  with  the  Persian  king. 
There   go; — Thou  wilt  not?   yet  my  heart 

forebodes 
Danger  or  death  awaits  thee  on  this  field. 
Fain  would  I  know  thee  safe  and  well,  though 

lost 
To  us — fain  therefore   send  thee  hence,   in 

peace 
To  seek  thy  father,  not  seek  single  fights 
In  vain.     But  who  can  keep  the  lion's  cub 
From  ravening?  and  who  govern  Rustum's 

son? 
Go !  I  will  grant  thee  what  thy  heart  desires." 
So  said  he,  and  dropped  Sohrab's  hand,  and 
left 
His  bed,  and  the  warm  rugs  whereon  he  lay ; 
And  o'er  his  chilly  limbs  his  woollen  coat 
lie  passed,  and  tied  his  sandals  on  his  feet, 
And  threw  a  white  cloak  round  him ;  and  he 

took 
In  his  right  hand  a  ruler's  staff,  no  sword ; 
And  on  his  head  he  placed  his  sheep-skin 

cap — 
Black,  glossy,  curled,  the  fleece  of  Zara-Kul ; 
And  raised  the  curtain  of  his  tent,  and  called 
His  herald  to  his  side,  and  went  abroad. 
The  sun,  by  this,  had  risen,  and  cleared  the 
fog 
From  the  broad   Oxus   and    the    glittering 

sands ; 
And  from  their  tents  the  Tartar  horsemen  filed 
Into  the  open  plain :  so  Hainan  bade — 
Haman,  who,  next  to  Peran-Wisa,  ruled 
The  host,  and  still  was  in  his  lusty  prime. 
From  their  black  tents,  long  files  of  horse, 

they  streamed : 
As  when,  some  gi'ey  November  morn,  the 

files. 
In  marching  order  spread,  of  long-necked 
cranes, 


Stream  over  Casbin,  and  the  southern  slopes 

Of  Elburz,  from  the  Aralian  estuaries, 

Or  some  frore  Caspian  reed-bed — southward 

bound 
For  the  warm  Persian  sea-board:  so  they 

streamed — 
The  Tartars  of  the  Oxus,  the  king's  guard, 
First,  Avith  black  sheep-skin  caps,  and  with 

long  spears ; 
Large  men,  large  steeds ;  who  from  Bokhara 

come, 
And  Khiva,  and  ferment  the  milk  of  mares. 
Xext  the  more  temperate  Toorkmuns  of  the 

south. 
The  Tukas,  and  the  lances  of  Salore, 
And  those  from  Attruck  and  the   Caspian 

sands — 
Light  men,  and  on  light  steeds,  who  only 

drink 
The  acrid  milk  of  camels,  and  their  wells. 
And  then  a  swarm  of  wandering  horse,  who 

came 
From    far,    and    a    more    doubtful    service 

owned — 
The  Tartars  of  Ferghana,  from  the  banks 
Of  the  Jaxartes — men  with  scanty  beards 
And  close-set  skull-caps;  and  those  wilder 

hordes 
Who  roam  o'er  Kipchak  and  the  northern 

waste, 
Kalmuks  and  unkemped  Kuzzaks,  tribes  who 

stray 
Nearest  the  pole ;  and  wandering  Kirghizes, 
Who  come  on  shaggy  ponies  from  Pamere. 
These  all  filed  out  from  camp  into  the  plain. 
And  on  the  other  side  the  Persians  formed : 
First  a  light  cloud  of  horse,  Tartars  they 

seemed. 
The  Ilyats  of  Khorassan ;  and  behind, 
The  royal  troops  of  Persia,  horse  and  foot, 
Marshalled  battalions  bright  in    burnished 

steel. 
But  Peran-Wisa  with  his  herald  came 
Threading  the  Tartar  squadrons  to  the  front. 
And  with  his  staff  kept  back  the  foremost 

ranks. 
And  when  Ferood,  who  led  the  Persians,  saw 
That  Peran-Wisa  kept  the  Tartars  back, 
lie  took  his  spear,  and  to  the  front  he  came 
And  checked  his  ranks,  and  fixed  them  where 

they  stood. 


•lo2 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


And  the  old  Tartar  came  upon  the  sand 
Betwixt  the   silent   hosts,    and    spake,   and 

said : — 
"Fcrood,   and  ye,  Persians  and  Tartars, 

hear ! 
Let  there  be  truce  between  the  hosts  to-day. 
But  choose  a  champion  from  the  Persian  lords 
To  light  our  champion,  Sohrab,  man  to  man." 

As,  in  the  country,  on  a  morn  in  June, 
When  the  dew  glistetis  on  the  pearled  ears, 
A  shiver  runs  through  the  deep  corn  for  joy — 
So,  when  they  heard  what  Peran-Wisa  said, 
A  thrill  through  all  the  Tartar  squadrons  ran. 
Of  pride  and  hope  for  Sohrab,  whom  they 

loved. 
But  as  a  troop  of  pedlars,  from  Cabool, 
Cross  underneath  the  Indian  Caucasus, 
That  vast  sky-neighboring  mountain  of  milk 

snow. 
Winding  so  high,  that,  as  they  mount,  they 

pass 
Long  flocks  of  travelling  birds  dead  on  the 


snow 


Choked  by  the   air ;    and  scarce   can  they 
themselves 

Slake  their    parched  throats  with  sugared 
mulberries — 

In  single  file  they  move,  and  stop  their  breath, 

For  fear  they  should  dislodge  the  o'erhanging 
snows — 

So  the  pale  Persians  held  their  breath  with 
fear. 
And  to  Ferood  his  brother  chiefs  came  up 

To  counsel.     Gudurz  and  Zoarrah  came ; 

And  Feraburz,  who  ruled  the  Persian  host 

Second,  and  was  the  uncle  of  the  king  ; 

These  came  and  counselled ;  and  then  Gudurz 
said : — 
"Ferood,  shame  bids  us  take  their  chal- 
lenge up. 

Yet  champion  have  we  none  to  match  this 
youth ; 

He  has  the  wild  stag's  foot,  the  lion's  heart. 

But  Rustum  came  last  night;  aloof  he  sits, 

And  sullen,  and  has  pitched  his  tents  apart : 

Him  will  I  seek,  and  carry  to  his  ear 

The  Tartar  challenge,  and  this  young  man's 
name. 

Haply  he  will  forget  his  wratTi,  and  fight. 

Stand  forth  the  while,  and  take  their  chal- 
lenge Tip." 


So  spake  he ;  and  Ferood  stood  forth  and 

said : — 
"  Old  man,  be  it  agreed  as  thou  hast  said. 
Let  Sohrab  arm,  and  we  will  find  a  man." 
He  spoke ;  and  Peran-Wisa  turned,  and  strode 
Back  through  the  opening  squadrons  to  his 

tent. 
But  through  the  anxious  Persians  Gudurz  ran. 
And  crossed  the  camp  which  lay  behind,  and 

reached. 
Out  on  the  sands  beyond  it,  Rustum's  tents. 
Of  scarlet  cloth  they  were,  and  glittering  gay. 
Just  pitched.     The  high  pavilion  in  the  midst 
Was  Rustum's ;    and  his  men  lay  camped 

around. 
And  Gudurz  entered  Rustum's  tent,  and  found 
Rustum.     His  morning  meal  was  done ;  but 

still 
The  table  stood  beside  him,   charged  with 

food — 
A  side  of  roasted  sheep,  and  cakes  of  bread. 
And  dark  green  melons.    And  there  Rustum 

sate 
Listless,  and  held  a  falcon  on  his  wrist. 
And  played  with  it ;  but  Gudurz  came  and 

stood 
Before  him ;    and  he  looked  and  saw  him 

stand ; 
And  with  a  cry  sprang  up,  and  dropped  the 

bird. 
And  greeted  Gudurz  with  both  hands,  and 

said : — 
"  Welcome !  these  eyes  could  see  no  better 

sight. 
What  news  ?    But  sit  down  first,  and  eat  and 

drink." 
But  Gudurz  stood  in  the  tent  door,  and 

said : — 
"IsTot  now^     A  time  will  come  to  eat  and 

drink, 
But  not  to-day  :  to-day  has  other  needs. 
The  armies  are  drawn  out,  and  stand  at  gaze; 
For  from  the  Tartars  is  a  challenge  brought 
To  pick  a  champion  from  the  Persian  lords 
To  fight  their  champion — and  thou  know'st 

his  name — 
Sohrab  men  call  him,  but  his  birth  is  hid. 
O   Rustum,    like  thy  might  is  this  young 

man's ! 
He  has  the  wild  stag's  foot,  the  lion's  heart. 
And  he  is  young,  and  Iran's  chiefs  are  old. 


SOIIRAB    AND    RUSTUM. 


463 


Or  else  too  weak ;  and  all  eyes  turn  to  thee. 
Come  down  and  help  us,  Rustum,  or  we  lose." 
He  spoke.    But  Eustum  answered  with  a 

smile : — 
"  Go  to !  if  Iran's  chiefs  are  old,  then  I 
Am  older.     If  the  young  are  weak,  the  king 
Errs  strangely ;  for  the    king,  for  Kai  Khos- 

roo. 
Himself  is  young,  and  honors  younger  men. 
And  lets  the  aged  moulder  to  their  graves. 
Rustum  he  loves  no    more,  but  loves  the 

young— 
The  young  may  rise  at  Sohrab's  vaunts,  not  I. 
For  what  care  I,  though  all  speak  Sohrab's 

fame? 
For  would  that  I  myself  had  such  a  son, 
And  not  that  one  slight  helpless  girl  I  have — 
A  son  so  famed,  so  brave,  to  send  to  war, 
And  I  to  tarry  with  the  snow-haired  Zal, 
My  father,  whom  the  robber  Afghans  vex, 
And  clip  his  borders  short,   and  drive  his 

herds ; 
And  he  has  none  to  guard  his  weak  old  age. 
There  would  I  go,  and  hang  my  armor  up. 
And  with  my  great  name  fence  that  weak  old 

man. 
And  spend  the  goodly  treasures  I  have  got, 
And  rest  my  age,  and  hear  of  Sohrab's  fame. 
And  leave  to  death  the  hosts  of  thankless 

kings. 
And  with  these   slaughterous  hands   draw 

sword  no  more." 
He  spoke,  and  smiled;  and  Gudurz  made 

reply  :— 
"What  then,  O  Rustum,  will  men  say  to 

this, 
When  Sohrab  dares  our  bravest  forth,  and 

seeks 
Thee  most  of  all ;  and  thou,  whom  most  he 

seeks, 
Hidest  thy  face  ?     Take  heed,  lest  men  should 

say. 
Like  some  old  miser  Rustum  lioards  hisfame^ 
And  shuns  to  peril  it  with  younger  men^ 
And,  greatly  moved,  then  Rustum  made 

reply :  — 
"  O  Gudurz,  wherefore  dost  thou  say  such 

words  ? 
Thou  knowest  better  words  than  this  to  say. 
What  is  one  more,  one  less,  obscure  or  famed. 
Valiant  or  craven,  young  or  old,  to  me  ? 


Are  not  they  mortal  ?     Am  not  I  myself? 
But  who  for  men  of  nought  would  do  great 

deeds? 
Come,  thou  shalt  see  how  Rustum  hoards  his 

fame. 
But  I  will  fight  unknown,  and  in  plain  arms; 
Let  not  men  say  of  Rustum,  he  was  matched 
In  single  fight  with  any  mortal  man." 

He  spoke,  and  frowned ;  and  Gudurz  turned. 

and  ran 
Back  quickly  through  the  camp  in  fear  and 

joy- 
Fear  at  his  wrath,  but  joy  that  Rustum  came. 
But  Rustum  strode   to   his  tent  door,  and 

called 
His  followers  in,  and  bade  them  bring  his 

arras. 
And   clad  himself  in  steel.     The  arms  he 

chose 
Were  plain,  and  on  his  shield  was  no  device ; 
Only  his  helm  was  rich,  inlaid  with  gold; 
And  from  the  fluted  spine,  atop,  a  plume 
Of  horse-hair    waved,    a  scarlet  horse-hair 

plume. 
So  armed,  he  issued  forth;  and  Ruksh,  his 

horse. 
Followed    him,   like   a    foithful    hound,    at 

heel — 
Ruksh,  whose  renown  was  noised  through 

all  the  earth — 
The  horse,  whom^  Rustum  on  a  foray  once 
Did  in  Bokhara  by  the  river  find, 
A  colt  beneath  its  dam,  and  drove  him  home, 
And  reared  him;  a  bright  bay,  with  lofty 

crest, 
Dight  with  a  saddle-cloth  of  broidered  green 
Crusted  with  gold ;  and  on  the  ground  were 

worked 
All  beasts  of  chase,  all  beasts  which  hunters 

know. 
So  followed,  Rustum  left  his  tents,  and  crossed 
The  camp,  and  to  the  Persian  host  appeared. 
And  all  the  Persians  knew  him,  and  with 

shouts 
Hailed:  but  the  Tartars  knew  not  who  he 

was. 
And  dear  as  the  wet  diver  to  the  eyes 
Of  his  pale  wife,  Avho  waits  and  weeps  on 

shore. 
By  sandy  Bahrein,  in  the  Persian  Gulf — 
Plunging  all  day  in  the  blue  waves,  at  night, 


404 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


Having  made  up  his  tale  of  precious  pearls, 
Rejoins  her  in  their  hut  upon  the  sands — 
So  dear  to  tlie  pale  Persians  Rustum  came. 

And  llustuin  to  the  Persian  front  advanced: 
And  Sohrab  armed  in  Ilaman's  tent,  and 

came. 
And  as  a-lield  the  reapers  cut  a  swathe 
Down  through  the  middle  of  a  rich  man's 

corn, 
And  on  each   side   are  squares  of  standing 

corn, 
And  in  the  midst  a  stubble,  short  and  bare : 
So  on  each  side  were  squares  of  men,  with 

spears 
Bristling;  and  in  the  midst,  the  open  sand. 
And  Rustum  came  upon  the  sand,  and  cast 
His  eyes  towards  the  Tartar  tents,  and  saw 
Sohrab    come  forth,   and  eyed  him   as  he 

came. 
As  some  rich  woman,  on  a  winter's  morn, 
Eyes  through  her  silken  curtains  the  poor 

drudge 
Who  with  numb-blackened  fingers  makes  her 

fire — 
At  cock-crow,  on  a  starlit  winter's  morn. 
When  the  frost  flowers  the  whitened  Avindow 

panes — 
And  wonders  how  she  lives,  and  what  the 

thoughts 
Of  that  poor  drudge  may  be :  so  Eustum 

eyed 
The  unknown  adventurous  youth,  who  from 

afar 
Came  seeking  Rustum,  and  defying  forth 
All  the  most  valiant  chiefs.     Long  he  perused 
His  spirited  air,  and  wondered  who  he  was. 
For  very  young  he  seemed,  tenderly  reared; 
Like  some  young  cypress,  tall,  and  dark,  and 

straight. 
Which  in  a  queen's  secluded  garden  throws 
Its  slight  dark  shadow  on  the  moonlit  turf. 
By  midnight,  to  a  bubbling  fountain's  sound — 
So  slender  Sohrab  seemed,  so  softly  reared. 
And  a  deep  pity  entered  Rustum's  soul 
As  he  beheld  him  coming ;  and  he  stood, 
And  beckoned  to  him  with  his  hand,  and 

said: 
"  OIj,  thou  young  man,  the  air  of  heaven 
is  soft, 
And  warm,  and  pleasant;    but  the  grave  is 

cold. 


Heaven's  air  is  better  than  the  cold  dead 

grave. 
Behold  me :  I  am  vast,  and  clad  in  iron. 
And  tried ;  and  I  have  stood  on  many  a  field 
Of  blood,  and  I  have  fought  with  many  a 

foe; 
Never  was  that  field  lost,  or  that  foe  saved. 
O  Sohrab,  w^herefore  wilt  thou  rush  on  death? 
Be  governed :  quit  the  Tartar  host,  and  come 
To  Iran,  and  be  as  my  son  to  me. 
And  fight  beneath  my  banner  till  I  die. 
There  are  no  youths  in  Iran  brave  as  thou." 
So  he  spake,  mildly.      Sohrab  heard  his 

voice. 
The  mighty  voice  of  Rustum  ;  and  he  saw 
His  giant  figure  planted  on  the  sand — 
Sole,  like  some  single  tower,  which  a  chief 
Has  builded  on  the  waste  in  former  years 
Against  the  robbers ;  and  he  saw  that  head. 
Streaked  with  its  first  gray  hairs.     Hope  filled 

his  soul ; 
And  he  ran  forward  and  embraced  his  knees. 
And  clasped  his  hand  within  his  own  and 

said: — 
"  Oh,  by  thy  father's  head !  by  thine  own 

soul ! 
Art  thou  not  Rustum  ?     Speak !  art  thou  not 

he?" 
But  Rustum  eyed  askance  the  kneeling 

youth. 
And  turned  away,  and  spoke  to  his  own  soul ; 
"Ah  me,  I  muse  what  this  young  fox  may 

mean. 
False,  wily,  boastful,  are  these  Tartar  boys* 
For  if  I  now  confess  this  thing  he  asks. 
And  hide  it  not,  but  say — Rmtum  is  here — 
He  will  not  yield  indeed,  nor  quit  our  foes. 
But  he  will  find  some  pretext  not  to  fight. 
And  praise  my  fame,  and  profier  courteous 

gifts — 
A  belt  or  sword  perhaps — and  go  his  way. 
And  on  a  feast  day,  in  Afrasiab's  hall, 
In  Samarcand,  he  will  arise  and  cry — 
'  I  challenged  once,  when  the  two  armies 

camped 
Beside  the  Oxus,  all  the  Persian  lords 
To  cope  with  me  in  single  fight ;  but  they 
Shrank ;  only  Rustum  dared.     Then  he  and  I 
Changed   gifts,   and  went    on   equal    terms 

away.' 
So  will  he  speak,  perhaps,  while  men  applaud . 


SOHRAB    AND    RUSTUM. 


465 


Then  were  tlie  chiefs  of  Iran  shamed  through 

me." 
And  then  he   turned,  and  sternly  spake 

aloud : 
"  Rise !     "Wherefore  dost  thou  vainly  ques- 
tion thus 
Of  Rustum?     I  am  here,  whom   thou  hast 

called 
By  challenge  forth.     Make  good  thy  vaunt, 

or  yield. 
Is  it  with  Rustum  only  thou  wouldst  fight  ? 
Rash  boy,  men  look  on  Rustum's  face  and  flee. 
For  well  I   know,  that  did  great  Rustum 

stand 
Before  thy  face  this  day,  and  were  revealed. 
There  would    be  then    no   talk  of  fighting 

more. 
But  being  what  I  am,  I  tell  thee  this — 
Do  thou  record  it  in  thine  inmost  soul — 
Either  thou  shalt  renounce  thy  vaunt,  and 

yield; 
Or  else  thy  bones  shall  strew  this  sand,  till 

winds 
Bleach  them,  or  Oxus  with  his  summer  floods, 
Oxus  iu  summer,  wash  them  all  away," 
He  spoke ;  and  Sohrab  answered,  on  his 

feet: 
"  Art  thou  so  fierce  ?     Thou  wilt  not  fright 

me  so. 
I  am  no  girl,  to  be  made  pale  by  words. 
Yet  this  thou  hast  said  well :  did  Rustum 

stand 
Here  on  this  field,  there  were  no  fighting 

then. 
But  Rustum  is  far  hence,  and  we  stand  here. 
Begin!     Thou  art  more  vast,  more  dread, 

than  I ; 
And  thou   art  proved,  I  know,  and  I  am 

young— 
But  yet  success  sways  with  the  breath  of 

heaven. 
And  though  thou  thinkest  that  thou  knowest 

sure 
Thy  victory,  yet  thou  canst  not  surely  know. 
For  w  •  are  all,  like  swimmers  in  the  sea. 
Poised  on  the  top  of  a  huge  wave  of  Fate, 
"Which  hangs    uncertain  to  which  side    to 

fall ; 
•And  whether  it  will  heave  us  up  to  land, 
Or  whether  it  will  roll  us  out  to  sea — 
Back  out  to  sea,  to  the  deep  waves  of  death — 
63 


We  know  not,  and  no  search  will  make  us 

know ; 
Only  the  event  will  teach  us  in  its  hour." 
He  spake ;  and  Rustum  answered  not,  but 

hurled 
His  spear.     Down  from  the  shoulder,  down 

it  came — 
As  on  some  partridge  in  the  corn,  a  hawk. 
That  long  has  towered  in  the  airy  clouds, 
Drops  like  a  plummet.     Sohrab  saw  it  come, 
And  sprang  aside,  quick  as  a  flash.     The  spear 
Hissed,   and  went  quivering  down  into  the 

sand. 
Which  it  sent  flying  wide.     Then  Sohrab 

threw 
In  turn,    and    full  struck  Rustum's  shield. 

Sharp  rang, 
The  iron  plates  rang  sharp,  but  turned  the 

spear. 
And  Rustum  seized  his  club,  which  none  but 

he 
Could  wield — an  unlapped  trunk  it  was,  and 

huge. 
Still  rough ;  like  those  which  men,  in  tree- 
less plains. 
To  build  them  boats,  fish  from  the  flooded 

rivers, 
Hyphasis  or  Hydaspes,  when,  high  up 
By  their  dark  springs,  the  wind  iu  winter- 
time 
Has  made  in  Himalayan  forests  wrack. 
And  strewn  the  channels  with  torn  boughs — 

so  huge 
The   club    which    Rustum  lifted  now,    and 

struck 
One  stroke ;  but  again  Sohrab  sprang  aside. 
Lithe  as  the  glancing  snake,  and  the  club 

came 
Thundering  to  earth,  and  leapt  from  Rus- 
tum's hand. 
And  Rustum  followed  his  own  blow,  and  fell 
To  his  knees,  and  with  his  fingers  clutched 

the  sand. 
And  now  niiglit  Sohrab  have  unsheathed  his 

sword. 
And  pierced  the  mighty  Rustum  while  ho 

lay 
Dizzy,  and  on  his  knees,  and  choked  with 

sand; 
But  he  looked  on,  and  smiled,  nor  bared  hia 

sword ; 


466 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


But  courteously  drew  back,  and  spoke,  and 

said : 
"  Thou  strik  'st  too  liard ;  that  club  of  thine 

■will  float 
Upon  the  summer  floods,  and  not  my  bones. 
But  rise,  and  be  not  Avroth ;  not  wroth  am  I. 
No,    when   I   see  thee,  wrath   forsakes  my 

soul. 
Thou  sayest  thou  art  not  Eustum ;  be  it  so. 
Who  art  thou  then,  that  canst  so  touch  my 

soul? 
Boy  as  I  am,  I  have  seen  battles  too ; 
Have  waded  foremost  in  their  bloody  waves. 
And  heard  their  hollow  roar  of  dying  men ; 
But  never  was  my  heart  thus  touched  before. 
Are  they  from    heaven,  these  softenings  of 

the  heart  ? 
O  thou  old  warrior,  let  us  yield  to  heaven ! 
Come,   plant   we   here  in   earth  our  angry 

spears, 
And  make  a  truce,  and  sit  upon  this  sand, 
And  pledge  each  other  in  red  wine,     like 

friends ; 
And  thou  shalt  talk  to  me  of  Eustum's  deeds. 
There  are  enough  foes  in  the  Persian  host 
Whom  I  may  meet,  and  strike,  and  feel  no 

pang; 
Champions  enough  Afrasiab  has,  whom  thou 
May'st  fight :  fight  them,  when  they  confront 

thy  spear. 
But  oh,  let  there  be  peace  'twixt  thee  and 

me!" 
He  ceased.     But  while  he  spake,  Eustum 

had  risen. 
And  stood  erect,  trembling  with  rage.     His 

club 
He  left  to  lie,  but  had  regained  his  spear. 
Whose  fiery  point  now  in  his  mailed  right 

hand 
Blazed  bright  and  baleful — like  that  autumn 

star, 
The  baleful  sign  of  fevers.    Dust  had  soiled 
His  stately  crest,  and  dimmed  his  glittering 

arms. 
His  breast  heaved ;    his  lips  foamed ;    and 

twice  his  voice 
Was  choked  with  rage.     At  last  these  words 

broke  way : — 
"  Girl !  nimble  with  thy  feet,  not  with  thy 

hands ! 
Curled  minion,  dancer,  coiner  of  sweet  words! 


Fight !    let  me  hear  thy  hateful  voice   no 

more ! 
Thou  art  not  in  Afrasiab's  gardens  now 
With  Tartar  girls,  Avith  whom  thou  art  wont 

to  dance ; 
But  on  the  Oxus  sands,  and  in  the  dance 
Of  battle,  and  with  me,  who  make  no  play 
Of  war.     I  fight  it  out,  and  hand  to  hand. 
Speak  not  to  me  of  truce,  and  pledge,  and 

Avine ! 
Eemember  all  thy  valor ;  try  thy  feints 
And  cunning ;  all  the  pity  I  had  is  gone  ; 
Because  thou  hast  shamed  me  before  both  the 

hosts, 
With  thy  light  skipping  tricks,  and  thy  girl's 

wiles." 
He   spoke ;    and   Sohrab   kindled    at    his 

taunts. 
And  he  too  drew  his  sword.     At  once  they 

rushed 
Together ;  as  two  eagles  on  one  prey 
Come  rushing  down  together  from  the  clouds, 
One  from  the  east,  one  from  the  west.     Their 

shields 
Dashed  Avith  a  clang  together ;  and  a  din 
Eose,  such  as  that  the  sinewy  Avoodcuttera 
Make  often  in  the  forest's  heart  at  morn. 
Of  hewing  axes,  crashing  trees ;  such  blows 
Eustum  and  Sohrab  on  each  other  hailed. 
And  you  Avould  say  that  sun  and  stars  took 

part 
In  that  unnatural  conflict ;  for  a  cloud 
Grew  suddenly  in  Heaven,  and  darkened  the 

sun 
Over  the  fighters'  heads;  and  a  wind  rose 
Under  their  feet,   and  moaning  swept  the 

plain. 
And  in  a  sandy  whirlwind  Avrapped  the  pair. 
In  gloom  they  tAvain  were  wrapped,  and  they 

alone ; 
For  both  the  on-looking  hosts  on  either  hand 
Stood  in  broad  daylight,  and  the  sky  was  pure. 
And  the  sun  sparkled  on  the  Oxus  stream. 
But  in  the  gloom  they  fought,  with  bloodshot 

eyes 
And  laboring  breath.     First  Eustum  struck 

the  shield 
Which  Sohrab  held  stiff  out.     The  steel-spiked 

spear 
Eent  the  tough  plates,  but  failed  to  reach  the 

skin: 


SOHRAB    AND    RUSTUil. 


407 


And   Rustum  plucked  it  back  with   angry 

groan. 
Then  Sohrab  with  his  sword  smote  Eustum's 

hehn, 
Nor  clove  its  steel  quite  through ;  but  all  the 

crest 
He  shore  away;    and  that  proud  horsehair 

plume, 
Never  till  now  defiled,  sunk  to  the  dust ; 
And  Rustum  bowed  his  head.     But  then  the 

gloom 
Grew  blacker ;  tliunder  rumbled  in  the  air, 
And  lightnings  rent  the  cloud  ;  and  Ruksh, 

the  horse, 
"Who  stood  at  hand,  uttered  a  dreadful  cry. 
No  horse's  cry  was  that,  most  like  the  roar 
Of  some  pained  desert  lion,  who  all  day 
Has  trailed  the  luinter's  javelin  in  his  side, 
And  comes  at  night  to  die  upon  the  sand. 
The  two  hosts  heard  the  cry,  and  quaked  for 

fear ; 
And  Oxus  curdled  as  it  crossed  his  stream. 
But    Sohrab    heard,   and  quailed    not — but 

rushed  on. 
And  struck  again ;  and  again  Rustum  bowed 
His  head.     But  this  time  all  the  blade,  like 

glass. 
Sprang  in  a  thousand  shivers  on  the  helm. 
And  in  his  hand  the  hilt  remained  alone. 
Then  Rustum  raised  his  head ;  his  dreadful 

eyes 
Glared,  and  he  shook  on  high  his  menacing 

spear. 
And  shouted  "Rustum!  "    Sohrab  heard  that 

shout. 
And  shrank  amazed;  back  he  recoiled  one 

step, 
And  scanned  with  blinking  eyes  the  advanc- 
ing form ; 
And   tlien    he    stood   bewildered ;    and   he 

dropped 
His  covering  shield,  and  the  spear  pierced  his 

side. 
He  reeled,  and  staggering  back,  sunk  to  the 

ground. 
And  tlien  the  gloom  dispersed,  and  the  wind 

fell, 
And  the  bright  sun  broke  forth,  and  melted 

all 
Tlie   cloud;    and  the   two   armies   saw  the 

pair — 


Saw  Rustum  standing,  safe  upon  his  feet. 
And  Sohrab  wounded,  on  the  bloody  sand. 
Then  with  a  bitter  smile,  Rustum  began : — • 
"Sohrab,  thou  thoughtest  in  thy  mind  to 

kill 
A  Persian  lord  this  day,  and  strip  his  corpse. 
And  bear  thy  trophies  to  Afrasiab's  tent ; 
Or  else  that  the  great  Rustum  would  come 

down 
Himself  to  fight,  and  that  thy  wiles  would 

move 
His  heart  to  take  a  gift,  and  let  thee  go. 
And  then  all  the  Tartar  host  would  praise 
Thy  courage  or  thy  craft,   and  spread  thy 

fame. 
To  glad  thy  father  in  his  wealc  old  age. 
Fool !  thou  art  slain,  and  by  an  unknown 

man ! 
Dearer  to  the  red  jackals  shalt  thou  be, 
Than  to  thy  friends,  and  to  thy  father  old." 
And  with  a  fearless  mien  Sohrab  replied : — 
"  Unknown  thou  art;  yet  thy  fierce  vaunt 

is  vain. 
Thou  dost  not  slay  mo,  proud  and  boastful 

man ! 
No!  Rustum  slays  me,  and  this  filial  heart. 
For  were  I  matched  with  ten  such  men  as 

thou. 
And  I  wer6  he  who  till  to-day  I  was. 
They  should  be  lying  here,  I  standing  there. 
But  that  beloved  name  unnerved  my  arm — 
That  name,  and  something,  I  confess,  in  thee, 
Which  troubles  all  my  heart,  and  made  my 

shield 
Fall;  and  thy  spear  transfixed  an  unarmed 

foe. 
And  now  thou  boastest,  and  insult'st  my  fate. 
But  hear  thou  this,  fierce  man — tremble  to 

hear ! 
The  mighty  Rustum  shall  avenge  my  death ! 
My  father,  whom   I    seek    througli  all  the 

world. 
He  shall  avenge  my  deatli,  and  punish  thee!  " 
As  when  some  lumter  in  the  spring  hath 

found 
A  breeding  eagle  sitting  on  her  nest, 
Upon  the  craggy  isle  of  a  hill  lake. 
And  pierccdiier  with  an  arrow  as  she  rose. 
And  followed  her  to  find  her  wliere  she  fell 
Far  off; — anon  her  mate  comes  winging  back 
i  From  hunting,  and  a  great  way  ofl:*  descries 


iCS 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


His  huddling  voung  left  sole ;    at  that,  he 

checks 
His  pinion,  and  with  short  uneasy  sweeps 
Circles  ahove  his  eyry,  with  loud  screams 
Chiding  his  mate  hack  to  her  nest ;  hut  she 
Lies  dying,  with  the  arrow  in  her  side, 
In  some  far  stony  gorge  out  of  his  ken — 
A  heap  of  fluttering  feathers.     Never  more 
Shall  the  lake  glass  her,  flying  over  it ; 
Never  the  black  and  dripping  precipices 
Echo  her  stormy  scream,  as  she  sails  by. 
As  that  poor  bird  flies  home,  nor  knows  his 

loss — 
So  Eustum  knew  not  his  own  loss ;  but  stood 
Over  his  dying  son,  and  knew  him  not. 
But  with   a  cold,   incredulous  voice,   he 

said: 
"  What  prate  is  this  of  fathers  and  revenge  ? 
The  mighty  Eustum  never  had  a  son." 

And,  with  a  failing  voice,  Sohrab  replied : 
"Ah  yes,  he  had !  and  that  lost  son  am  I. 
Surely  the  news  will  one  day  reach  his  ear — 
Eeach  Eustum,  where  he  sits,  and  tai'ries 

long. 
Somewhere,  I  know  not  where,  but  far  from 

here ; 
And  pierce  him  like  a  stab,  and  make  him 

leap 
To  arms,  and  cry  for  vengeance  upon  thee — 
Fierce  man,  bethink  thee — for  an  only  son  ! 
What  will  that  grief,  what  will  that  vengeance 

be! 
Oh,  could  I  live  till  I  that  grief  had  seen ! 
Yet  him  I  pity  not  so  much,  but  her. 
My  mother,  who  in  Ader-baijan  dwells 
With  that  old  king,  her  father,  who  grows 

gray 
With  age,  and  rules  over  the  valiant  Koords. 
Her  most  I  pity,  Avho  no  more  will  see 
Sohrab  returning  from  the  Tartar  camp, 
With  spoils  and  honor,  when  the  war  is  done. 
But  a  dark  rumor  will  be  bruited  up. 
From  tribe  to  tribe,  until  it  reach  her  ear ; 
And  then  will  that  defenceless  woman  learn 
That  Sohrab  will  rejoice  her  sight  no  more  ; 
But  that  in  battle  with  a  nameless  foe. 
By  the  far-distant  Oxus,  he  is  slain." 

He  spoke  ;  and  as  he  ceased  he  wept  aloud. 
Thinking  of  her  he  left,  and  his  own  death. 
He  spoke;  but  Eustum  listened,  plunged  in 

thought. 


Nor  did  he  yet  believe  it  was  his  son 

Who  spoke,  although  he  called  back  names 

he  knew ; 
For  he  had  had  sure  tidings  that  the  babe, 
Which  was  in  Ader-baijan  born  to  him. 
Had  been  a  puny  girl,  no  boy  at  all  : 
So  that  sad  mother  sent  him  word,  for  fear 
Eustum  should  take  the  boy,  to  train  in 

arms ; 
And  so  he  deemed  that  either  Sohrab  took. 
By  a  false  boast,  the  style  of  Eustum's  son  ; 
Or  that  men  gave  it  him,  to  swell  his  fame. 
So  deemed  he ;  yet  he  listened,  plunged  in 

thought ; 
And  his  soul  set  to  grief,  as  the  vast  tide 
Of  the  bright  rocking  ocean  sets  to  shore 
At  the  full  moon.     Tears  gathered  in   his 

eyes; 
For  he  remembered  his  own  early  youth. 
And  all  its  bounding  rapture.     As,  at  dawn, 
The  shepherd  from  his  mountain  lodge  des- 
cries 
A  far  bright  city,  smitten  by  the  sun, 
Through  many  rolling  clouds — so  Eustum  saw 
His  youth;   saw    Sohrab's  mother,    in   her 

bloom ; 
And  that  old  king,  her  father,  who  loved  well 
His  wandering  guest,  and  gave  him  his  fair 

child 
Witli  joy  ;  and  all  the  pleasant  life  they  led, 
They  three,   in   that  long-distant  summer- 
time— 
The  castle,  and  the  dewy  woods,  and  hunt 
And  hound,  and  morn  on  those  delightful 

hills 
In  Ader-baijan.     And  he  saw  that  youth. 
Of  age  and  looks  to  be  his  own  dear  son. 
Piteous  and  lovely,  lying  on  the  sand. 
Like    some    rich    hyacinth,   which    by   the 

scythe 
Of  an  uHskilful  gardener  has  been  cut, 
Mowing  the  garden  grass-plots  near  its  bed, 
And  lies,  a  fragrant  tower  of  purple  bloom, 
On  the  mown,  dying  grass :  so  Sohrab  lay, 
Lovely  in  death,  upon  the  common  sand. 
And  Eustum  gazed  on  him  with  grief,  and 
said : 
"  O  Sohrab,  thou  indeed  art  such  a  son 
Whom  Eustum,  wert  tliou  Ms,  might  well 

have  loved ! 
Yet  here  thou  errest,  Sohrab,  or  else  men 


SOHRAB    AND    RUSTUM. 


400 


Have  told  thee  false — thou  art  not  Bus  turn's 

son. 
For  Eustum  had  no  son.    One  child  he  had — 
But  one — a  girl ;  who  with  her  mother  now 
Plies  some  light  female  task,  nor  dreams  of 

us; 
Of  us  she  dreams  not,  nor  of  wounds,  nor 

war." 
But   Sohrab  answered  him  in  wrath ;  for 

now 
The  anguish  of  the   deep-fixed  spear  grew 

fierce. 
And  he  desired  to  draw  forth  the  steel. 
And  let  the  blood  flow  free,  and  so  to  die. 
But  first  he  would  convince  his  stubborn  foe ; 
And,  rising  sternly  on  one  arm,  he  said : 
"Man,  who  art  thou,  who  dost  deny  my 

words  ? 
Truth  sits  upon  the  lips  of  dying  men ; 
And  falsehood,  while  I  lived,  was  far  from 

mine. 
I  tell  thee,  pricked  upon  this  arm  I  bear 
That  seal  which  Eustum  to  my  mother  gave, 
That  she  might  prick  it  on  the  babe  she  bore." 
He  spoke :  and  all  the  blood  left  Eustum's 

cheeks ; 
And  his  knees  tottered ;    and  he   smote  his 

hand 
Against  his  breast,  his  heavy  mailed  hand. 
That  the  hard  iron  corslet  clanked  aloud ; 
And  to  his  heart  he  pressed  the  other  hand, 
And  in  a  hollow  voice  he  spake,  and  said : 
"Sohrab,  that  were  a  proof  which  could 

not  lie. 
If  thou  show  this,  then  art  thou  Eustum's 

son." 
Then,  with  weak,  hasty  fingers,    Sohrab 

loosed 
His  belt,  and  near  the  shoulder  bared  his  arm. 
And  showed  a  sign  in  faint  vermilion  points 
Pricked.     As  a  cunning  workman,  in  Pekin, 
Pricks  with  vermilion  some  clear  porcelain 

vase. 
An  emperor's  gift ;  at  early  morn  he  paints, 
And  all  day  long;  and,  u'hen  night  comes, 

tlie  lamp 
Lights  up  his  studious  forehead   and   thin 

hands : 
Bo  delicately  pricked  the  sign  appeared 
On  Sohrab's  arm — the  sign  of  Eustum's  seal 
it  was  that  griffin,  which  of  old  reared  Zal, 


Eustum's  great  father,  whom  they  left  tc 

die, 
A  helpless  babe,  among  the  mountain  rocks. 
Him  that  kind  creature  found,  and  reared, 

and  loved ; 
Then  Eustum  took  it  for  his  glorious  sign. 
And  Sohrab  bared  that  figure  on  his  arm, 
And  himself  scanned  it  long  with  mournful 

eyes. 
And  then  he  touched  it  with  his  hand  and 

said: 
"How   sayest    thou?      Is  that  sign  the 

proper  sign 
Of  Eustum's  son,  or  of  some  other  man's?" 
He  spoke :  but  Eustum  gazed,  and  gazed, 

and  stood 
Speechless;  and  then  he  uttered  one  sharp 

cry— 
"0,  boy — Thy  father!" — and  his  voice  chok- 
ed there. 
And  then  a  dark  cloud  passed  before  his  eyes. 
And  his  head  swam,  and  he  sank  down  to 

earth. 
But  Sohrab   crawled  to  where  he  lay,  and 

cast 
His  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  his  lips, 
And  with  fond,  faltering  fingers  stroked  his 

cheeks. 
Trying  to  call  him  back  to  life.     And  life 
Came  back  to  Eustum,  and  he  oped  his  eyes, 
And  they  stood  wide  v/ith  horror;    and  he 

seized 
In  both  his  hands  the  dust  which  lay  around, 
And  threw  it  on  his  head,  and  smirched  his 

hair — 
His  hair,  and  face,  and  beard,  and  glittering 

arras ; 
And  strong,  convulsive  groanings  shook  his 

breast, 
And  his  sobs  choked  him ;  and  he  clutched 

his  sword 
To  draw  it,  and  for  ever  let  life  out. 
But  Sohrab  saw  his  thought,  and  held  his 

hands ; 
And  with  a  soothing  voice  he  spoke,  and 

said: 
"Father,  forbear!  for  I  but  meet  to-day 
The  doom  that  at  ray  birth  was  written  down 
lu   heaven,  and  thou   art    heaven's  uncon- 
scious hand. 
Surely  my  heart  cried  out  that  it  was  thou, 


470 


rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


When  first  I  saw  tliee ;  and  tliy  heart  spoke 

too, 
I  know  it.     But  fate  trod  those  promptings 

down 
Under  its  iron  heel ;    fate,  fate  engaged 
The  strife,   and  hurled  me   on  my  father's 

spoar. 
But  let  us  speak  no  more  of  this — I  find 
My  father ;  let  me  feel  that  I  have  found. 
Come,  sit  heside  me  on  this  sand,  and  take 
My  head  betwixt  tliy  hands,  and  kiss  my 

cheeks, 
And  wash  them   with   thy   tears,  and  say, 

'My  son!  ' 
Quick !  quick !   for  numbered  are  my  sands 

of  life, 
And  swift ;  for  like  the  lightning  to  this  field 
I  came,  and  like  the  wind  I  go  away — 
Sudden,  and  swift,  and  like  a  passing  wind. 
But  it  was  Avrit  in   heaven  that  this  should 

be." 
So  said  he :    and  his   voice  released  the 

heart 
Of  Eustum,  and  his  tears  broke  forth;  he 

cast 
His  arms  round  his  son's   neck,  and   wept 

aloud. 
And  kissed  him.     And  awe  fell  on  both  the 

hosts 
When  they  saw  Eustum's  grief;  and  Euksh, 

the  horse. 
With  his  head  bowing  to  the  ground,  and 

mane 
Sweeping  the  dust,  came  near,  and  in  mute 

woe, 
First  to  the  one  then  to  the  other  moved 
His  head,  as  if  enquiring  what  their  grief 
Might  mean;   and  from  his  dark,  compas- 
sionate eyes. 
The  big,  warm  tears  rolled  down,  and  caked 

the  sand. 
But  Eustum  chid  him  witli  stern  voice,  and 

said: 
"  Euksh,  now  thou  grievest ;  but,  0  Euksh, 

thy  feet 
Should  then  have  rotted  on  thy  nimble  joints, 
When  first  they  bore  thy  master  to  this  field." 
But  Sohrab  looked  upon  the  horse   and 

said ; 
"  Is  this  then  Euksh  ?     How  often,  in  past 

days, 


My   mother  told    me   of  thee,   thou   brave 

steed — 
;My  terrible  fatlier's  terrible  horse !  and  said 
Tliat   I   sliould  one  day  find  thy  lord   and 

thee. 
Come,  let  me  lay  my  hand  upon  thy  mane. 
O  Euksh,  thou  art  more  fortunate  than  I ; 
Jor  thou  hast  gone  where  I  shall  never  go, 
And  snuffed  the  breezes  of  my  father's  home. 
And  thou  hast  trod  the  sands  of  Seiistan, 
And  seen  the  river    of  Helmund,  and  the 

lake 
Of  Zirrah ;  and  the  aged  Zal  himself 
Has  often  stroked  thy  neck,  and  given  theo 

food — 
Corn  in  a  golden  platter  soaked  with  wine^ 
And  said — '  0,  Euksh !  bear  Eustum  well ! ' 

But  I 
Have  never  known  my  grandsire's  furrowed 

face, 
iSTor  seen  his  lofty  house  in  Seistan, 
Nor  slaked  my  thirst  at  the  clear  Helmund 

stream ; 
But    lodged    among  my  father's  foes,   and 

seen 
Afrasiab's  cities  only,  Samarcand, 
Bokhara,  and  lone  Khiva  in  the  waste, 
And   the  black  Toorkmun  tents;  and  only 

drunk 
The  desert  rivers,  Moorghab  and  Tejend, 
Kohik,  and  where  the  Kalmuks  feed  theii 

sheep, 
The    northern  Sir;     and    this    great   Oxus 

stream — 
The  yellow  Oxus,  by  whose  brink  I  die." 

And,  with  a  lieavy  groan,  Eustum  replied  : 
"  Oh  that  its  waves  were  flowing  over  me ! 
Oh  that  I  saw  its  grains  of  yellow  silt 
EoU  tumbling  in  the  current  o'er  my  head !  " 
And,  with  a  grave,  mild  voice,  Sohrab  re- 
plied : 
"  Desire  not  that,  my  father !     Thou  must 

live ; 
For  some  are  born  to  do  great  deeds,  and  live; 
As  some  are  born  to  be  obscured,  and  die. 
Do  thou  tlie  deeds  I  die  too  young  to  do. 
And  reap  a  second  glory  in  thine  age  ; 
Thou  art  my  father,  and  thy  gain  is  mine. 
But  come!  thou  seest  this  great  host  of  men 
Which  follow  me;    I  pray  thee,  slay  nol 

these ! 


SOHRAB    AND    RUSTUM. 


4Y1 


Let  me  entreat  for  them — what  have  they 

done  ? 
They  followed  me,  my  hope,  my  fame,  my 

star. 
Let  them  all  cross  the  Oxus  hack  in  peace. 
But  me  thou  must  hear  hence,  not  send  with 

them, 
But  carry  me  with  thee  to  Seistan, 
And  place  me  on  a  bed,  and  mourn  for  me — 
Thou,  and  the  snow-haired  Zal,  and  all,  thy 

friends. 
And  thou  must  lay  me  in  that  lovely  eartl). 
And  heap  a  stately  mound  above  my  bones. 
And  plant  a  far-seen  pillar  over  all ; 
That  so  the  passing  horseman  on  the  waste 
May  see  my  tomb  a  great  way  oif,  and  say : 
S'ohrai,  the  mighty  Rustuni's  son,  lies  there^ 
Whom  his  great  father  did  in  ignorance  hill — 
And  I  be  not  forgotten  in  my  grave." 

And,  with  a  mournful  voice,  Eustum  re- 
plied : 
"  Fear  not !  as  thou  hast  said,  Sohrab,  my 

son, 
So  shall  it  be ;  for  I  will  burn  my  tents, 
And  quit  the  host,  and  bear  thee  hence  with 

me. 
And  carry  thee  away  to  Seistan, 
And  place  thee  on  a  bed,  and  mourn  for  thee, 
With    the    snow-headed    Zal,    and    all    my 

friends. 
And  I  will  lay  thee  in  that  lovely  earth. 
And  heap  a  stately  mound  above  thy  bones. 
And  plant  a  far-seen  pillar  over  all ; 
And  men  shall  not  forget  thee  in  thy  grave ; 
And  I  will  spare  thy  host — yea,  let  them 

go- 
Let  them  all  cross  the  Oxus  back  in  peace. 
What  should  I  do  with  slaying  any  more  ? 
For  would  that  all  whom  I  have  ever  slain 
Might  be  once  more  alive — my  bitterest  foes, 
And  they  who  were  called  champions  in  their 

time, 
And  through  whose  death  I  won  that  fame  I 

Iiave — 
And  I  were  nothing  but  a  common  man, 
A  poor,  mean  soldier,  and  without  renown  ; 
So  thou  mightest  live  too,  my  son,  my  son  ! 
Or  rather,  would  that  I,  even  I  myself. 
Might  now  be  lying  on  this  bloody  sand. 
Near  death,  and  by  an  ignorant  stroke   of 

thine. 


Not  thou  of  mine ;  and  I  might  die,  not  thou ; 

And  I,  not  thou,  be  borne  to  Seistan ; 

And  Zal  might  weep  above  my  grave,  not 

thine; 
And  say — 0  so)i,  I  weep  thee  not  too  sore, 
For  willingly,   I    hioio,    thou  mefst    thine 

end  ! — 
But  now  in  blood  and  battles  was  my  youth, 
And  full  of  blood  and  battles  is  my  age ; 
And  I  shall  never  end  this  life  of  blood." 
Then  at  the  point  of  death,    Sohrab  re- 
plied : — 
"  A  life  of  blood  indeed,  thou  dreadful  man ! 
But  thou  shalt  yet  have  peace ;  only  not  now. 
Not  yet.     But  thou  shalt  have  it  on  that  day 
When  thou  shalt  sail  in  a  high-masted  ship. 
Thou  and  the  other  peers  of  Ivai-Khosroo, 
Eeturning  home  over  the  salt,  blue  sea. 
From  laying  thy  dear  master  in  his  grave." 
And  Eustum  gazed  on  Sohrab's  face,  and 

said : — 
"  Soon  be  that  day,  my  son,  and  deep  that  sea ! 
Till  "then,  if  fate  so  wills,  let  me  endure." 
He  spoke :  and  Sohrab  smiled  on  him,  and 

took 
The  spear,  and  drew  it  from  his  side,  and 

eased 
His  wound's  imperious  anguish.     But  the 

blood 
Came  welling  from  the  open  gash,  and  life 
Flowed  with  the  stream ;  all  down  his  cold 

white  side 
The    crimson    torrent    ran,    dim  now,    and 

soiled — 
Like  the  soiled  tissue  of  white  violets 
Left,  freshly  gathered,  on  their  native  bank 
By  romping  children,  whom  their  nurses  call 
From    the   hot  fields  at  noon.      His  head 

drooped  low ; 
His  limbs  grew  slack ;  motionless,  white,  he 

lay- 
White,  with  eyes  closed ;  only  when  lieavy 

gasps. 
Deep,  heavy  gasps,  quivering  through  all  his 

frame. 
Convulsed  him  back  to  life,  he  opened  them. 
And  lixcd  them  feebly  on  his  lather's  face. 
Till  now  all  strength  Avas  ebbed,  and  from  his 

limbs 
Unwillingly  the  spirit  fled  away, 
Eegrelting  the  warm  mansion  which  it  left. 


472 


rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


And  youth  and  bloom,  and   this  delightful 
world. 
So,  on  the  bloody  sand,  Solirnb  lay  dead. 
And  the  great  Rustuui  drew  his  horseman's 

cloak 
Down  o'er  his  face,  and  sate  by  his  dead  son. 
As   those  black  granite  piUars,    once  high- 
reared 
By  Jemshid  in  Persepolis,  to  bear 
His  house,  now,  mid  their  broken  flights  of 

steps, 
Lie  prone,  enormous,  down  the  mountain  side- 
So  in  the  sand  lay  Eustum  by  his  son. 
And  night  came  down   over  the  solemn 
waste, 
And  tlie  two  gazing  hosts,  and  that  sole  pair. 
And  darkened  all ;  and  a  cold  fog,  with  night. 
Crept  from  the  Oxus.    Soon  a  hum  arose, 
As  of  a  great  assembly  loosed,  and  fires 
Began  to  twinkle  through  the  fog ;  for  now 
Both  armies  moved  to  camp,  and  took  their 

meal ; 
The  Persians  took  it  on  the  open  sands 
Southward ;  the  Tartars  by  the  river  marge. 
And  Eustum  and  his  son  were  left  alone. 

But  the  majestic  river  floated  on, 
Out  of  the  mist  and  hum  of  that  low  land. 
Into  the  frosty  starlight,  and  there  moved, 
Eejoicing,  through  the  hushed  Chorasmian 

waste. 
Under  the  solitary  moon.     He  flowed 
Eight  for  the  polar  star,  past  Orgunje, 
Brimming,    and    bright,   and    large.      Then 

sands  begin 
To  hem  his  watery  march,    and    dam  his 

streams. 
And  split  liis  currents — that    for    many   a 

league 
The  shorn  and  parcelled  Oxus  strains  along 
Through  beds  of  sand,    and  matted,  rushy 

isles — 
Oxus  forgetting  the  bright  speed  he  had 
In  his  high  mountain  cradle  in  Pamere — 
A  foiled,  circuitous  wanderer.     Till  at  last 
The  longed-for  dash  of  waves  is  heard,  and 

wide 
His  luminous  home  of  waters  opens,  bright 
And  tranquil,   from  whose  floor  the    new- 
bathed  stars 
Emerge,  and  shine  upon  the  Aral  sea. 

Matthew  Arnolb. 


IPHIGENEIA  AND  AGAMEMNON. 

Iphigeneia,  wlien  she  heard  her  doom 
At  Aulis,  and  when  all  beside  the  king 
Had  gone  away,  took  his  right  hand,  and 

said : 
"  O  fatlier !  I  am  young  and  very  happy. 
I  do  not  think  the  pious  Calchas  heard 
Distinctly  what  the  goddess  spake ; — old  age 
Obscures  the  senses.     If  my  nurse,  who  knew 
My  voice  so  well,  sometimes  misunderstood, 
While  I  was  resting  on  her  knee  both  arms, 
And  hitting  it  to  make  her  mind  my  words, 
And  looking  in  her  face,  and  she  in  njine, 
Might  not  he,  also,  hear  one  word  amiss. 
Spoken  from  so  far  oflF,  even  from  Olympus  ?  " 
The  father  placed  his  cheek  upon  her  head. 
And  tears  dropt  down  it ;  but  the  king  of 

men 
Eeplied  not.     Then  the  maiden  spake  once 

more. 
"  O  fatlier !    sayest  thou  nothing?     Hearest 

thou  not 
Me,  whom  thou  ever  hast,  nntil  this  hour. 
Listened  to  fondly,  and  awakened  me 
To  hear  my  voice  amid  the  voice  of  birds, 
When  it  was  inarticulate  as  theirs. 
And  the  down  deadened  it  within  the  nest  ? " 
He  moved  her  gently  from  him,  silent  still ; 
And  this,  and  this  alone,  brought  tears  from 

her, 
Although  she  saw  fate  nearer.     Then  with 

sighs : 
"  I  thought  to  have  laid  down  my  hair  before 
Benignant  Artemis,  and  not  dimmed 
Her  polished  altar  with  my  virgin  blood ; 
I  thought  to  have  selected  the  white  flowers 
To  please  the  nymphs,  and  to  have  asked  of 

each 
By  name,  and  with  no  sorrowful  regret. 
Whether,  since  both  my  parents  willed  the 

change, 
I  might  at  Hymen's  feet  bend  my  dipt  brow ; 
And  (after  these  who  mind  us  girls  the  most) 
Adore  our  own  Athene,  that  she  would 
Eegard  me  mildly  with  her  azure  eyes — ■ 
But,  father,  to  see  you  no  more,  and  see 
Your  love,  O  father!  go  ere  I  am  gone!  " 
Gently  he  moved  her  ofi",  and  drew  her  back, 
Bending  his  lofty  head  fai'  over  hers  ; 


THE    LAMENTATION    FOR    CELIN. 


473 


And  the  dark  depths  of  nature  heaved  and 

burst. 
He  turned  away — not  far,  but  silent  still. 
She  now  first  shuddered ;  for  in  him,  so  nigh, 
So  long  a  silence  seemed  the   approach   of 

death, 
And  like  it.    Once  again  she  raised  her  voice : 
"  O  father !  if  the  ships  are  now  detained. 
And  all  your  vows  move  not  the  gods  above, 
When  the  knife  strikes  me  there  will  be  one 

prayer 
The  less  to  thera ;  and  purer  can  there  be 
Any,  or  more  fervent,  than  the  daughter's 

prayer 
For  her  dear  father's  safety  and  success  ? " 
A  groan  that  shook  him  shook  not  his  resolve. 
An  aged  man  now  entered,  and  without 
One  word,  stepped  slowly  on,  and  took  the 

wi'ist 
Of  the  pale  maiden.     She  looked  up,  and  saw 
The  fillet  of  the  priest  and  calm  cold  eyes. 
Then  turned  she  where  her  parent  stood,  and 

cried : 

"  0  father !  grieve  no  more :  the  ships  can 

sail." 

Waltek  Savage  Landoe. 


THE  la:mentatio:^t  for  celik 

At  the  gate  of  old  Granada,  when  all  its  bolts 
are  barred, 

At  twilight,  at  the  Vega-gate,  there  is  a 
trampling  heard ; 

There  is  a  trampling  heard,  as  of  horses  tread- 
ing slow, 

And  a  weeping  voice  of  women,  and  a  heavy 
sound  of  woe. 

What  tower  is  fallen?  what  star  is  set?  what 
chief  comes  these  bewailing? 

"  A  tower  is  fallen,  a  star  is  set !  Alas !  alas 
for  Celin !  " 

Three  times  they  knock — three  times  they 
cry — and  wide  the  doors  they  tlirow ; 

Dejectedly  they  enter,  and  mournfully  they  go ; 

In  gloomy  lines  they,  mustering,  stand  be- 
neath the  hollow  porcli. 

Each  horseman  grasping  in  his  hand  a  black 
and  flaming  torch ; 
64 


Wet  is  each  eye  as  they  go  by,  and  all  around 

is  wailing. 
For  aU  have  heard  the  misery. — "  Alas  1  alas 

for  Celin !  " 
Ilim,  yesterday,  a  Moor  did  slay,  of  Bencer- 

raje's  blood — 
'Twas  at  the  solemn  jousting — around  the 

nobles  stood ; 
The  nobles  of  the  land  were  by,  and  ladies 

bright  and  fair 
Looked   from    their  latticed    windows,   the 

haughty  sight  to  share ; 
But  now  the  nobles  all  lament — the  ladies  are 

bewailing — 
For  he  was  Granada's  darling  knight — "Alas! 

alas  for  Celin !  " 

Before  him  ride  his  vassals,  in  order  two  by 
two, 

With  ashes  on  their  turbans  spread,  most  piti- 
ful to  view ; 

Behind  him  his  four  sisters,  each  wrapped  in 
sable  veil, 

Between  the  tambour's  dismal  strokes  take 
up  their  doleful  tale ; 

When  stops  the  muffled  drum  ye,  hear  their 
brotherless  bewailing. 

And  all  the  people,  far  and  near,  cry — "  Alas! 
alas  for  Celin !  " 

Oh!  lovely  lies  he  on  the  bier,  above  the 
purple  pall, — 

The  flower  of  aU  Granada's  youth,  the  love- 
liest of  them  all ; 

Ilis  dark,  dark  eyes  are  closed;  his  rosy  lip  is 
pale; 

The  crust  of  blood  lies  black  and  dim  upon 
his  burnished  mail ; 

And  ever  more  the  hoarse  tambour  breaks  in 
upon  their  wailing — 

Its  sound  is  like  no  earthly  sound — "Alas! 
alas  for  Celin !  " 

The  Moorish  maid  at  the  lattice  stands — the 

Moor  stands  at  his  door ; 
One  maid  is  wringing  of  her  hands,  and  one 

is  weeping  sore ; 
Down  to  the  dust  men  bow  their  heads,  and 

ashes  black  they  strew 
Upon  their  broidered  garments  of  crimson, 

green  and  blue ; 


474 


FOEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW 


Before  each  gate  the  bier  stands  still — then 

hursts  the  loud  bewailing 
From  door  and  lattice,  high  and  low — "  Alas ! 

alas  for  Celin !  " 

An  old,  old  woman  cometh  forth,  when  she 

hears  the  people  cry — 
Iler   hair  is  white  as  silver,  like  horn  her 

glazed  eye : 
'Twas  she  that  nursed  him  at  her  breast — 

that  nursed  him  long  ago; 
She  knows  not  whom  they  all  lament,  but 

soon  she  well  shall  know  ! 
With  one  deep  shriek,  she  through  doth  break, 

when  her  ears  receive  their  wailing — 
"  Let  me  kiss  my  Celin  ere  I  die — Alas !  alas 

for  Celin!" 

Moorish  Ballad. 
Translation  of  J.  G.  Lockhaet. 


A  VERY  MOURNFUL  BALLAD. 

ON   THE   SIEGE    AND    CONQUEST    OF    ALHAMA, 

Wmcn,    IN   THE    AKABIO    LANGUAGE,    IS 

TO    THE    FOLLOWING   PUEPOET  : 

The  Moorish  king  rides  up  and  down 
Through  Granada's  royal  town;- 
From  Elvira's  gates  to  those 
Of  Bivarambla  on  he  goes. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

Letters  to  the  monarch  tell 
How  Albania's  city  fell : 
In  the  fire  the  scroll  he  threw, 
And  the  messenger  he  slew. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

lie  quits  his  mule  and  mounts  his  horse, 
And  through  the  street  directs  his  course ; 
Through  the  street  of  Zacatin 
To  the  Alhambra  spurring  in. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

When  the  Alhambra's  walls  he  gained, 
On  the  moment  he  ordained 
That  the  trumpet  straight  should  sound 
With  tlie  silver  clarion  round. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  I 


And  when  the  hollow  drums  of  war 
Beat  the  loud  alarm  afar, 
That  the  Moors  of  town  and  ])lain 
Might  answer  to  the  martial  strain. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

Then  the  Moors,  by  this  aware 
Tliat  bloody  Mars  recalled  them  there, 
One  by  one,  and  two  by  two, 
To  a  mighty  squadron  grew. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama! 

Out  then  spake  an  aged  Moor, 
In  these  wo;-ds  the  king  before : 
"Wherefore  call  on  us,  O  king? 
What  may  mean  this  gathering?" 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"Friends!  ye  have,  alas!  to  know 
Of  a  most  disastrous  blow — 
That  the  Christians,  stern  and  bold, 
Have  obtained  Alhama's  hold." 

Wo  is  me.  Alhama  / 

Out  then  spake  old  Alfaqui, 

With  his  beard  so  white  to  see: 

"  Good  king !  thou  art  justly  served — 

Good  king!  this  thou  hast  deserved. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"By  thee  were  slain,  in  evil  hour, 
The  Abencerrage,  Granada's  flower ; 
And  strangers  were  received  by  thee. 
Of  Cordova  the  chivalry. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"And  for  this,  O  king!  is  sent 
On  thee  a  double  chastisement ; 
Thee  and  thine,  thy  crown  and  realm, 
One  last  wreck  shall  overwhelm. 

Wo  is  me,  A  Ihama  ! 

"  lie  who  holds  no  laws  in  awe, 
He  must  perish  by  the  law ; 
And  Granada  must  be.  won. 
And  thyself  with  her  undone." 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

Fire  flashed  from  out  the  old  Moor's  eyes. 
The  monarch's  wrath  began  to  rise ; 


THE    FISHERMEN, 


47f) 


Because  he  answered,  and  because 
He  spake  exceeding  well  of  laws. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"There  is  no  law  to  say  such  things 
As  may  disgust  the  ear  of  kings : '' — 
Thus,  snorting  with  his  choler,  said 
The  Moorish  king,  and  doomed  him  dead. 
Wo  is  me.,  Alhama  ! 

Moor  Alfaqui !  Moor  Alfaqui ! 
Though  thy  beard  so  hoary  be, 
The  king  hath  sent  to  have  thee  seized, 
For  Alhama's  loss  displeased — 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

And  to  fix  thy  head  upon 
High  Alhambra's  loftiest  stone ; 
That  this  for  thee  should  be  the  law, 
And  others  tremble  when  they  saw. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"  Cavalier,  and  man  of  worth ! 
Let  these  words  of  mine  go  forth ; 
Let  the  Moorish  monarch  know 
That  to  him  I  nothing  owe. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"  But  on  my  soul  Alhama  weighs, 
And  on  my  inmost  spirit  preys ; 
And  if  the  king  his  land  hath  lost, 
Yet  others  may  have  lost  the  most. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"Sires  have  lost  their  children,  wives 
Their  lords,  and  valiant  men  their  lives ; 
One  what  best  his  love  might  claim 
Hath  lost;  another,  wealth  or  fume. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

"I  lost  a  damsel  in  that  hour, 
Of  all  the  land  the  loveliest  flower ; 
Doubloons  a  hundred  I  would  pay, 
And  think  her  ransom  cheap  that  day." 
Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

And  as  these  things  the  old  Moor  said. 
They  severed  from  the  trunk  his  head ; 
And  to  the  Alhambra's  walls  with  speed 
'T  was  carried,  as  the  king  decreed. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama! 


And  men  and  infants  therein  weep 
Their  loss,  so  heavy  and  so  deep ; 
Granada's  ladies,  all  she  rears 
Within  her  walls,  burst  into  tears. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

And  from  the  windows  o'er  the  walls 
The  sable  web  of  mourning  falls ; 
The  king  weeps  as  a  woman  o'er 
His  loss,  for  it  is  much  and  sore. 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama  ! 

Anonymoto  (Spanish). 
Translation  of  Lokd  Bteon. 


THE  FISHEEMEX. 

Three    fishers    went    sailing  out    into   the 
west — 
Out  into  the  west  as  the  sun  went  down; 
Each  thought  of  the  woman  who  loved  him 
the  best, 
And  the  children  stood  watching  them  out 
of  the  town ; 
For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep; 
And  there 's  little  to  earn,  and  many  to  keep, 
Though  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  wives  sat  up  in  tlie  light-house  tower, 
And  trimmed  the  lamps  as  the  sun  went 
down ; 
And  they   looked  at  the  squall,   and  they 
looked  at  the  shower. 
And  the  rack  it  came  rolling  up,  ragged 
and  brown ; 
But  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 
Though  storms  bo  sudden,  and  waters  deep, 
And  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  corpses  lay  out  on  the  shining  sands 
In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide  went 
down. 
And  the  women  are  watching  and  wringing 
their  hands. 
For  those  who  will  never  come  back  to 
the  town ; 
For    men    must   work,    and    women    must 

weep — 
And  the   sooner    it's    over,   the  sooner  to 
sleep — 
And  good-bye  to  the  bar  and  its  moaning. 

CHARLKS  KotCSLEY. 


•176 


POEMS    or    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


THE  PEISONER  OF  CHILLON". 

Eterxal  spirit  of  the  cbainless  mind ! 
Brightest  in  dungeons,   liberty,  thou  art, 
For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart — 
The  lieart  which  love  of  thee  alone  can  bind ; 
And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consigned — 
To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless 

gloom — 
Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyr- 
dom, 
And    freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every 

wind. 
Chillon !  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar — for  't  was  trod 
Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace. 

Worn  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod, 
By  Bonnivard! — May  none  those  marks  ef- 
face! 
For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 


My  hair  is  gray,  but  not  with  years, 
Nor  grew  it  white 
In  a  single  night, 
As  men's  have  grown  from  sudden  fears ; 
My  limbs  are  bowed,  though  not  with  toil. 

But  rusted  with  a  vile  repose ; 
For  they  have  been  a  dungeon's  spoil. 

And  mine  has  been  the  fate  of  those 
To  whom  the  goodly  earth  and  air 
Are  banned  and  barred — forbidden  fare. 
But  this  was  for  my  father's  faith 
I  suftered  chains  and  courted  death. 
That  father  perished  at  the  stake 
For  tenets  he  would  not  forsake ; 
And  for  the  same  his  lineal  race 
In  darkness  found  a  dwelling-place. 
We  were  seven,  who  now  are  one — 

Six  in  youth,  and  one  in  age, 
Finished  as  they  had  begun, 

Proud  of  persecution's  rage  ; 
One  in  fire,  and  two  in  field, 
Their  belief  with  blood  have  sealed — 
Dying  as  their  father  died. 
For  the  God  their  foes  denied ; 
Three  were  in  a  dungeon  cast. 
Of  whom  this  wreck  is  left  the  last. 


II. 

There  are  seven  pillars,  of  Gothic  mould, 
In  Ohillon's  dungeons  deep  and  old ; 
There  are  seven  columns,  massy  and  gray, 
Dim  with  a  dull  imprisoned  ray — 
A  sunbeam  which  hath  lost  its  way, 
And  through  the  crevice  and  the  cleft 
Of  the  thick  wall  is  fallen  and  left — 
Creeping  o'er  the  floor  so  damp, 
Like  a  marsh's  meteor  lamp ; 
And  in  each  pillar  there  is  a  ring, 

And  in  each  ring  there  is  a  chain ; 
That  iron  is  a  cankering  thing. 

For  in  these  limbs  its  teeth  remain. 
With  marks  that  will  not  wear  away 
Till  I  have  done  with  this  new  day, 
Which  now  is  painful  to  these  eyes, 
Which  have  not  seen  the  sun  so  rise 
For  years — I  cannot  count  them  o'er ; 
I  lost  their  long  and  heavy  score 
When  my  last  brother  drooped  and  died, 
And  I  lay  living  by  his  side. 

Ill, 
They  chained  us  each  to  a  column  stone ; 
And  we  were  three — yet,  each  alone. 
We  could  not  move  a  single  pace ; 
We  could  not  see  each  other's  face. 
But  with  that  pale  and  livid  light 
That  made  us  strangers  in  our  sight ; 
And  thus  together,  yet  apart — 
Fettered  in  hand,  but  joined  in  heart ; 
'T  was  still  some  solace,  in  the  dearth 
Of  the  pure  elements  of  earth. 
To  hearken  to  each  other's  speech, 
And  each  turn  comforter  to  each — 
With  some  new  hope,  or  legend  old, 
Or  song  heroically  bold ; 
But  even  these  at  length  grew  cold. 
Our  voices  took  a  dreary  tone, 
An  echo  of  the  dungeon-stone, 
A  grating  sound — not  full  and  free. 
As  they  of  yore  were  wont  to  be ; 
It  might  be  foney — but  to  me 
They  never  sounded  like  our  own. 

IV. 

I  was  the  eldest  of  the  three ; 

And  to  uphold  and  cheer  the  rest 
I  ought  to  do,  and  did,  my  best — 

And  each  did  well  in  his  dea-ree. 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON. 


477 


The  youngest,  whom  my  father  loved, 
Because  our  mother's  brow  was  given 
To  him — with  eyes  as  blue  as  heaven — 

For  him  my  soul  was  sorely  moved  ; 
And  truly  might  it  be  distrest 
To  see  such  bird  in  such  a  nest ; 
For  he  was  beautiful  as  day 

("U'hen  day  was  beautiful  to  me 

As  to  young  eagles,  being  free), 

A  polar  day,  which  will  not  see 
A  sunset  till  its  summer 's  gone — 

Its  sleepless  summer  of  long  light, 
The  snow-clad  offspring  of  the  sun  : 

And  thus  he  was,  as  pure  and  bright, 
And  in  his  natural  spirit  gay, 
With  tears  for  naught  but  other's  ills ; 
And  then  they  flowed  like  mountain  rills. 
Unless  he  could  assuage  the  woe 
Which  he  abhorred  to  view  below. 


The  other  was  as  pure  of  mind. 
But  formed  to  combat  Avith  his  kind  •, 
Strong  in  his  frame,  and  of  a  mood 
Which  'gainst  the  world  in  war  had  stood, 
And  perished  in  the  foremost  rank 

With  joy  ;  but  not  in  chains  to  pine. 
His  spirit  withered  with  their  clank ; 

I  saw  it  silently  decline — 

And  so,  perchance,  in  sooth,  did  mine ! 
But  yet  I  forced  it  on,  to  cheer 
Those  relics  of  a  home  so  dear. 
He  was  a  hunter  of  the  hills, 

Had  followed  there  the  deer  and  wolf; 
To  him  this  dungeon  was  a  gulf. 
And  fettered  feet  the  worst  of  ills. 

VI. 

Lake  Leman  lies  by  Chillon's  Avails. 
A  thousand  feet  in  depth  below, 
Its  massy  waters  meet  and  flow; 
Thus  much  the  fathom-line  Avas  sent 
From  Chillon's  snoAV-white  battlement. 

Which  round  about  the  wave  enthrals ; 
A  double  dungeon  wall  and  wave 
Have  made — and  like  a  living  grave, 
Below  the  surface  of  the  lake 
The  dark  vault  lies  Avherein  we  lay ; 
We  heard  it  ripple  night  and  day  ; 

Sounding  o'er  our  heads  it  knocked. 
\nd  I  haA'e  felt  the  winter's  spray 


Wash  through  the  bars  when  winds  Avere 
high. 

And  wanton  in  the  happy  sky ; 

And  then  the  very  rock  hath  rocked, 
And  I  have  felt  it  shake,  imshocked ; 

Because  I  could  have  smiled  to  see 

The  death  that  would  have  set  me  free. 

rn. 

I  said  my  nearer  brother  pined ; 
I  said  his  mighty  heart  declined. 
He  loathed  and  put  aAvay  his  food ; 
It  was  not  that 't  Avas  coarse  and  rude. 
For  we  Avere  used  to  hunter's  fare. 
And  for  the  like  had  little  care. 
The  milk  drawn  from  the  mountain  goat 
Was  changed  for  water  from  the  moat ; 
Our  bread  was  such  as  captives'  tears 
Have  moistened  many  a  thousand  years, 
Since  man  first  pent  his  fellow-men. 
Like  brutes,  within  an  iron  den. 
But  AA'hat  were  these  to  us  or  him  ? 
These  wasted  not  his  heart  or  limb ; 
My  brother's  soul  was  of  that  mould 
Which  in  a  palace  had  grown  cold. 
Had  his  free  breathing  been  denied 
The  range  of  the  steep  mountain's  side. 
But  why  delay  the  truth  ? — he  died. 
I  saw,  and  could  not  hold  his  head, 
Nor  reach  his  dying  hand — nor  dead, 
Though  hard  I  strove,  but  strove  in  vain, 
To  rend  and  gnash  my  bonds  in  tAvain. 
He  died — and  they  unlocked  his  chain, 
And  scooped  for  him  a  shallow  grave 
Even  from  the  cold  earth  of  our  cave. 
I  begged  them,  as  a  boon,  to  lay 
His  corse  in  dust  whereon  the  day 
Might  shine — it  was  a  foolish  thought ; 
But  then  Avithin  my  brain  it  Avrought, 
That  even  in  death  his  frecborn  breast 
In  such  a  dungeon  could  not  rest. 
I  might  haA'e  spared  my  idle  prayer — 
They  coldly  laughed,  and  laid  him  thero, 
The  flat  and  turfless  earth  above 
The  being  Ave  so  much  did  love ; 
His  empty  chain  above  it  leant — 
Such  murder's  fitting  monument ! 

VIII. 

But  he,  the  favorite  and  the  floAver, 
Most  cherished  since  his  natal  hour, 


•17.S 


rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


His  mother's  imago  ia  fair  face, 

The  infant  love  of  all  his  race, 

His  martyred  fatlier's  clearest  thought, 

^ly  latest  care — for  whom  I  sought 

To  hoard  my  life,  that  his  might  be 

T.fss  wretched  now,  and  one  day  free — 

lie,  too,  Avho  yet  had  held  untired 

A  spirit  natural  or  inspired — 

lie,  too,  was  struck,  and  day  by  day 

Was  withered  on  the  stalk  away. 

0  God !  it  is  a  fearful  thing 

To  see  the  human  soul  take  wing 
In  any  shape,  in  any  mood  : 

1  've  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood ; 
I  've  seen  it  on  the  breaking  ocean 
Strive  with  a  swollen,  convulsive  motion; 
I  've  seen  the  sick  and  ghastly  bed 

Of  sin,  delirious  with  its  dread ; 

But  these  were  horrors — this  was  woe 

Unmixed  with  such — but  sure  and  slow. 

lie  faded,  and  so  calm  and  meek, 

So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  weak. 

So  tearless,  yet  so  tender — kind. 

And  grieved  for  those  he  left  behind ; 

With  all  the  while  a  cheek  whose  bloom 

Was  as  a  mockery  of  the  tomb, 

Whose  tints  as  gently  sunk  away 

As  a  departing  rainbow's  ray — ■ 

An  eye  of  most  transparent  light, 

That  almost  made  the  dungeon  bright. 

And  not  a  word  of  murmur,  not 

A  groan  o'er  his  untimely  lot — 

A  little  talk  of  better  days, 

A  little  hope  my  own  to  raise  ; 

For  I  was  sunk  in  silence — ^lost 

In  this  last  loss,  of  all  the  most. 

And  then  the  sighs  he  would  suppress 

Of  fainting  nature's  feebleness. 

More  slowly  drawn,  grew  less  and  less. 

I  listened,  but  I  could  not  hear — 

I  called,  for  I  was  wild  with  fear ; 

I  knew  't  was  hopeless,  but  my  dread 

Would  not  be  thus  admonished ; 

called,  and  thought  I  heard  a  sound — 
I  burst  my  chain  with  one  strong  bound. 
And  rushed  to  him :  I  found  him  not. 
T  only  stirred  in  this  black  spot ; 
I  only  lived — I  only  drew 
The  accursed  breath  of  dungeon-dew  ; 
The  last,  the  sole,  the  dearest  link 
Between  me  and  the  eternal  brink, 


AVhich  bound  me  to  my  failing  race. 
Was  oroken  in  this  fatal  place. 
One  on  tlie  earth,  and  one  beneath — 
My  brothers — both  had  ceased  to  breathe. 
I  took  that  hand  which  lay  so  still — 
Alas !  my  own  was  full  as  chiU ; 
I  had  not  strength  to  stir  or  strive, 
But  felt  that  I  was  still  alive — 
A  frantic  feeling,  when  we  know 
That  what  we  love  shall  ne'er  be  so. 

I  know  not  why 

I  could  not  die, 
I  had  no  earthly  hope — but  faith, 
And  that  forbade  a  selfish  death. 

IX. 

W^hat  next  befell  me  then  and  there 
I  know  not  well — I  never  knew. 

First  came  the  loss  of  light  and  air, 
And  then  of  darkness  too. 

I  had  no  thought,  no  feeling — none : 

Among  the  stones  I  stood  a  stone  ; 

And  was,  scarce  conscious  what  I  wist, 

As  shrubless  crags  within  the  mist ; 

For  all  was  blank,  and  bleak,  and  gray ; 

It  was  not  night — it  was  not  day; 

It  was  not  even  the  dungeon-light, 

So  hateful  to  my  heavy  sight; 

But  vacancy  absorbing  space, 

And  fixedness,  without  a  place ; 

There  Avere  no  stars,  no  earth,  no  time, 

No  check,  no  change,  no  good,  no  crime  ; 

But  silence,  and  a  stirless  breath 

Which  neither  was  of  life  nor  death — 

A  sea  of  stagnant  idleness. 

Blind,  boundless,  mute,  and  motionless. 


A  light  broke  in  upon  my  brain — 

It  was  the  carol  of  a  bird  ; 
It  ceased,  and  then  it  came  again — 
The  sweetest  song  ear  ever  heard ; 
And  mine  was  thankful  till  my  eyes 
Ran  over  with  the  glad  surprise. 
And  they  that  moment  could  not  see 
I  was  the  mate  of  misery ; 
But  then,  by  dull  degrees  came  back 
My  senses  to  their  wonted  track : 
I  saw  the  dungeon  walls  and  floor 
Close  slowly  round  me  as  before ; 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON. 


479 


I  saw  the  glimmer  of  the  sun 
Creeping  as  it  before  had  done  ; 
But  through  the  crevice  where  it  came 
That  bird  was  perched  as  fond  and  tame, 

And  tamer  than  upon  the  tree — 
A  lovely  bird  with  azure  wings, 
And  song  that  said  a  thousand  things, 

And  seemed  to  say  them  all  for  me ! 
I  never  saw  its  like  before — 
I  ne'er  shall  see  its  likeness  more. 
It  seemed,  like  me,  to  want  a  mate. 
But  was  not  half  so  desolate ; 
And  it  was  come  to  love  me  when 
None  lived  to  love  me  so  again. 
And,  cheering  from  my  dungeon's  brink, 
Had  brought  me  back  to  feel  and  think. 
I  know  not  if  it  late  were  free. 

Or  broke  its  cage  to  perch  on  mine ; 
But  knowing  well  captivity. 

Sweet  bird  !     I  could  not  wish  for  thine — 
Or  if  it  were,  in  winged  guise, 
A  visitant  from  Paradise ; 
For — heaven  forgive  that  thought,  the  while 
Which  made  me  both  to  weep  and  smile ! — 
I  sometimes  deemed  that  it  might  be 
My  brother's  soul  come  down  to  me ; 
But  then  at  last  away  it  flew, 
And  then  't  was  mortal  well  1  knew ; 
For  he  would  never  thus  have  flown. 
And  left  me  twice  so  doubly  lone — 
Lone  as  the  corse  within  its  shroud. 
Lone  as  a  solitary  cloud, 

A  single  cloud  on  a  sunny  day, 
While  all  the  rest  of  heaven  is  clear, 
A  frown  upon  the  atmosphere. 
That  hath  no  business  to  appear 

When  skies  are  blue,  and  earth  is  gay. 

XI. 

A  kind  of  change  came  in  my  fate — 
My  keepers  grew  coinpassionate. 
I  know  not  what  had  made  them  so — 
They  were  inured  to  sights  of  woe  ; 
But  so  it  was — my  broken  chain 
With  links  unfastened  did  remain ; 
And  it  was  liberty  to  stride 
Along  my  cell  from  side  to  side, 
And  up  and  down,  and  then  athwart. 
And  tread  it  over  every  part ; 
And  round  the  pillars  one  by  one. 
Returning  where  my  walk  begun — 


Avoiding  only,  as  I  trod, 

My  brothers'  graves  without  a  sod  ; 

For  if  I  thought  with  heedless  tread 

My  step  profaned  their  lowly  bed, 

My  breath  came  gaspingly  and  thick. 

And  my  crushed  heart  fell  bliad  and  sick. 

XII. 

I  made  a  footing  in  the  wall : 
It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape. 

For  I  had  buried  one  and  all 

Who  loved  me  in  a  human  shape  ; 

And  the  whole  earth  would  henceforth  be 

A  wider  prison  unto  me  ; 

Ifo  child,  no  sire,  no  kin  had  I, 

No  partner  in  my  misery. 

I  thought  of  this,  and  I  was  glad. 

For  thought  of  them  had  made  me  mad ; 

But  I  was  curious  to  ascend 

To  my  barred  windows,  and  to  bend 

Once  more  upon  the  mountains  high 

The  quiet  of  a  loving  eye. 

SIII. 

I  saw  them — and  they  were  the  same  ; 
They  were  not  changed,  like  me,  in  frame  ; 
I  saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow 
On  high — their  wide,  long  lake  below, 
And  the  blue  Ehone  in  fullest  flow ; 
I  heard  the  torrents  leap  and  gush 
O'er  channelled  rock  and  broken  bush ; 
I  saw  the  white-walled  distant  town, 
And  whiter  sails  go  skimming  down  ; 
And  then  there  was  a  little  isle, 
Which  in  my  very  face  did  smile — 

The  only  one  in  view ; 
A  small,  green  isle,  it  seemed  no  more, 
Scarce  broader  than  my  dungeon  floor ; 
But  in  it  there  were  three  tall  trees. 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  mountain  breeze, 
And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing, 
And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing 

Of  gentle  breath  and  hue. 
The  flsh  swam  by  the  castle  wall, 
And  they  seemed  joyous,  each  and  all ; 
The  eagle  rode  the  rising  blast — 
Methought  he  never  flew  so  fast 
As  then  to  me  he  seemed  to  fly ; 
And  tlicn  new  tears  came  in  my  eye, 
And  I  felt  troubled,  and  would  fain 
I  had  not  left  my  recent  chain ; 


480 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


And  vrlien  I  did  descend  again, 
The  darkness  of  my  dim  abode 
Fell  on  me  as  a  heavy  load  ; 
It  -tt'as  as  is  a  new-dug  grave, 
Closing  o'er  one  "we  sought  to  save  ; 
And  yet  my  glance,  too  much  opprest, 
Had  almost  need  of  such  a  rest. 

XIT. 

It  might  be  months,  or  years,  or  days — 

I  kept  no  count,  I  took  no  note — 
I  had  no  hope  my  eyes  to  raise, 

And  clear  them  of  their  dreary  mote  ; 
At  last  came  men  to  set  me  free, 

I  asked  not  wlij*,  and  recked  not  where  ; 
It  was  at  length  the  same  to  me. 
Fettered  or  fetterless  to  be  ; 

I  learned  to  love  despair. 
And  thus,  when  they  appeared  at  last. 
And  all  my  bonds  aside  were  cast. 
These  heavy  walls  to  me  had  grown 
A  hermitage — and  all  ray  own ! 
And  half  I  felt  as  they  were  come 
To  tear  me  from  a  sacred  home. 
With  spiders  I  had  friendship  made. 
And  watched  them  in  their  sullen  trade ; 
Had  seen  the  mice  by  moonlight  play — 
And  why  should  I  feel  less  than  they  ? 
"We  were  all  inmates  of  one  place. 
And  I,  the  monarch  of  each  race. 
Had  power  to  kill ;  yet,  strange  to  tell ! 
In  quiet  we  had  learned  to  dwell. 
My  very  cliains  and  I  grew  friends. 
So  much  a  long  communion  tends 
To  make  us  what  we  are  : — even  I 
Regained  my  freedom  with  a  sigh. 

LoED  Bteon. 


THE  SEA. 

TiiROiTQn  the  night,  through  the  night. 

In  the  saddest  unrest. 
Wrapt  in  white,  all  in  white. 

With  her  babe  on  her  breast, 
Walks  the  mother  so  pale, 
Stariag  out  on  the  gale 

Through  the  night ! 


Through  the  night,  through  the  night, 
Where  the  sea  lifts  the  wreck. 

Land  in  sight,  close  in  sight. 
On  the  surf-flooded  deck 

Stands  the  fother  so  brave, 

Driving  on  to  his  grave 
Through  the  night ! 

KiCHAED  Henry  Stoddabd. 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  RIDE. 

Word  was  brought  to  the  Danish  king 

(Hurry!) 
That  the  love  of  his  heart  lay  suffering. 
And  pined  for  the  comfort  his  voice  would 
bring; 
(Oh !  ride  as  though  you  were  flying !) 
Better  he  loves  each  golden  curl 
On  the  brow  of  that  Scandinavian  girl 
Than  his  rich  crown  jewels  of  ruby  and  pearl ; 
And  his  rose  of  the  isles  is  dying ! 

Thirty  nobles  saddled  with  speed ; 

(Hurry!) 
Each  one  mounting  a  gallant  steed 
Which  he  kept  for  battle  and  days  of  need ; 

(Oh!  ride  as  though  you  were  flying !) 
Spurs  were  struck  in  the  foaming  flank ; 
Worn-out  chargers  staggered  and  sank ; 
Bridles  were  slackened,  and  girths  were  bu  rst ; 
But  ride  as  they  would,  the  king  rode  first, 
For  his  rose  of  the  isles  lay  dying ! 

His  nobles  are  beaten,  one  by  one ; 

(Hurry!) 
They  have  fainted,  and  faltered,  and  homo- 
ward  gone ; 
His  little  fair  page  now  follows  alooe. 

For  strength  and  for  courage  trying ! 
The  king  looked  back  at  that  faithful  child ; 
Wan  was  the  face  that  answering  smiled  ; 
They  passed  the  drawbridge  with  clattering 

din. 
Then  he  dropped ;  and  only  the  king  rode  in 
Where  his  rose  of  the  isles  lay  dying! 

The  king  blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle  horn  ; 

(Silence!) 
No  answer  came  ;  but  faint  and  forlorn 
An  echo  returned  on  the  cold  grey  morn, 


LORD    ULLIN'S    DAUGHTER. 


481 


Like  tLe  breath  of  a  spirit  sigliing. 
The  castle  portal  stood  grimly  -wide  ; 
None  ■welcomed  the  kiog  from  that  weary 

ride ; 
For  dead,  in  the  light  of  the  dawning  day, 
Tlie  pale  sweet  form  of  the  welcomer  lay, 
"Who  had  yearned  for  his  voice  while  dying ! 

The  panting  steed,  with  a  drooping  crest. 

Stood  weary. 
The  king  returned  from  her  chamber  of  rest, 
The  thick  sobs  choking  in  his  breast ; 

And,  that  dumb  companion  eyeing. 
The  tears  gushed  forth  which  he  strove  to 

check ; 
He  bowed  his  head  on  his  charger's  neck : 
"  0  steed — that  every  nerve  didst  strain. 
Dear  steed,  our  ride  hath  been  in  vain 
To  the  halls  where  my  love  lay  dying ! " 

Caeoline  Koktow. 


LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER. 


A  CHIEFTAIN,  to  the  Highlands  bound. 
Cries,  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry  ! 

And  I  '11  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry." 


"  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  'ra  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this  Lord  Ullin's  daughter, 

"And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we  've  fled  together ; 

For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

"  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride  ; 

Should  they  our  steps  discover. 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 

When  they  have  slain  her  lover?" 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
"  I  '11  go,  my  chief — I  'in  ready. 

It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
Tut  for  your  Avinsome  lady. 
65 


"And  by  my  word !  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry ; 
So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 

I  '11  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace ; 

The  water- wraith  was  shrieking ; 
And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 

Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  stiU  as  wilder  blew  the  wind. 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 

Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men — 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"  O  haste  thee,  haste !  "  the  lady  cries, 
"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 

I  '11  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father." 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her — 
When,  oh  !  too  strong  for  human  hand, 

The  tempest  gathered  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  rowed  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing — 
Lord  UUin  reached  that  fatal  shore ; 


His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 


For 


and 


sore    dismayed,   through  storm 
shade 
His  child  he  did  discover ; 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretched  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 


"  Come  back  !    come  back !  "   he  cried  in 
grief, 

"Across  this  stormy  water ; 
And  I  '11  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter  ! — O  my  daughter ! " 

'Twas  vain: — the  loud  waves  lashed  the 
shore. 

Return  or  aid  preventing. 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child. 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

TUOMAB  CAUFBELL. 


482 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


ON  THE  LOSS  OF  TIIE  EOYAL  GEOEGE. 

■WRITTEN  "WnEX  THE   NEWS   AERIVED. 

Toll  for  the  brave — 
The  brave  that  are  no  more ! 

All  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 
Fast  by  their  native  shore ! 

• 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave, 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried, 

Had  made  the  vessel  heel, 
And  laid  her  on  her  side. 

A  land  breeze  shook  the  shrouds. 

And  she  was  overset — 
Down  went  the  Royal  George, 

With  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave ! 

Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone  ; 
His  last  sea-fight  is  fought. 

His  work  of  glory  done. 

It  was  not  in  the  battle  ; 

'Ro  tempest  gave  the  shock ; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak  ; 

She  ran  upon  no  rock. 

His  sword  was  in  its  sheath  ; 

His  fingers  held  the  pen. 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down 

With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Weigh  the  vessel  up, 

Once  dreaded  by  our  foes  ! 

And  mingle  with  our  cup 
The  tear  that  England  owes. 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound. 
And  she  may  float  again, 

Full  charged  with  England's  thunder, 
And  plough  the  distant  main. 

But  Kempenfelt  is  gone — 

His  victories  are  o'er  ; 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred 

Shall  plough  the  Avaves  no  more. 

William  CowrER. 


THE  INCHOAPE  ROOK. 

No  stir  in  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea — 
The  ship  was  still  as  she  might  be  ; 
Her  sails  from  heaven  received  no  motion; 
Her  keel  was  steady  in  the  ocean. 

Without  either  sign  or  sound  of  their  shock. 
The  waves  flowed  over  the  Inchcape  rock ; 
So  little  they  rose,  so  little  they  fell. 
They  did  not  move  the  Inchcape  bell. 

The  holy  abbot  of  Aberbrothok 

Had  floated  that  bell  on  the  Inchcape  rock ; 

On  the  waves  of  the  storm  it  floated  and 

swung. 
And  louder  and  louder  its  warning  rung. 

When  the  rock  was  hid  by  the  tempest's  swell. 
The  mariners  heard  the  warning  bell ; 
And  then  they  knew  the  perilous  rock. 
And  blessed  the  priest  of  Aberbrothok. 

The  sun  in  heaven  shone  so  gay — 

All  things  were  joyful  on  that  day ; 

The  sea-birds  screamed  as  they  sported  round, 

And  there  was  pleasure  in  their  sound. 

The  float  of  the  Inchcape  bell  was  seen, 
A  darker  speck  on  the  ocean  green ; 
Sir  Ralph  the  rover  walked  his  deck, 
And  he  fixed  his  eye  on  the  darker  speck. 

He  felt  the  cheering  power  of  spring — 
It  made  him  whistle,  it  made  him  sing ; 
His  heart  was  mirthful  to  excess  ; 
But  the  rover's  mirth  was  wickedness. 

His  eye  was  on  the  bell  and  float : 
Quoth  he,  "My  men,  pull  out  the  boat ; 
And  row  me  to  the  Inchcape  rock. 
And  I  '11  plague  the  priest  of  Aberbrothok." 

The  boat  is  lowered,  the  boatmen  row, 
And  to  the  Inchcape  rock  they  go  ; 
Sir  Ralph  bent  over  from  the  boat, 
And  cut  the  warning  bell  from  the  float. 

Down  sank  the  bell  with  a  gurgling  sound ; 
The  bubbles  rose,  and  burst  aroimd. 


THE    WRECK    OF    THE    HESPERUS. 


483 


Quoth  Sir  Ealph,  "  The  next  who  comes  to 

the  rock 
Will  not  bless  the  priest  of  Aberhrothok." 

Sir  Ralph  the  rover  sailed  away — 
lie  scoured  the  seas  for  many  a  day ; 
And  now,  grown  rich  with  plundered  store, 
He  steers  his  course  to  Scotland's  shore. 

So  thick  a  haze  o'erspreads  the  sky. 
They  could  not  see  the  sun  on  high  ; 
The  wind  had  blown  a  gale  all  day ; 
At  evening  it  hath  died  away. 

On  the  deck  the  rover  takes  his  stand ; 
So  dark  it  is,  they  see  no  laud. 
Quoth  Sir  Ralph,  "It  will  be  lighter  soon, 
For  there  is  the  dawn  of  the  rising  moon." 

"Canst  hear,"  said  one,  "the  breakers  roar? 
For  yonder,  methinks,  should  be  the  shore. 
Now  where  we  are  I  cannot  tell. 
But  I  wish  we  could  hear  the  Inchcape  bell." 

They  hear  no  sound ;  the  swell  is  strong; 
Though  the  wind  hath  fallen  they  drift  along ; 
Till  the  vessel  strikes  with  a  shivering  shock — 
O  Christ !  it  is  the  Inchcape  rock ! 

EOBEET  SOUTHET. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus 

That  sailed  the  wiutry  sea; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy  flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm  ; 

Ilis  pipe  was  in  his  mouth  ; 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke,  now  west,  now  south. 


Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor. 

Had  sailed  the  Spanish  main : 
"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port. 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 


"Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring. 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  ! " 

The  skipper  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 


Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 
A  gale  from  the  northeast ; 

The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 


Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 


"  Come  hither !  come  hither !  my  little  daugh- 
ter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so  ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 


He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; ' 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar. 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 


" 0  father!  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring ; 

Oh  say,  what  may  it  be  ? " 
"  'T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  " 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 


"  O  father !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns ; 

Oh  say,  what  may  it  be  ? " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea ! " 

"  O  father  I  I  see  a  gleaming  light ; 

Oh  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  fatlier  answered  never  a  word — 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 


484 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


Lashed  to  the  hclui,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming 
snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her    hands    and 
prayed 
That  saved  she  might  he  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the 
wave 
On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark   and 
drear. 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow. 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 

Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever,  the  fitful  gusts  between, 
A  sound  came  from  the  land ; 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  traraijling  surf 
On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows ; 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck  ; 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew, 

Like  icicles,  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool ; 
But  the  cruel  rocks  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  borns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice. 
With  the  mast  went  by  the  board ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank — ■ 
Ho !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast. 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair. 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast. 

The  salt  tears  in  her  ej-es  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ; 

Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe ! 

nENET  Wads  WORTH  Longfellow. 


THE  MAEINER'S  DREAM. 

In  slumbers  of  midnight  the  sailor  boy  lay ; 
Ilis  hammock  swung  loose  at  the  sport  of 
the  wind ; 
But  watch-worn  and  weary,  his  cares  flew 
away, 
And  visions  of  happiness  danced  o'er  his 
mind. 

He  dreamt  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native 

bowers. 
And  pleasures  that  waited  on  life's  merry 

morn ; 
While  memory  stood  sideways  half  covered 

with  flowers. 
And  restored  every  rose,  but    secreted  its 

thorn. 

Then  fancy  her  magical  pinions  spread  wide. 
And  bade  the  young  dreamer  in  ecstasy 

rise ; 
Now  far,  far  behind  him  the  green  waters 

glide. 
And  the  cot  of  his  forefathers  blesses  his 

eyes. 

The  jessamine  clambers  in  flowers  o'er  the 
thatch. 
And   the  swallow  chirps  sweet  from  her 
nest  in  the  wall ; 
All  trembling  with  transport,  he  raises  the 
latch". 
And  the  voices  of  loved  ones  reply  to  his 
call. 

A  father  bends  o'er  him  with  looks  of  de- 
light; 
His  cheek  is  impearled  with  a  mother's  warm 
tear; 
And  the  lips  of  the  boy  in  a  love-kiss  unite 
With  the  lips  of  the  maid  whom  his  bosom 
holds  dear. 

The  heart  of  the  sleeper  beats  high  in  his 
breast ; 
Joy  quickens  his  pulses — his  hardships  seera 
o'er ; 


HOW'S    MY    BOY. 


485 


And  a  murmur  of  happiness  steals  through 
his  rest — 
"  0  God !  thou  hast  blest  me — ^I  ask  for  no 
more." 

Ah !  whence  is  that  flame  which  now  bursts 
on  his  eye  ? 
Ah!  what  is  that  sound  which  now  'larms 
on  his  ear  ? 
'T  is  the  lightning's  red  gleam,  painting  hell 
on  the  sky ! 
'T  is  the  crashing  of  thunders,  the  groan  of 
the  sphere  1 

He  springs  from  his  hammock — he  flies  to 
the  deck ; 
Amazement  confronts    him  with   images 
dire; 
"Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel 
a  wreck ; 
The  masts  fly  in  splinters ;  the  shrouds  are 
on  fire. 

Like  mountains  the  billows    tremendously 
swell ; 
In  vain  the  lost  wretch  calls  on  mercy  to 
save; 
IDubeen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell, 
And  the  death-angel  flaps  his  broad  wings 
o'er  the  wave ! 

O  sailor  boy,  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight ! 
In  darkness  dissolves  the  gay  frost-work 
of  bliss. 
Where  now  is  the  picture  that  fancy  touched 
bright — 
Thy  parents'   fond   pressure,    and    love's 
honeyed  kis3  ? 

O  sailor  boy !  eailor  boy !  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred,  thy  wishes 
repay ; 
Unblessed  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  the 
main, 
Full  many  a  fathom,  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  to  remembrance  for 
thee. 
Or  redeem  form  or  fame  from  the  merciless 


But  the  white  foam  of  waves  sliall  thy  wind- 
ing-sheet be. 
And  winds  in  the  midnight  of  winter  thy 
dirge ! 

On  a  bed  of  green  sea-flowers  thy  limbs  shall 
be  laid — 
Around  thy  white  bones  the  red  coral  shall 
grow; 
Of  thy  fail"  yellow  locks  threads  of  amber  be 
made. 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below. 

Days.  monthS;  years,  and  ages  shall  circle 
away. 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall 
roll; 
Earth  loses  thy  pattern  forever  and  aye — 
O    sailor  boy !  sailor  boy !  peace  to  thy 
soul! 

William  Dijiond. 


HOWS  MY  BOY? 

"Ho,  sailor  of  the  sea! 

How  's  my  boy — my  boy  ?  " 

"  What 's  your  boy's  name,  good  wife, 

And  in  what  good  ship  sailed  he  ? " 

"  My  boy  John — 

He  that  went  to  sea — 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor  ? 

My  boy's  my  boy  to  me. 

"  You  come  back  from  sea, 
And  not  know  my  John  ? 
I  might  as  well  have  asked  some  lands- 
man, 
Yonder  down  in  the  town. 
There 's  not  an  ass  in  all  the  parish 
But  knows  my  John. 

"  IIow  's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 
And  unless  you  let  me  know 
I  '11  swear  you  are  no  sailor, 
Blue  jacket  or  no — 
Brass  buttons  or  no,  sailor, 
Anchor  and  crown  or  no — 


486                                POEMS    OF   TRAGEDY   AND    SORROW. 

Sure  liis  ship  was  tlie  'Jolly  Briton'  " — 

Yet  shall  poor  Tom  And  pleasant  weather, 

"  Speak  low,  woman,  speak  low  !" 

When  He,  who  all  commands, 

Shall  give,  to  call  life's  crew  together, 

"And  why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor. 

About  uiy  own  boy  John? 

If  I  Avas  loud  as  I  am  proud 

I  'd  sing  him  over  the  town ! 

"Why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor  ?  " — 

"That  good  ship  went  down." 

"  IIow  's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 
What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor — 

The  word  to  pipe  all  hands. 
Thus    death,  who  kings  and  tars  despatches 

In  vain  Tom's  life  has  doffed ; 
For,  though  his  body's  under  hatches, 

Ilis  soul  is  gone  aloft. 

Charles  Dibdin. 

♦ 

THE  MOON  WAS  A-WANING. 

I  was  never  aboard  her. 

Be  she  afloat  or  be  she  aground. 

The  moon  was  a-waning. 

Sinking  or  swimming,  I  '11  be  bound 

The  tempest  was  over ; 

Her  owners  can  aiFord  her ! 

Fair  was  the  maiden, 

I  say,  how 's  my  John  ?  " — 

And  fond  Avas  the  lover ; 

"  Every  man  on  board  went  down, 

But  the  snow  was  so  deep 

Every  man  aboard  her." 

That  his  heart  it  grew  Aveary ; 

And  he  sunk  down  to  sleep, 

"  How 's  my  boy — ^my  boy  ? 

In  the  moorland  so  dreary. 

What  care  I  for  the  men,  sailor  ? 

I  'm  not  their  mother — 

Soft  was  the  bed 

How 's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 

She  had  made  for  her  lover, 

Tell  me  of  him  and  no  other ! 

White  were  the  sheets 

How  's  my  boy — my  boy  ? " 

And  embroidered  the  cover ; 

Sydney  Dobell. 

But  his  sheets  are  more  white, 

And  his  canopy  grander ; 

*~ 

And  sounder  he  sleeps 

AVhere  the  hill  foxes  wander. 

TOM  BOWLIJ^G. 

Here,  a  sheer  hulk,  lies  poor  Tom  Bowling, 

Alas,  pretty  maiden. 

What  sorrows  attend  you! 

The  darling  of  our  crew  ; 

I  see  you  sit  shivering. 

No  more  he  '11  hear  the  tempest  howling — 

With  lights  at  your  windoAV ; 

For  death  has  broached  him  to. 

But  long  may  you  Avait 

His  form  Avas  of  the  manliest  beauty ; 

Ere  your  arms  shall  enclose  him; 

His  heart  was  kind  and  soft ; 

For  still,  still  he  lies. 

Faithful  below,  he  did  his  duty ; 

With  a  wreath  on  his  bosom  I 

But  now  he 's  gone  aloft. 

How  painful  the  task 

Tom  never  from  his  word  departed — 

The  sad  tidings  to  tell  you?-- 

His  virtues  were  so  rare ; 

An  orphan  you  Avere 

His  friends  were  many  and  true-hearted ; 

Ere  this  misery  befell  you ; 

*      His  Poll  was  kind  and  fair. 

And  far  in  yon  Avild, 

And  then  he  'd  sing  so  blithe  and  jolly — 

Where  the  dead-tapers  hover. 

Ah,  many's  the  time  and  oft ! 

So  cold,  cold  and  Avan, 

But  mirth  is  turned  to  melancholy, 

Lies  the  corpse  of  your  lover ! 

For  Tom  is  gone  aloft. 

JA.MB8    IIOOO. 

THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM. 


481 


THE  DEEAM  OF  EUGENE  AEAM. 

'T  WAS  in  the  prime  of  summer  time, 

An  evening  calm  and  cool, 
And  four-and-twenty  happy  boys 

Came  bounding  out  Of  school ; 
There  Avere  some  that  ran  and  some  that 
leapt. 

Like  troutlets  in  a  pool. 

Away  they  sped  with  gamesome  minds 

And  souls  untouched  by  sin  ; 
To  a  level  mead  they  came,  and  there 

Tliey  drave  the  wickets  in : 
Pleasantly  shone  the  setting  sun 

Over  the  town  of  Lynn. 

Like  sportive  deer  they  coursed  about. 

And  shouted  as  they  ran — 
Turning  to  mirth  all  things  of  earth, 

As  only  boyhood  can ; 
But  the  usher  sat  remote  from  all, 

A  melancholy  man ! 

His  hat  was  off,  his  vest  apart. 
To  catch  heaven's  blessed  breeze ; 

For  a  burning  thought  was  in  his  brow. 
And  his  bosom  ill  at  ease  ; 

So  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  and 
read 
The  book  between  his  knees ! 

Leaf  after  leaf  lie  turned  it  o'er, 

Nor  ever  glanced  aside  ; 
For  the  peace  of  his  soul  he  read  that  book 

In  the  golden  eventide ; 
Much  study  had  made  him  very  lean, 

And  pale,  and  leaden-  eyed. 

At  last  he  shut  the  ponderous  tome ; 

With  a  fast  and  fervent  grasp 
He  strained  the  dusky  covers  close, 
,  And  fixed  the  brazen  hasp  : 
"  O,  God !  could  I  so  close  my  mind. 
And  clasp  it  with  a  clasp  !  " 

Then  leaping  on  his  feet  upright. 
Some  moody  turns  he  took — 


Now  up  the  mead,  then  down  the  mead. 

And  past  a  shady  nook — 
And,  lo !  he  saw  a  Tittle  boy 

That  pored  upon  a  book  ! 


"My  gentle  lad,  what  is  't  you  read- 

Eomance  or  fairy  fable  ? 
Or  is  it  some  historic  page. 

Of  kings  and  crowns  unstable  ? " 
The  young  boy  gave  an  upvrard  glance — 

"It  is  '  The  Death  of  Abel.'" 


The  usher  took  six  hasty  strides, 
As  smit  with  sudden  pain — 

Six  hasty  strides  beyond  the  place, 
Then  slowly  back  again ; 

And  down  he  sat  beside  the  lad, 
And  talked  with  him  of  Cain ; 


And,  long  since  then,  of  bloody  men, 
Whose  deeds  tradition  saves; 

And  lonely  folk  cut  off  unseen, 
And  hid  in  sudden  graves ; 

And  horrid  stabs,  in  groves  forlorn, 
And  murders  done  in  caves ; 

And  how  the  sprites  of  injured  men 
Shriek  upward  from  the  sod ; 

Aye,  how  the  ghostly  hand  will  point 
To  show  the  burial  clod ; 

And  unknown  facts  of  guilty  acts 
Are  seen  in  dreams  from  God  I 


He  told  how  murderers  walk  the  earth 

Beneath  the  curse  of  Cain — 
With  crimson  clouds  before  their  eyes, 

And  flames  about  their  brain  ; 
For  blood  has  left  upon  their  souls 

Its  everlasting  stain ! 

"And    well,"  quoth    he,    "I  know,   for 
truth. 

Their  pangs  must  be  extreme — 
Woe,  woe,  unutterable  woe — 

Who  spill  life's  sacred  stream  ! 
For  why  ?  Methought,  last  night  I  wrought 

A  murder,  in  a  dream ! 


488                                POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

"One  that  had  never  tlone  me  wrong— 

"  And  I  took  the  dreary  body  up, 

A  feeble  man  and  old ; 

And  cast  it  in  a  stream — 

I  led  him  to  a  lonely  field — 

The  sluggish  water,  black  as  ink, 

The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold  : 

The  depth  was  so  extreme  : 

Now  here,  said  I,  this  man  shall  die, 

My  gentle   boy,  remember !  this 

And  I  will  have  his  gold  ! 

Is  nothing  but  a  dream  ! 

"  Two  sudden  Mows  with  a  ragged  stick, 

"Down  went    the    corse  with  a    hollow 

And  one  Avitli  a  heavy  stone, 

plunge. 

One  hurried  gash  with  a  hasty  knife — 

And  vanished  in  the  pool ; 

And  then  the  deed  was  done : 

Anon  I  cleansed  my  bloody  hands, 

There  was  nothing  lying  at  my  feet 

And  washed  my  forehead  cool, 

But  lifeless  flesh  and  bone ! 

And  sat  among  the  iirchins  young, 

That  evening  in  the  school. 

"  Nothing  but  lifeless  flesh  and  bone. 

"0  heaven!  to  think  of  their  Avhite  souls, 

That  could  not  do  me  ill ; 

And  mine  so  black  and  grim ! 

And  yet  I  feared  him  all  the  more, 

I  could  not  share  in  childish  prayer. 

For  lyino;  there  so  still : 

"VT             •       •          •                             *              1 

There  was  a  manhood  in  his  look, 
That  murder  could  not  kill! 

jNor  jom  in  evemng  hymn; 
Like  a  devil  of  the  pit  I  seemed, 

'Mid  holy  cherubim ! 

"  And,  lo  !  the  universal  air 

"And  peace  went  with  them,  one  and  all 

Seemed  lit  with  ghastly  flame; — 

And  each  calm  pillow  spread ; 

Ten  thousand  thousand  dreadful  eyes 

But  guilt  was  my  grim  chamberlain, 

Were  looking  down  in  blame ; 

That  lighted  me  to  bed. 

I  took  the  dead  man  by  his  hand, 

And  drew  my  midnight  curtains  round 

And  called  upon  his  name ! 

With  fingers  bloody  red  ! 

"  0  God  !  it  made  me  quake  to  see 

"All  night  I  lay  in  agony. 

Such  sense  within  the  slain ! 

In  anguish  dark  and  deep  ; 

But  when  I  touched  the  lifeless  clay, 

My  fevered  eyes  I  dared  not  close, 

The  blood  gushed  out  amain ! 

But  stared  aghast  at  sleep ; 

For  every  clot  a  burning  spot 

For  sin  had  rendered  unto  her 

Was  scorching  in  my  brain  ! 

The  keys  of  hell  to  keep ! 

"  My  head  was  like  an  ardent  coal — 

"All  night  I  lay  in  agony, 

My  jieart  as  solid  ice ; 

From  weary  chime  to  chime ; 

My  wretched,  wretched  soul,  I  knew, 

With  one  besetting  horrid  hint. 

Was  at  the  devil's  price. 

That  racked  me  all  the  time — 

A  dozen  times  I  groaned — the  dead 

A  mighty  yearning,  like  the  first 

Had  never  groaned  but  twice ! 

Fierce  impulse  unto  crime — 

"And  now,  from  forth  the  frowning  sky. 

"  One  stern  tyrannic  thought,  that  mado 

From  the  heaven's  topmost  height, 

All  other  thoughts  its  slave ! 

I  heard  a  voice — the  awful  voice 

Stronger  and  stronger  eYerj  pulse 

Of  the  blood-avenging  sprite  : 

Did  that  terhptation  crave — 

'  Thou  guilty  man  !  take  up  thy  dead. 

Still  urging  me  to  go  and  see 

And  hide  it  from  my  sight ! ' 

The  dead  man  in  his  grave ! 

YOUNG 

AIRLY.                                                            480 

"  Heavily  I  rose  up,  as  soon 

"And  still  no  peace  for  the  restless  clay 

As  light  was  in  the  sky, 

Will  wave  or  mould  allow  ; 

And  sought  the  black  accursed  pool 

The  horrid  thing  pursues  my  soul- 

With  a  wild  misgiving  eye ; 

It  stands  before  me  now ! " 

And  I  saw  the  dead  in  the  river  bed, 

The  fearful  boy  looked  up,  and  saw 

For  the  faithless  stream  was  dry. 

Huge  drops  upon  his  brow. 

"  Merrily  rose  the  lark,  and  shook 

That  very  night,  while  gentle  sleep 

The  dew-drop  from  its  wing ; 

The  urchin's  eyelids  kissed, 

But  I  never  marked  its  morning  flight — 

Two  stern-faced  men  set  out  from  Lynn 

I  never  heard  it  sing ; 

Through  the  cold  and  heavy  mist ; 

For  I  was  stooping  once  again 

And  Eugene  Aram  walked  between. 

Under  the  horrid  thing. 

With  gyves  upon  his  wrist. 

Thomas  Hocd. 

• 

"With  breathless  speed,  like  a  soul  in  chase, 

^ 

I  took  him  up  and  ran ; 

There  was  no  time  to  dig  a  grave 

Before  the  day  began — 

YOTJXG  AIKLY. 

Tn  a  lonesome  wood,  with  heaps  of  leaves, 

I  hid  the  murdered  man ! 

Kest  ye  aught  of  brave  Lochiel  ? 

Or  ken  ye  aught  of  Airly  ? 

"And  all  that  day  I  read  in  school, 

They  have  belted  on  their  bright  broad  swords, 

But  my  thought  was  other  where ; 

And  ofi"  and  awa'  wi'  Charlie. 

As  soon  as  the  mid-day  task  was  done. 

Now  bring  me  fire,  my  merry,  merry  men, 

In  secret  I  was  there — 

And  bring  it  red  and  yarely — 

And  a  mighty  wind  had  swept  the  leaves, 

At  mirk  midnight  there  flashed  a  light 

And  still  the  corse  was  bare ! 

O'er  the  topmost  towers  of  Airly. 

What  lowe  is  yon,  quo'  the  gude  Lochiel, 

"  Then  down  I  cast  me  on  my  face, 

Which  gleams  so  red  and  rarely  ? 

And  first  began  to  weep, 

By  the  God  of  my  kin,  quo'  young  Ogilvie, 

For  I  knew  my  secret  then  was  one 

It 's  my  aiu  bonnie  hame  of  Airly ! 

That  earth  refused  to  keep — 

Put  up  your  sword,  said  the  brave  Lochiel, 

Or  land  or  sea,  though  he  should  be 

And  calm  your  inood,  quo'  Charlie  ; 

Ten  thousand  fathoms  deep. 

Ere  morning  glow  we  '11  raise  a  lowe 

Far  brighter  than  bonnie  Airly.  . 

"  So  wills  the  fierce  avenging  sprite. 

Till  blood  for  blood  atones ! 

Oh,  yon  fair  tower  's  my  native  tower ! 

Aye,  though  he 's  buried  in  a  cave, 

Nor  will  it  soothe  my  mourning, 

And  trodden  down  Avith  stones, 

Were  London  palace,  tower,  and  town, 

And  years  have  rotted  oflfliis  flesh — 

As  fast  and  brightly  burning. 

The  v.'orld  shall  see  his  bones! 

It 's  no  my  hame — my  father's  hame. 

That  reddens  my  cheek  sae  sairlie — 

"  0  God !  that  horrid,  horrid  dream 

But  my  wife,  and  twa  sweet  babes  I  left 

Besets  me  now  awake ! 

To  smoor  in  the  smoke  of  Airly. 

Again — again,  with  dizzy  brain, 

Akonimoub 

The  human  life  I  take ; 
And  my  red  right  hand  grows  raging  hot, 

Like  Cranmer's  at  the  stake. 
66 

4  "JO 


POEAIS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


A  SNOW-STORM. 


SCENE   IK   A   VERMONT   WINTER. 


'T  IS  a  fearful  iiiglit  in  the  Avinter  time, 

As  cold  as  it  ever  can  be ; 
The  roar  of  the  hhist  is  heard  like  the  chime 

Of  the  waves  on  an  angry  sea. 
The  moon  is  full ;  but  her  silver  light 
The  storm  dashes  out  with  its  wings  to-night ; 
And  over  the  sky  from  south  to  north 
Not  a  star  is  seen,  as  the  wind  comes  forth 

In  the  strength  of  a  mighty  glee. 

II. 

All  day  had  the  snow  come  down — all  day 

As  it  never  came  down  before  ; 
And  over  the  hills,  at  sun-set,  lay 

Some  two  or  three  feet,  or  more  ; 
The  fence  was  lost,  and  the  wall  of  stone  ; 
The   windows  blocked  and  the   well-curbs 

gone; 
The  haystack  had  grown  to  a  mountain  lift. 
And  the  wood-pile  looked  like  a  monster 
drift. 

As  it  lay  by  the  farmer's  door. 

The  night  sets  in  on  a  world  of  snow, 
While  the  air  grows  sharp  and  chill, 

And  the  warning  roar  of  a  fearful  blow 
Is  heard  on  the  distant  hill ; 

And  the  norther,  see !  on  the  mountain  peak 

In  his  breath  how  the  old  trees  writhe  and 
shriek ! 

He  shouts  on  the  plain,  ho-ho !  ho-ho ! 

He  drives  from  his  nostrils  the  blinding  snow. 
And  gro^'ls  with  a  savage  Avill. 

III. 

Such  a  night  as  this  to  be  found  abroad. 
In  the  drifts  and  the  freezing  air. 

Sits  a  shivering  dog,  in  the  field,  by  the  road, 
With  the  snow  in  his  shaggy  hair. 

He  shuts  his  eyes  to  the  wind  and  growls  ; 

He  lifts  his  head,  and  moans  and  howls ; 

Then  crouching  low,  from  the  cutting  sleet. 

His  nose  is  pressed  on  his  quivering  feet — 
Pray  what  does  the  dog  do  there? 


*A  farmer  came  from  the  village  plain — 

But  he  lost  the  travelled  way ; 
And  for  hours  he  trod  with  might  and  main 

A  path  for  his  horse  and  sleigh ; 
But  colder  still  the  cold  winds  blew. 
And  deeper  still  the  deep  drifts  grew, 
And  his  mare,  a  beautiful  Morgan  brown, 
At  last  in  her  struggles  floundered  down, 

Where  a  log  in  a  hollow  lay. 

In  vain,  with  a  neigh  and  a  frenzied  snort, 

She  plunged  in  the  drifting  snow. 
While  her  master  urged,  till  his  breath  grew 
short. 
With  a-  word  and  a  gentle  blow ; 
But  the  snow  was  deep,  and  the  tugs  were 

tight ; 
His  hands  were  numb   and  had  lost  their 

might  ; 
So  he  wallowed  back  to  his  half-filled  sleigh. 
And  strove  to  shelter  himself  till  day, 
With  his  coat  and  the  buflfalo. 


IV. 

He  has  given  the  last  faint  jerk  of  the  rein, 

To  rouse  up  his  dying  steed ; 
And  the  poor  dog  howls  to  the  blast  in  vain 

For  help  in  his  master's  need. 
For  a  while  he  strives  with  a  wistful  cry 
To  catch  a  glance  from  his  drowsy  eye, 
And  wags  his  tail  if  the  rude  winds  flap 
The  skirt  of  the  buflfalo  over  his  lap. 

And  whines  when  he  takes  no  heed. 


V. 

The  wind  goes  down  and  the  storm  is  o'er — 

'T  is  the  hour  of  midnight,  past ; 
The  old  trees  writhe  and  bend  no  more 

In  the  whirl  of  the  rushing  blast. 
The  silent  moon  with  her  peaceful  light 
Looks  down  on  the  hills  with  snow  all  white 
And  the  giant  shadow  of  Camel's  Hump, 
The  blasted  pine  and  the  ghostly  stump. 
Afar  on  the  plain  are  cast. 

But  cold  and  dead  by  the  hidden  log 
Are  they  who  came  from  the  town — 

The  man  in  his  sleigh,  and  his  faithful  dog, 
And  his  beautiful  Morgan  brown — 


SOFTLY    WOO    AWAY    HER    BREATH. 


491 


In  the  wide  snow-desert,  far  and  grand, 
With  his  cap  on  his  head  and  the  reins  in  his 

hand — 
The  dog  with  his  nose  on  his  master's  feet, 
And  the  mare  half  seen  through  the  crusted 

sleet, 
Where  she  lay  when  she  floundered  down. 

Charles  Gamage  Eastman. 


THE  HUNTER'S  ASSIGN. 

Upon  a  rock  that,  high  and  sheer, 
Rose  from  the  mountain's  breast, 

A  weary  hunter  of  the  deer 
Had  sat  him  down  to  rest. 

And  bared  to  the  soft  summer  air 

His  hot  red  brow  and  sweaty  hair. 

All  dim  in  haze  the  mountains  lay. 
With  dimmer  vales  between ; 

And  rivers  glimmered  on  their  way. 
By  forests  faintly  seen ; 

While  ever  rose  a  murmuring  sound. 

From  brooks  below  and  bees  around. 

He  listened,  till  he  seemed  to  hear 

A  strain,  so  soft  and  low 
That  whether  in  the  mind  or  ear 

The  listener  scarce  might  know ; 
With  such  a  tone,  so  sweet,  so  mild, 
The  watching  mother  lulls  her  child. 

"Thou  weary  huntsman,"  thus  it  saitl, 
"Thou  faint  with  toil  and  heat, 

The  pleasant  land  of  rest  is  spread 
Before  thy  very  feet, 

And  those  whom  thou  Avouldst  gladly  see 

Are  waiting  there  to  welcome  thee." 


He  looked,  and  'twixt  tlie  earth  and  sky 

Amid  the  noontide  haze, 
A  shadowy  region  met  his  eye, 

And  grew  beneath  his  gaze, 
As  if  the  vapors  of  the  air 
Had  gathered  into  shapes  so  fair. 


Groves  freshened  as  he  looked,  and  flowers 
Showed  bright  on  rocky  bank, 

And  fountains  welled  beneath  the  bowers, 
Where  deer  and  pheasant  drank. 

He  saw  the  glittering  streams ;  he  heard 

The  rustling  bough  and  twittering  bird. 

And  friends,  the  dead,  in  boyliood  dear. 
There  lived  and  walked  again  ; 

And  there  was  one  who  many  a  year 
Within  her  grave  had  lain, 

A  fair  young  girl,  the  hamlet's  pride — 

His  heart  was  breaking  when  she  died. 

Bounding,  as  was  her  wont,  she  came 
Right  towards  his  resting  place, 

And  stretched  her  hand  and  called  his  name, 
With  that  sweet  smiling  face. 

Forward  with  fixed  and  eager  eyes, 

The  hunter  leaned  in  act  to  rise  : 

Forward  he  leaned — and  headlong  down 
Plunged  from  that  craggy  wall ; 

He  saw  the  rocks,  steep,  stern,  and  brown. 
An  instant,  in  his  fall — 

A  frightful  instant,  and  no  more ; 

The  dream  and  life  at  once  were  o'er. 

William  Cttlleii  Betant. 


SOFTLY  WOO  AWAY  HER  BREATH. 

Softly  woo  away  her  breath. 

Gentle  death ! 
Let  her  leave  thee  Avith  no  strife. 

Tender,  mournful,  murmuring  life ! 
She  hath  seen  her  happy  day — 

She  hath  had  her  bud  and  blossom ; 
Now  she  pales  and  shrinks  away. 

Earth,  into  thy  gentle  bosom ! 

She  hath  done  her  bidding  here, 

Angels  dear ! 
Bear  her  perfect  soul  above. 

Seraph  of  the  skies — sweet  love ! 
Good  she  was,  and  fair  in  youtli ; 

And  her  mind  was  seen  to  soar. 
And  her  heart  was  wed  to  trutli : 

Take  her,  then,  for  evermore — 

For  ever — evermore ! 

BaBRY   CorNWALL 


492 


rOEMS    or    TRAGEDY    AND    SOKROVV 


THE  MAY  QUEEX. 


YoTi  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me 
early,  mother  dear ; 

To-morrow  'II  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  the 
glad  new-year — 

Of  all  the  glad  new-year,  mother,  the  mad- 
dest, merriest  day ; 

For  I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I'm 
to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

ir. 
There  's  many  a  black,  black  eye,  they  say, 

but  none  so  bright  as  mine  ; 
There 's  Margaret  and  Mary,  there 's  Ivate 

and  Caroline ; 
But  none  so  fair  as  little  Alice  in  all  the  land, 

they  say : 
So  I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm 

to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

HI. 

1  sleep  so  sound  all  night,  mother,  that  I  shall 
never  wake. 

If  you  do  not  call  me  loud  when  the  day  be- 
gins to  break ; 

But  I  must  gather  knots  of  flowers  and  buds, 
and  garlands  gay ; 

For  I'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 
I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

IV. 

As  I  came  up  the  valley,  whom  think  ye 

should  I  see, 
But  Robin  leaning  on  the  bridge  beneath  the 

hazel-tree  ? 
He  thought  of  that  sharp  look,  mother,  I  gave 

him  yesterday, — 
But  I  'm  to  be    queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

v. 

He  thought  I  was  a  ghost,  mother,  for  I  was 

all  in  white; 
And  I  ran  by  him  without  speaking,  like  a 

flash  of  light. 


They  call  me  cruel-hearted,  but  I  care  not 

what  they  say, 
For  I'm  to  bo    queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

VI. 

They  say  he 's  dying  all  for  love — but  tha 

can  never  be ; 
They  say  his  heart  is  breaking,  mother — what 

is  that  to  me? 
There  's  many  a  bolder  lad  '11  woo  me  any 

summer  day; 
And  I  'm  to  be    queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

VII. 

Little  Effie  shall  go  with  me  to-morrow  to 

the  green. 
And  you  '11  be  there,  too,  mother,  to  see  me 

made  the  queen ; 
For  the  shepherd  lads  on  every  side  '11  come 

from  far  away ; 
And  I  'm  to  be    queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

VIII. 

The  honeysuckle  round  the  porch  has  woven 

its  wavy  bowers. 
And  by  the  meadow-trenches  blow  the  faint 

sweet  cuckoo-flowers; 
And  the  wild  marsh-marigold  shines  like  fire 

in  swamps  and  hollows  gray ; 
And  I  'm  to  be   queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 

IX. 

The  night-winds  come  and  go,  mother,  upon 

the  meadow-grass. 
And  the  happy  stars  above  them  seem  to 

brigliten  as  they  pass ; 
There  wiU  not  be  a  drop  of  rain  the  whole  of 

the  livelong  day ; 
And  I'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I'd 

to  be  queen  o'.  the  May. 

X. 

All  the  valley,  mother,  '11  be  fresh  and  green 

and  still. 
And  the  cowslip  and  the  crowfoot  are  over 

all  the  hill. 


THE    MAT    QUEEN. 


49a 


And  the  rivulet  in  the  flowery  dale  '11  mer- 
rily glance  and  play, 

For  I'm  to  be  queen  o'  the' May,  mother, 
I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 


sr. 


So  you  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me 

early,  mother  dear. 
To-morrow  '11  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  the 

glad  new-year : 
To-morrow  '11  be  of  all  the  year  the  maddest, 

merriest  day, 
For  I  'm  to  be   queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I  'm  to  be  queen  o'  the  May. 


NEW   TEAR  3    EVE. 


I. 


If  you  're  waking,  call  me  early,  call  me  early, 

mother  dear, 
For  I  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  the  glad 

new-year. 
It  is  the  last  new-year  that  I  shall  ever  see — 
Then  you  may  lay  me  low  i'  the  mould,  and 

think  no  more  of  me. 


II. 

To-night  I  saw  the  sun  set — he  set  and  left 

behind 
The  good  old  year,  the  dear  old  time,  and  all 

my  peace  of  mind ; 
And  the  new-year 's  coming  up,  mother ;  but 

I  shall  never  see 
The  blossom  on  the  blackthorn,  the  leaf  upon 

the  tree. 


III. 

Last  May  we  made  a  croAvn  of  flowers ;  we 

had  a  merry  day — 
Beneath  the  hawthorn  on  the   green  they 

made  me  queen  of  May ; 
And  we  danced  about  the  May-pole  and  in 

the  hazel  copse. 
Till  Charles's  Wain  came  out  above  the  tall 

white  chimney-tops. 


IV. 

There 's  not  a  flower  on  all  the  hills — the  frost 

is  on  the  pane ; 
I  only  wish  to  live  till  the  snowdrops  come 

again. 
I  wish  the  snow  would  melt  and  the  sun  como 

out  on  high — 
I  long  to  see  a  flower  so  before  the  day  I  die. 


The  building  rook  '11  caw  from  the  windy  tall 

elm-tree. 
And  the  tufted  plover  pipe  along  the  fallow 

lea. 
And  the  swallow  '11  come  back  again  with 

summer  o'er  the  wave. 
But  I  shall  lie   alone,  mother,   within  the 

mouldering  grave. 


TI. 

Upon  the  chancel-casement,  and  upon  that 
grave  of  mine. 

In  the  early,  early  morning  the  summer  sun  '11 
shine. 

Before  the  red  cock  crows  from  the  farm  up- 
on the  hill — 

"When  you  are  warm-asleep,  mother,  and  all 
the  world  is  stiU. 

VII.     . 

When  the  flowers  come  again,  mother,  be- 
neath the  waning  light 

You  '11  never  see  me  more  in  the  long  gray 
fields  at  night ; 

When  from  the  dry  dark  wold  the  summer 
airs  blow  cool 

On  the  oat-grass  and  the  sword-grass,  and  the 
bulrush  in  the  pool. 

YIII. 

You'll  bury  me,  my  mother,  just  beneath  the 

hawthorn  shade, 
And  you  '11  come  sometimes  and  see  me  where 

I  am  lowly  laid. 
I  shall  not  forget  you,  mother ;  I  shall  hear 

you  when  you  pass. 
With  your  feet  above  my  head  in  the  long 

and  pleasant  grass. 


494                                POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

IX. 

I  Lave  been  wild  and  wajAvard,  but  you'll 

CONCLUSION. 

forgive  me  now ; 

I. 

You '11  kiss  uie,  my  own  mother,  upon  my 

I  THOUGHT  to  pass  away  before,  and  yet  alive 

cheek  and  brow ; 

I  am ; 

Nay,  nay,  you  must  not  weep,  nor  let  your 

And  in  the  fields  all  round  I  hear  the  bleating 

grief  be  wild ; 

of  the  lamb. 

You   should  not  fret  for  me,  mother — you 

How  sadly,  I  remember,  rose  the  morning  of 

have  another  child. 

the  year ! 

To  die  before  the  snowdrop  came,  and  now 

X. 

the  violet 's  here. 

If  I  can,  I  '11  come  again,  mother,  from  out 

my  resting-place ; 

II. 

Though  you  '11  not  see  me,  mother,  I  shall 

Oh  sweet  is  the  new  violet,  that  comes  beneath 

look  upon  your  face  ; 

the  skie^ ; 

^Though  I  cannot  speak  a  word,  I  shall  hearken 

And  sweeter  is  the  young  lamb's  voice  to  mo 

what  you  say, 

that  cannot  rise  ; 

And  be  often,  often  with  you  when  you  think 

And  sweet  is  all  the  land  about,  and  all  the 

I  'ni  far  away. 

flowers  that  blow ; 

And  sweeter  far  is  death  than  life,  to  me  that 

xr. 

long  to  go. 

•Good-night!   good-night!  when  I  have  said 

good-night  for  evermore, 

III. 

And  you  see  me  carried  out  from  the  threshold 

It  seemed  so  hard  at  first,  mother,  to  leave 

of  the  door. 

the  blessed  sun. 

Do  n't  let  Effie  come  to  see  me  till  my  grave 

And  now  it  seems  as  hard  to  stay ;  and  yet, 

be  growing  green — 

His  will  be  done ! 

She  '11  be  a  better  child  to  you  than  ever  I 

But  still  I  think  it  can 't  be  long  before  I  find 

have  been. 

release ; 

And  that  good  man,  the  clergyman,  has  told 

511. 

me  words  of  peace. 

She  '11  find  my  garden-tools  upon  the  granary 

rioor. 

IV. 

Let  her  take  'em — they  are  hers  ;  I  shall  never 

Oh  blessings  on  his  kindly  voice,  and  on  his 

garden  more. 

silver  hair ! 

But  tell  her,  when  I  'm  gone,  to  train  the 

And  blessings  on  his  whole  life  long,  until  he 

rose-bush  that  I  set 

meet  me  there ! 

About  the  parlor-window,  and  the  box  of 

Oh  blessings  on  his  kindly  heart  and  on  his 

mignonette. 

silver  head ! 

A  thousand  times  I  blest  him,  as  he  knelt  be- 

XIII, 

side  my  bed. 

Good-night,  sweet  mother !     Call  me  before 

the  day  is  born. 

V. 

All  night  I  lie  awake,  but  I  fall  asleep  at 

He  showed  me  all  the  mercy,  for  he  taught 

morn ; 

me  all  the  sin ; 

But  I  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  the  glad 

Now,   though  my  lamp   was    lighted    late, 

new-year — 

there 's  One  will  let  me  in. 

So,  if  you  're  waking,  call  me,  call  me  early. 

Nor  would  I  now  be  well,  mother,  again,  if 

mother  dear. 

that  could  be ; 

For  my  desire  is  but  to  pass  to  Him  that  died 

for  me. 

THE    MAY    QUEEX. 


495 


TI. 

I  did  not  hear  the  dog  howl,  mother,  or  the 

death-watch  heat — 
There  came  a  sweeter  token  when  the  night 

and  morning  meet ; 
But  sit  heside  my  bed,  mother,  and  put  yoni' 

hand  in  mine, 
A.nd  Effie  on  the  other  side,  and  I  will  tell 

the  sign. 

yii. 

All  in  tlie  wild  March-morning  I  heard  the 
angels  call — • 

It  was  when  the  moon  was  setting,  and  the 
dark  was  over  all ; 

The  trees  began  to  whisper,  and  the  wind  be- 
gan to  roll, 

And  in  the  wild  March-morning  I  heard  them 
call  my  soul. 

Tin. 

For  lying  broad  awake,  I  thought  of  you  and 

Effie  dear; 
I  saw  yon  sitting  in  the  house,  and  I  no  longer 

here ; 
With  all  my  strength  I  prayed  for  both — and 

so  I  felt  resigned. 
And  up  the  valley  came  a  swell  of  music  on 

the  wind. 

IS. 

I  thought  that  it  was  fancy,  and  I  listened  in 

my  bed ; 
And  then  did  something  speak  to  me — I  know 

not  what  was  said ; 
For  great  delight  and  shuddering  took  hold 

of  all  my  mind. 
And  up  the  valley  came  again  the  music  on 

the  wind. 


But  you  were  sleeping;  and  I  said,  "It's  not 

for  them — it 's  mine  ; " 
And  if  it  comes  three  times,  I  thought,  I  take 

it  for  a  sign. 
And  once  again  it  came,  and  close  beside  the 

window-bars — 
Then  seemed  to  go  right  up  to   heaven  and 

die  among  the  stars. 


XI. 

So  now  I  think  my  time  is  near ;  I  trust  it  is. 
I  know 

The  blessed  music  went  that  way  my  soul 
will  have  to  go. 

And  for  myself,  indeed,  I  care  not  if  I  go  to- 
day; 

But  Effie,  you  must  comfort  her  wh«n  I  am 
past  away. 

xn. 

And  say  to  Kobin  a  kind  word,  and  teU  him 

not  to  fret ; 
There  's  many  worthier  than  I  would  make 

him  happy  yet. 
If  I  had  lived — I  cannot  tell — I  might  have 

been  his  wife ; 
But  all  these  things  have  ceased  to  be,  with 

my  desire  of  life. 

xiu. 

Oh  look !  the  sun  begins  to  rise !  the  heavens 

are  in  a  glow ; 
He  shines  upon  a  hundred  fields,  and  all  of 

them  I  know. 
And  there  I  move  no  longer  now,  and  there 

his  light  may  shine — 

Wild  flowers  in  the  valley  for  other  hands 
than  mine. 

XIV. 

Oh  sweet  and  strange  it  seems  to  me,  that  ere 
this  day  is  done 

The  voice  that  now  is  speaking  may  be  be- 
yond the  sun — 

For  ever  and  for  ever  with  those  just  souls 
and  true — 

And  what  is  life,  that  we  should  moan  ?  Avhy 
make  we  such  ado  ? 

XV. 

For  ever  and  for  ever,  all  in  a  blessed  home. 
And  there  to  wait  a  little  while  till  you  and 

Effie  come — 
To  lie  within  the  light  of  God,  as  I  lie  upon 

your  breast — 
And  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and 

the  weary  are  at  rest. 

Alfeed  Tennysom. 


49G                                 POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SOEROW. 

Had  it  lived  long,  I  do  not  know 

Whether  it,  too,  might  have  done  so 

THE  NYMPH  COMPLAINING  FOR  THE 

As  Sylvio  did — ^his  gifts  might  be 

DEATH  OF  HER  FAWN. 

Perhaps  as  false,  or  more,  than  he. 

For  I  am  sure,  for  aught  that  I 

The  wanton  troopers,  riding  by, 

Could  in  so  short  a  time  espy, 

Have  shot  my  fa^yn,  and  it  will  die. 

Thy  love  was  far  more  better  than 

Ungentle  men !  they  cannot  thi-ive 

The  love  of  false  and  cruel  man. 

Who  killed  thee.     Thou  ne'er  didst,  alive. 

With  sweetest  milk,  and  sugar,  first 

Them  any  harm;  alas!  nor  could 

I  it  at  mine  own  fingers  nursed  j 

Thy  death  yet  do  them  any  good. 

And  as  it  grew,  so  every  day 

I  'm  sure  I  never  wished  them  ill — 

It  waxed  more  white  and  sweet  than  they. 

Nor  do  I  for  all  this,  nor  will ; 

It  had  so  sweet  a  breath  I  and  oft 

But,  if  my  simple  prayers  may  yet 

I  blushed  to  see  its  foot  more  soft 

Prevail  witli  heaven  to  forget 

And  white — shall  I  say  than  my  hand? 

Thy  murder,  I  will  join  my  tears. 

Nay,  any  lady's  of  the  land. 

Rather  than  fail.     But,  oli  my  fears ! 

It  is  a  wondrous  thing  how  fleet 

It  cannot  die  so.    Heaven's  king 

'T  was  on  those  little  silver  feet ! 

Keeps  register  of  every  thing ; 

With  what  a  pretty,  skipping  grace 

And  nothing  may  we  use  in  vain ; 

It  oft  would  challenge  me  the  race  ! 

Even  beasts  must  be  with  justice  slain — 

And  when  't  had  left  me  far  away. 

Else  men  are  made  their  deodands. 

'T  Avould  stay,  and  run  again,  and  stay ; 

Though  they  should  wash  their  guilty  hands 

For  it  was  nimbler,  much,  than  hinds, 

In  this  Avarm  life-blood,  which  doth  part 

And  trod  as  if  on  the  four  winds. 

From  thine  and  wound  me  to  the  heart. 

I  have  a  garden  of  my  own — 

Yet  could  they  not  be  clean — their  stain 

But  so  with  roses  overgrown. 

Is  dyed  in  such  a  purple  grain ; 

And  lilies,  that  you  would  it  guess 

There  is  not  such  another  in 

To  be  a  little  wilderness  • 

The  world  to  offer  for  their  sin. 

And  all  the  spring-time  of  the  year 

Inconstant  Sylvio !  when  yet 

It  only  loved  to  be  there. 

I  had  not  found  him  counterfeit. 

Among  the  beds  of  lilies  I 

One  morning  (I  remember  well). 

Have  sought  it  oft,  where  it  should  lie  ; 

Tied  in  this  silver  chain  and  bell, 

Yet  could  not,  till  itself  would  rise, 

Gave  it  to  me  ;  nay,  and  I  know 

Find  it,  although  before  mine  eyes ; 

What  he  said  then — I  'm  sure  I  do  : 

For  in  the  flaxen  lilies'  shade 

Said  he,  "Look  how  your  huntsman  here 

It  like  a  bank  of  lilies  laid. 

Hath  taught  a  fawn  to  hunt  his  dear !  " 

Upon  the  roses  it  Avould  feed. 

But  Sylvio  soon  had  me  beguiled — 

Until  its  lips  ev'n  seemed  to  bleed ; 

This  waxed  tame,  while  he  grew  wild  ; 

And  then  to  me  't  would  boldly  trip, 

And,  quite  regardless  of  my  smart, 

And  print  those  roses  on  my  lip. 

Left  me  his  fawn,  but  took  his  heart. 

But  all  its  chief  delight  was  still 

Thenceforth,  I  set  myself  to  play 

On  roses  thus  itself  to  fill ; 

My  solitary  time  away, 

And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 

"With  this ;  and,  very  well  content, 

In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold. 

Could  so  mine  idle  life  have  spent. 

Had  it  lived  long,  it  would  have  been 

For  it  Avas  full  of  sport,  and  light 

Lilies  without,  roses  within. 

Of  foot  and  heart,  and  did  invite 

Oh  help !  oh  help  !  I  see  it  faint, 

Me  to  its  game.     It  seemed  to  bless 

And  die  as  calndy  as  a  saint  I 

Itself  in  me ;  how  could  I  less 

See  how  it  weeps !  the  tears  do  come, 

Than  love  it?     Oh  I  cannot  be 

Sad,  slowly,  dropping  like  a  gum. 

Unkiud  t'  a  beast  that  loveth  me. 

So  weeps  the  wounded  balsam ;  so 

LAMENT    OF    THE    IRISH    EMIGRANT. 


497 


The  holy  frankincense  doth  flow  ; 

The  brotherless  Heliades 

Melt  in  such  amber  tears  as  these. 

I  in  a  golden  vial  will 
Keep  these  two  crystal  tears ;  and  fill 
It,  till  it  do  o'erflow,  with  mine ; 
Then  place  it  in  Diana's  shrine. 

Now  my  sweet  fawn  is  vanished  to 
Whither  the  swans  and  turtles  go ; 
In  fair  Elysium  to  endure, 
With  milk-white  lambs,  and  ermins  pure. 
Oh  do  not  run  too  fast !  for  I 
Will  but  bespeak  thy  grave,  and  die. 

First  my  unhappy  statue  shall 
Be  cut  in  marble ;  and  withal, 
Let  it  be  weeping  too !     But  there 
Th'  engraver  sure  his  art  may  spare, 
For  I  so  truly  thee  bemoan 
That  I  shall  weep  though  I  be  stone  ; 
Until  my  tears,  still  drooping,  wear 
My  breast,  themselves  engraving  there. 
There  at  my  feet  shalt  thou  be  laid, 
Of  purest  alabaster  made  ; 
Fur  I  would  have  thine  image  be 
White  as  I  can,  though  not  as  thee. 

Andrew  Makvell. 


LAMENT  OF  THE  IRISH  EMIGRANT. 

I  'm  sittin'  on  the  stile,  Mary, 

Where  we  sat  side  by  side 
On  a  bright  May  mornin'  long  ago, 

When  first  you  Avere  my  bride  ; 
The  corn  was  springln'  fresh  and  green. 

And  the  lark  sang  loud  and  high ; 
And  the  red  was  on  your  lip,  Mary, 

And  the  love-light  in  your  eye. 

The  place  is  little  changed,  Mary ; 

The  day  is  bright  as  then  ; 
The  lurk's  loud  song  is  in  my  car, 

And  tlie  coi-n  is  green  again ; 
But  I  miss  the  soft  clasp  of  your  hand, 

And  your  breath,  warm  on  my  cheek ; 
And  I  still  keep  list'nin'  for  the  words 

You  never  more  will  speak. 

'T  is  but  a  step  down  yonder  lane, 
And  the  little  church  stands  near — 
67 


The  church  where  we  were  wed,  Mary; 

I  see  the  spire  from  here. 
But  the  grave-yard  lies  between,  Mary, 

And  my  step  might  break  your  rest — 
For  I  've  laid  you,  darling,  down  to  sleep, 

With  your  baby  on  your  breast. 

I  'm  very  lonely  now,  Mary — 

For  the  poor  make  no  new  friends ; 
But,  oh !  they  love  the  better  still 

The  few  our  Father  sends ! 
And  you  were  all  I  had,  Mary — 

My  blessin'  and  my  pride  : 
There 's  nothing  left  to  care  for  now. 

Since  my  poor  Mary  died. 

Yours  was  the  good,  brave  heart,  Mary, 

That  still  kept  hoping  on. 
When  the  trust  in  God  had  left  my  soul. 

And  my  arm's  young  strength  was  gone ; 
There  was  comfort  ever  on  your  lip. 

And  the  kind  look  on  your  brow — 
I  bless  you,  Mary,  for  that  same, 

Though  you  cannot  hear  me  now. 

I  thank  you  for  the  patient  smile 

When  your  heart  was  fit  to  break — 
Whe«  the  hunger  pain  was  gnawin'  there. 

And  you  hid  it  for  my  sake ; 
I  bless  you  for  the  pleasant  word. 

When  your  heart  was  sad  and  sore — 
Oil !  I  'm  thankful  you  are  gone,  Mary, 

Where  grief  can't  reacb  you  more ! 

I  'ni  biddin'  you  a  long  farewell. 

My  Mary — kind  and  true ! 
But  I  '11  not  forget  you,  darling, 

In  the  land  I  'm  goin'  to ; 
They  say  there 's  bread  and  work  for  all, 

And  the  sun  shines  always  there — 
But  I  '11  not  forget  old  Ireland, 

Were  it  fifty  times  as  fair  ! 

And  often  in  those  grand  old  woods 

I  '11  sit,  and  shut  my  eyes, 
And  my  heart  will  travel  back  again 

To  the  place  where  Mary  lies ; 
And  I  '11  think  I  see  the  little  stile 

Where  we  sat  side  by  side, 
And  the  springin'  corn,  and  the  bright  May 


morn 


When  first  you  were  my  bride. 

Lady  DuiTEKJjf. 


498 

POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

Alas!  for  the  rarity 

THE  BRIDGE  OF  SIGHS. 

Of  Christian  charity 
Under  the  sun ! 

"  Drowned  I  Drowned  I "— Hamlbt. 

Oh !  it  was  pitiful ! 

One  more  unfortunate, 

Near  a  whole  city  full. 

AVeary  of  breath, 

Home  she  had  none. 

Rashly  importunate, 
Gone  to  her  death  ! 

Sisterly,  brotherly. 
Fatherly,  motherly 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 

Feelings  had  changed — 

Lift  her  with  care ! 

Love,  by  harsh  evidence. 

Fashioned  so  slenderly — 

Thrown  from  its  eminence; 

Young,  and  so  fiiir ! 

Even  God's  providence 
Seeming  estranged. 

Look  at  her  garments 
Clinging  like  cerements. 
Whilst  the  wave  constantly 
Drips  from  her  clothing ; 
Take  her  up  instantly. 
Loving,  not  loathing ! 

Where  the  lamps  quiver 

So  far  in  the  river. 

With  many  a  light 

From  window  and  casement, 

From  garret  to  basement, 

She  stood,  with  amazement, 

Touch  her  not  scornfully! 

Houseless  by  night. 

Think  of  her  mournfully. 
Gently  and  humanly — 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her ; 
All  that  remains  of  her 
Xow  is  pure  womanly. 

The  bleak  wind  of  March 
Made  her  tremble  and  shiver ; 
But  not  the  dark  arch. 
Or  the  black  flowing  river ; 
Mad  from  life's  history. 

Make  no  deep  scrutiny 

Glad  to  death's  mystery, 

Into  her  mutiny. 

Swift  to  be  hurled — 

Rash  and  undutiful ; 

Any  where,  any  where 

Past  all  dishonor. 

Out  of  the  world ! 

Death  has  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful. 

In  she  plunged  boldly — 
No  matter  how  coldly 

Still,  for  all  slips  of  hers — 

The  rough  river  ran — 

One  of  Eve's  family — 

Over  the  brink  of  it ! 

Wipe  those  poor  lips  of  hers. 

Picture  it — think  of  it ! 

Oozing  so  clammily. 

Dissolute  man ! 

Loop  up  her  tresses 
Escaped  from  the  comb — 

Lave  in  it,  drink  of  it. 
Then,  if  you  can ! 

Her  fair  auburn  tresses — 

Take  her  up  tenderly — 

Whilst  wonderment  guesses 

Lift  her  with  care ! 

Where  was  lier  home  ? 

Fashioned  so  slenderly — 

Who  was  her  father  ? 

Young,  and  so  fair ! 

Who  was  her  mother  ? 

Ere  her  limbs,  frigidly, 

Had  she  a  sister  ? 

Stiffen  too  rigidly, 

Had  she  a  brother  ? 

Decently,  kindly. 

Or  was  there  a  dearer  one 

Smooth  and  compose  them ; 

Still,  and  a  nearer  one 

And  her  eyes,  close  them, 

Yet,  than  all  other? 

Staring  so  blindly ! 

THE    SONG    OF    THE    SHIRT. 


499 


Dreadfully  staring 
Through  muddy  impurity, 
As  when  with  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing 
Fixed  on  futurity. 

Perishing  gloomily, 
Spurred  by  contumely, 
Cold  inhumanity, 
Burning  insanity, 
Into  her  rest ! 
Cross  her  hands  humbly, 
As  if  praying  dumbly. 
Over  her  breast ! 

Owning  her  weakness. 
Her  evil  behavior, 
And  leaving,  with  meekness, 
Her  sins  to  her  Saviour ! 

Thomas  Hood. 


THE  MOTHER'S  LAST  SOis^G. 

Sleep!— The  ghostly  winds  are  blowing! 
No  moon  abroad — no  star  is  glowing ; 
The  river  is  deep,  and  the  tide  is  flowing 
To  the  land  where  you  and  I  are  going! 

We  are  going  afar. 

Beyond  moon  or  star, 
To  the  land  where  the  sinless  angels  are ! 

I  lost  my  heart  to  your  heartless  sire, 
(T  was  melted  away  by  his  looks  of  fire) — 
Forgot  my  God,  and  my  father's  ire. 
All  for  the  sake  of  a  man's  desire ; 
But  now  we  '11  go 
"Where  the  waters  flow, 
And  make  us  a  bed  where  none  shall 
know. 

The  world  is  cruel — the  world  is  untrue  ; 
Our  foes  are  many,  our  friends  are  few  ; 
No  work,  no  bread,  however  we  sue ! 
What  is  there  left  for  me  to  do, 

But  fly— fly 

From  the  cruel  sky. 
And  hide  in  the  deepest  deeps — and  die ! 

Barky  Cornwall. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SHIRT. 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn. 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags. 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread — 
Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt ; 

And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch 
She  sang  the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt !  " 

"Work!  work!  work! 

While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof! 
And  work — work — work. 

Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof  I 
It 's  oh  !  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save. 

If  this  is  Christian  work ! 

"  Work — work — work 

Till  the  brain  begins  to  swim ! 
Work — work — work 

Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim ! 
Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band. 

Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam — 
Till  over  the  buttons  I  fall  asleep, 

And  sew  them  on  in  a  dream ! 

"  O  men,  with  sisters  dear ! 

O  men,  with  mothers  and  wives ! 
It  is  not  linen  you  're  wearing  out. 

But  human  creatures'  lives ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch. 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt — ■ 
Sewing  at  once,  with  a  double  thread. 

A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirt  I 

"  But  why  do  I  talk  of  death— 

That  phantom  of  grisly  bone  ? 
I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape, 

It  seems  so  like  my  own — 

It  seems  so  like  my  own 

Because,  of  the  fasts  I  keep  ; 
O  God !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear, 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap  1 

"  Work — work — work  ! 

^ly  labor  never  flags ; 
And  what  are  its  wages  ?     A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread — and  rags. 


300                                 rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

That  shattered  roof— and  this  naked  floor — 

A  table — a  broken  chair — 

SON^G  OF  TEE  SILENT  LAND. 

And  a  wall  so  blank  my  shadow  I  thank 

For  sometimes  falling  there  ! 

Into  the  silent  land ! 

Ah!  who  sliall  lead  us  thither? 

"  "Work — work — work ! 

Clouds  in  the  evening  sky  more  darkly  gather, 

From  weary  chime  to  chime  ! 

And  shattered  wrecks  lie  thicker  on  the  strand ; 

Work — work — work — 

"Who  leads  us  with  a  gentle  hand 

As  prisoners  work  for  crime  ! 

Thither,  oh,  thither ! 

Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam, 

Into  the  silent  land? 

Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band — 

Till  the  heart  is  sick  and  the  brain  benumbed, 

Into  the  silent  land ! 

As  well  as  the  weary  hand. 

To  you,  ye  boundless  regions 

Of  all  perfection !     Tender  morning-visions 

"  "Work — work — work 

Of  beauteous  souls !    The  future's  pledge  and 

In  the  dull  December  light ! 

band  I 

And  work — work — work, 

"Who  in  life's  battle  firm  doth  stand 

"When  the  weatlier  is  warm  and  bright ! — 

Shall  bear  hope's  tender  blossoms 

"While  underneath  the  eaves 

Into  the  silent  land ! 

The  brooding  swallows  cling, 

As  if  to  show  me  their  sunny  backs. 

0  land!  0  land! 

And  twit  me  with  the  Spring. 

For  all  the  broken-hearted 

The  mildest  herald  by  our  fate  allotted 

"  Oh !  but  to  breathe  the  breath 

Beckons,  and  with  inverted  torch  doth  stand 

Of  the  cowslip  and  primrose  sweet— 

To  lead  us  with  a  gentle  hand 

"With  the  sky  above  my  head. 

Into  the  land  of  the  great  departed — 

And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet ! 

Into  the  silent  land  ! 

For  only  one  short  hour 

JoiiANN  Gaddenz  von  Salis.    (German.) 

To  feel  as  I  used  to  feel. 

Translation  of  II.  W.  Longfellow. 

Before  I  knew  the  woes  of  want 

And  the  walk  that  costs  a  meal ! 

— .— 

"  Oh !  but  for  one  short  hour — 

THE  PAUPER'S  DEATHBED. 

A  respite  however  brief! 

No  blessed  leisure  for  love  or  hope, 

Teead  softly !  bow  the  head- 

But  only  time  for  grief! 

In  reverent  silence  bow ! 

A  little  weeping  would  ease  my  heart ; 

No  passing  bell  doth  toll ; 

But  in  their  briny  bed 

Yet  an  immortal  soul 

My  tears  must  stop,  for  every  drop 

Is  passing  now. 

Hinders  needle  and  thread ! " 

X                   o 

Stranger,  however  great, 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

"With  lowly  reverence  bow ! 

"With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 

There 's  one  in  that  poor  shed— 

A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags, 

.  One  by  that  paltry  bed — 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread — 

Greater  than  thou. 

Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt; 

Beneath  that  beggar's  roof. 

And  still,  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch — 

Lo !  Death  doth  keep  his  state  I 

"Would  that  its  tone  could  reach  the  rich  ! — 

Enter ! — no  crowds  attend — 

She  sang  this  "  Song  of  the  Shirt !  '■ 

Enter ! — no  guards  defend 

Thomas  Hood. 

This  palace  gate. 

THE    LAST 

JOURNEY.                                                  50] 

That  pavement  damp  and  cold 

Hearken ! — ^he  speaketh  yet ! — 

No  smiling  courtiers  tread ; 

"  0  friend !  wilt  thou  forget 

One  silent  woman  stands, 

(Friend — ^more  than  brother!) 

Lifting  with  meagre  hands 

How  hand  in  hand  we  've  gone, 

A  dying  head. 

Heart  with  heart  linked  in  one- 

All  to  each  other  ? 

No  mingling  voices  sound — 

An  infant  wail  alone ; 

"0  friend!  I  go  from  thee — 

A  sob  suppressed — again 

Where  the  worm  feasteth  free, 

That  short  deep  gasp — and  then 

Darkly  to  dwell ; 

The  parting  groan ! 

Giv'st  thou  no  parting  kiss  ? 

Friend  !  is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Oil !  change — oh !  wondrous  change ! 

0  friend,  farewell !  " 

Burst  are  the  prison  bars ! 

This  moment  there,  so  low, 

So  agonized — and  now 

Uplift  your  load  again ! 

Beyond  the  stars ! 

Take  up  the  mourning  strain — 

Pour  the  deep  wail ! 

Oh  !  change — stupendous  change ! 

Lo !  the  expected  one 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod !     . 

To  his  place  passeth  on- 

The  sun  eternal  breaks ; 

Grave  !  bid  him  hail ! 

The  new  immortal  wakes — 

Wakes  with  his  God. 

Yet,  yet — ah  !  slowly  move  t 

Caeoline  Bowles  SorrTHET. 

Bear  not  the  form  we  love 

Fast  from  our  sight — 

Let  the  air  breathe  on  him, 
And  the  sun  beam  on  him 

♦ 

Last  looks  of  light. 

TEE  LAST  JOUENEY. 

Slowly,  with  measured  tread, 

Here  dwells  his  mortal  foe ; 

Onward  we  bear  the  dead 

Lay  the  departed  low, 

To  his  lone  home ; 

Even  at  his  gate ! 

Short  grows  the  homeward  road — 

Will  the  dead  speak  again — 

*-* 
On  with  your  mortal  load ! — 

Utt'ring  proud  boasts,  and  vain 

0  grave  1  we  come. 

Last  words  of  hate  ? 

Yet,  yet — ah !  hasten  not 

Lo !  the  cold  lips  unclose — 

Past  each  remembered  spot 

List !  list !  what  sounds  are  those, 

Where  he  hath  been — 

Plaintive  and  low  ? 

Where  late  he  walked  in  glee, 

"  0  thou,  mine  enemy  ! 

These  from  henceforth  to  be 

Come  forth  and  look  on  me, 

Never  more  seen ! 

Ere  hence  I  go. 

Rest  ye — set  down  the  bier ! 

"  Curse  not  thy  foemen  now — 

One  he  loved  dwelleth  here  ; 

Mark  1  on  his  pallid  brow 

Let  the  dead  lie 

Whose  seal  is  set ! 

A  moment  that  door  beside. 

Pardoning  I  pass  thy  way ; 

Wont  to  fly  open  wide 

Then  wage  not  war  with  clay  — 

Ere  he  drew  nigh. 

Pardon— forget ! " 

502 


rOEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SOKKOW. 


Now  all  bis  labor 's  done ! 
Now,  now  tbe  goal  is  won ! 

O  grave,  we  come  ! 
Seal  up  tbe  precious  dust — 
Land  of  tbe  good  and  just. 

Take  tbe  soul  borne ! 

CAUoLrNE  Bowles  Southet. 


THE  PAUPER'S  DRIVE. 

Theee  's  a  grim  one-borse  bearse  in  a  jolly 

round  trot — 
To  tbe  cburcb-yard  a  pauper  is  going,  I  wot ; 
Tbe  road  it  is  rougb,  and  tbe  bearse  bas  no 

springs ; 
And  bark  to  tbe  dirge  wbicb  tbe  mad  driver 
sings : 
Battle  Ms  hones  over  the  stones! 
He  '5  only  a  pauper^  whom  nolody  owns  ! 

Ob,  wbere  are  tbe  mourners  ?  Alas !  tbere  are 

none — 
He  bas  left  not  a  gap  in  tbe  world,  now  be  's 

gone — 
Not  a  tear  in  tbe  eye  of  cbild,  woman,  or 

man ; 
To  tbe  grave  witb  bis  carcass  as  fast  as  you 

can: 
Battle  his  hones  over  the  stones  I 
He 's  only  a  pauper,  whom  nolody  owns  ! 

Wbat  a  jolting,  and  creaking,  and  splasbing, 

and  din ! 
The  wbip  bow  it  cracks!  and  tbe  wbeels,  bow 

tbey  spin ! 
How  tbe  dirt,  rigbt  and  left,  o'er  tbe  hedges 

is  hurled  I — 
The  pauper  at  length  makes  a  noise  in  tbe 

world ! 
Battle  his  lones  over  the  stones  ! 
Heh  only  a  pauper,  whom  nolody  owns! 

Poor  pauper  defunct  I  be  bas  made  some  ap- 
proach 

To  gentility,  now  that  be 's  stretched  in  a 
coach  ! 


He 's  taking  a  drive  in  his  carriage  at  last ; 
But  it  will  not  be  long,  if  be  goes  on  so  fast  : 

Battle  his  loncs  over  the  stones  ! 

He''s  only  a  pauper,  ichom  nolody  owns! 

You  bumpkins!  who  stare  at  your  brother 

conveyed — 
Behold  what  respect  to  a  cloddy  is  paid ! 
And  be  joyful  to  think,  when  by  death  you  're 

laid  low. 
You  've  a  chance  to  the  grave  like  a  gemman 
to  go ! 
Battle  his  hones  over  the  stones  ! 
He 's  07ily  a  pauper,  whom  nolody  owns! 

But  a  truce  to  this  strain  ;    for  my  soul  it  is 

sad. 
To  think  that  a  heart  in  humanity  clad 
Should  make,  like  tbe  brutes,  such  a  desolate 

end, 
And  depart  from  tbe  light  without  leaving  a 

friend ! 

Bear  soft  his  hones  over  the  stones  ! 

Though  a  pauper,  he 's  one  whom  his  Maher 

yet  owns  ! 

Thomas  Nobl. 


THE  DEATH-BED. 

We  watched  her  breathing  thro'  the  night, 

Her  breathing  soft  and  low. 
As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 

Kept  heaving  to  and  fro. 

So  silently  we  seemed  to  speak, 

So  slowly  moved  about, 
As  we  had  lent  her  half  our  powers 

To  eke  her  living  out. 

Our  very  hopes  belied  our  fears, 

Our  fears  our  hopes  belied — 
"We  thought  her  dying  when  she  slept, 

And  sleeping  when  she  died. 

For  when  the  morn  came,  dim  and  sad, 

And  chill  witb  early  showers. 
Her  quiet  eyelids  closed — she  bad 

Another  morn  than  ours. 

Thomas  Hood. 


HESTER. 


503 


A  DEATH-BED. 

Hee  suffering  ended  with  the  day ; 

Yet  lived  she  at  its  close, 
And  breathed  the  long,  long  night  away, 

In  statue-like  repose. 

But  when  the  sun,  in  all  his  state. 

Illumed  the  eastern  skies, 
She  passed  through  glory's  morning-gate, 

And  walked  in  Paradise ! 

Jajies  Aldkich. 


PEACE !  WHAT  DO  TEAES  AVAIL  ? 

Peace  !  what  can  tears  avail  ? 
She  lies  all  dumb  and  pale, 

And  from  her  eye 
The  spirit  of  lovely  life  is  fading — 

And  she.  must  die ! 
Why  looks  the  lover  wroth — the  friend  up- 
braiding? 

Reply,  reply ! 

Ilath  she  not  dwelt  too  long 
'Midst  pain,  and  grief,  and  wrong? 

Then  why  not  die  ? 
Why  suffer  again  her  doom  of  sorrow, 

And  hopeless  lie  ? 
Why  nurse  the  trembling  dream  until  to-mor- 
row? 

Reply,  reply ! 

Death !     Take  her  to  thine  arms, 
In  all  her  stainless  charms ! 

And  with  her  l!y 
To  heavenly  haunts,  where,  clad  in  bright- 
ness, 
The  angels  lie ! 
Wilt  bear  her  there,  O    death!    in  all  her 
Avhitcness? 

Reply,  reply ! 

Baeey  Coknwali.. 


HESTER. 

When  maidens  such  as  Hester  die. 
Their  place  ye  may  not  well  supply. 
Though  ye  among  a  thousand  try, 
With  vain  endeavor. 


A  month  or  more  hath  she  been,  dead, 
Yet  cannot  I  by  force  be  led 
To  think  upon  the  wormy  bed 
And  her,  together. 

A  springy  motion  in  her  gait, 
A  rising  step,  did  indicate 
Of  pride  and  joy  no  common  rate, 
That  flushed  her  spirit ; 


I  know  not  by  what  name  beside 
I  shall  it  call : — if 't  was  not  pride, 
It  was  a  joy  to  that  allied. 
She  did  inherit. 


Her  parents  held  the  Quaker  rule, 
Which  doth  the  human  feeling  cool ; 
But  she  was  trained  in  nature's  school- 
Nature  had  blessed  her, 

A  waking  eye,  a  prying  mind, 
A  heart  that  stirs,  is  hard  to  bind ; 
A  hawk's  keen  sight  ye  cannot  blind — 
Ye  could  not  Hester. 

My  sprightly  neighbor,  gone  before 
To  that  unknown  and  silent  shore! 
Shall  we  not  meet,  as  heretofore, 
Some  summer  morning, 

When  from  thy  cheerful  eyes  a  ray 
Hath  struck  a  bli.ss  upon  the  day — 
A  bliss  that  would  not  go  away — • 


A  sweet  fore-warning? 


Charles  Lakb. 


504 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


LYCIDAS. 

Yet  once  luore,  O  ye   laurels,  and  once  more 

Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 

I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 

And  with  forced  fingers  rude 

Shatter  your  leaves  before   the   mellowing 

year. 
Bitter  constraint,  and  sad  occasion  dear, 
Compels  mo  to  disturb  your  season  duo ; 
For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prune, 
Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 
"Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?  he  knew 
Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 
He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
"Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear. 

Begin  then,  sisters  of  the  sacred  well, 
Tliat  from  beneath   the  seat  of  Jove  doth 

spring. 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain,  and  coy  excuse ; 
So  may  some  gentle  muse 
"With  lucky  words  favor  my  destined  urn,   * 
And  as  he  passes  turn, 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud; 
For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill. 
Fed  the  same  flock  by  fountain,  shade,  and 

rill. 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appear- 
ed 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn, 
"We  drove  a-field,  and  both  together  heard 
"What  time  the  gray-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn, 
Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of 

night, 
Oft  till  the  star  that  rose  at  evening  bright 
Toward     heaven's    descent  had  sloped  his 

westering  wheel. 
Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute. 
Tempered  to  the  oaten  flute  ; 
Rough  satyrs  danced,  and  fauns  Avith  cloven 

heel 
From  the  glad  song  would  not  bo  absent  long. 
And  old  Damsetas  loved  to  hear  our  song. 
But  oh,  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art 

gone — 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return ! 
Thee,  shepherd,  thee  the  woods,  and  desert 

caves, 


"With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'er- 

grown, 
And  all  their  echoes,  mourn ; 
The  willows,  and  the  hazel  copses  green, 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen, 
Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 
As  killing  as  the  canker  to  the  rose, 
Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that 

graze, 
Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe 

wear, 
"When  first  the  white-thorn  blows ; 
Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd's  ear. 
"Where  were  ye,    nymphs,  when  the  re- 
morseless deep 
Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep, 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  druids, 

lie, 
ISTor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 
Nor  yet  where  Deva    spreads  her  wizard 

stream — 
Ay  me !  I  fondly  dream, 
Had  ye  been  there  ;  for  what  could  that  have 

done? 
"What  could  the  muse  herself  that  Orpheus 

bore. 
The  muse  herself  for  her  enchanting  son, 
"Whom  universal  nature  did  lament, 
"When,  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous 

roar. 
His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  Avas  sent, 
Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore? 

Alas !  what  boots  it  with  incessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted  shepherd's  trade. 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  muse  ? 
"Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade. 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaora's  hair? 
Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth 

raise 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds) 
To  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious  days ; 
But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze, 
Comes  the  blind    fury  with  the   abhorred 

shears. 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.     But  not  the 

praise, 
Phogbus  replied,  and  touched  my  trembling 

ears  ; 


LYCIDAS. 


505 


Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
iSTor  in  the  glistering  foil 
Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumor  lies ; 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove  ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  60  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed. 
O  fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honored 

flood, 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crowned  with  vocal 

reeds, 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood  ; 
But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 
And  listens  to  the  herald  of  the  sea 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea ; 
He  asked  the  waves,  and  asked  the  felon 

winds, 
"What  hard  mishap  hath  doomed  this  gentle 

swain  ? 
And  questioned  every  gust  of  rugged  winds 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory ; 
They  knew  not  of  his  story  ; 
And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings. 
That  not  a  blast  was    from    his    dungeon 

strayed ; 
The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  played. 
It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 
Built  in  th'  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses 

dark. 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 
Next  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing 

slow, 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge. 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge. 
Like  to  that  sanguine  flower,  inscribed  with 

woe. 
Ah !  who  hath  reft  (quoth  he)  my  dearest 

pledge  ? 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake  ; 
Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain); 
He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake : 
How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young 

swain, 
Enow  of  such  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 
Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  ? 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make, 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  sliove  away  tlie  worthy  bidden  guest; 
68 


Blind  mouths !  that  scarce  themselves  know 
how  to  hold 

A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learned  aught  else  the 
least 

That  to  the  faithful  herdsman's  art  belongs ! 

What  recks  it  tliem  ?  what  need  they  ?  they 
are  sped ; 

And  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy 
songs 

Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched 
straw ; 

The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed. 

But,  swollen  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist 
they  draw. 

Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread; 

Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 

Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said ; 

But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door, 

Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no 
more. 
Return,  Alpheus,  the  dread  voice  is  past, 

That   shrunk  thy   streams ;    return   Sicilian 
muse. 

And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 

Their  bells,  and  flowerets  of  a  thousand  hues. 

Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 

Of  shades,  and  wanton  Avinds,  and  gushing 
brooks. 

On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart-star   sparely 
looks, 

Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamelled  eyes. 

That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honied  show- 
ers. 

And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flow- 
ers. 

Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies. 

The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine. 

The  Vt  hite  pink,  and  the  pansy  fx'eaked  with 
jet. 

The  glowing  violet. 

The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attired  wood- 
bine, 

With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive 
head, 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears; 

Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed. 

And  daffodillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears, 

To  strew  the  laureat  hearse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease. 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  sur- 
mise. 


506 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


Ay  me !  Avldlst  tlico  the  shores  and  sounJing 

seas 
Wash  lar  away  where'er  thy  hones  are  Imrled, 
Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 
Where  thou  perhaps  nnder  tlie  whehning  tide 
Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world ; 
Or  whetlier  thou  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 
Slcep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old, 
Where  the  great  vision  of  tlie  guarded  mount 
Looks  towards  ISTamancos  and  Bayona's  hold; 
Look  homeward  angel  now,  and  melt  with 

ruth! 
And,  0  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth! 
Weep  no  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no 

more ! 
For  Lycidas  your  sorrow  is  not  dead. 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor. 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed. 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head. 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled 

ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky ; 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high, 
Thi-ough  the  dear  might  of  Him  that  walked 

the  waves. 
Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along. 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves, 
And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song. 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 
There  entertain  bim  all  the  saints  above. 
In  solemn  troops  and  sweet  societies, 
That  sing,  and  singing- in  their  glory  move, 
And  wipe  the  tears  forever  from  his  eyes. 
Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more  ; 
Henceforth  thou  art  the  genius  of  the  shore. 
In  tliy  lai-ge  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 
To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 
Thus  sang  the  uncouth  sv,^ain  to  th'  oaks 

and  rills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals 

gray ; 
lie  touched  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills. 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay. 
And  now  the  sun  had  stretched  out  all  the 

hills, 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay ; 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue : 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new. 

JonN  Milton. 


m  REMEMBRANCE   OF  THE  HON. 
EDWARD  ERNEST  VILLIERS. 


A  GRACE  though  melancholy,  manly  too. 
Moulded  his  being ;  pensive,  grave,  serene. 
O'er  his  habitual  bearing  and  his  mien 
Unceasing  pain,  by  patience  tempered,  threw 
A  shade  of  sweet  austerity.    But  seen 
In  happier  hours  and  by  the  friendly  few, 
That  curtain  of  the  spirit  was  withdrawn, 
And  fancy  light  and  playful  as  a  fawn. 
And  reason  imped  with  inquisition  keen. 
Knowledge  long  sought  with  ardor  ever  new, 
And  wit  love-kindled,  showed  in  colors  true 
What  genial  joys  with  sufferings  can  consist. 
Then  did  all  sternness  melt  as  melts  a  mist 
Touched  by  the   brightness  of  the   golden 

dawn, 
Aerial  heights  disclosing,  valleys  green, 
And  sunlights  thrown  the  woodland  tufts  be- 
tween. 
And  flowers  and  spangles  of  the  dewy  lawn. 

II. 

And  even  the  stranger,  though  he  saw  not 

these, 
Saw  what  would  not  be  willingly  passed  by. 
In  his  deportment,  even  when  cold  and  shy, 
Was  seen  a  clear  collectedness  and  ease, 
A  simple  grace  and  gentle  dignity, 
That  failed  not  at  the  first  accost  to  please-, 
And  as  reserve  relented  by  degrees. 
So  winning  was  his  aspect  and  address. 
His  smile  so  rich  in  sad  felicities, 
Accordant  to  a  voice  which  charmed  no  less, 
That  who   but  saw  him   once  remembered 

long. 
And  some  in  whom  such  images  are  strong 
Have  hoarded  the  impression  in  their  heart 
Fancy's   fond    dreams    and    memory's  joys 

among, 
Like  some  loved  rehc  of  romantic  song, 
Or  cherished  masterpiece  of  ancient  art. 

m. 

His  life  was  private ;  safely  led,  aloof 
From  the  loud  world,— which  yet  he  under- 
stood 


ELEGY  ON  CAPTAIN  MATTHEW  HENDERSON. 


507 


Largely  and  wisely,  as  no  worldling  could. 
For  he  by  privilege  of  his  nature  proof 
Against  false  glitter,  from  beneath  the  roof 
Of  privacy,  as  from  a  cave,  surveyed 
With  steadfast  eye  its  flickering  light  and 

shade. 
And  gently  judged  for  evil  and  for  good. 
But  whilst  he  mixed  not  for  his  own  behoof 
In  public  strife,  his  spirit  glowed  with  zeal, 
Not  shox'n  of  action,  for  the  public  weal, — ■ 
For  truth  and  justice  as  its  warp  and  woof, 
For  freedom  as  its  signature  and  seal. 
His  life  thus  sacred  from  the  world,  discharged 
From  vain  ambition  and  inordinate  care. 
In  virtue  exercised,  by  reverence  rare 
Lifted,  and  by  humility  enlarged, 
Became  a  temple  and  a  place  of  prayer. 
In  latter  years  he  walked  not  singly  there  ; 
For  one  was  with  him,  ready  at  all  hours 
His  griefs,  his  joys,  his  inmost  thoughts  to 

share, 
Who  buoyantly  his  burthens  helped  to  bear, 
And  decked  his  altars  daily  with  fresh  flowers. 

IT. 

But  farther  may  we  pass  not;  for  the  ground 
Is  holier  than  the  muse  herself  may  tread ; 
Nor  would  I  it  should  echo  to  a  sound 
Less  solemn  than  the  service  for  the  dead. 
Mine  is  inferior  matter, — my  own  loss, — 
The  loss  of  dear  delights  for  ever  fled. 
Of  reason's  converse  by  affection  fed. 
Of  wisdom,  counsel,  solace,  that  across 
Life's  dreariest  tracts  a  tender  radiance  shed. 
Friend  of  my  youth !  though  younger  yet  my 

guide. 
How  much  by  thy  unerring  insight  clear 
I  shaped  my  way  of  life  for  many  a  year, 
What  thoughtful  friendship  on  thy  death-bed 

died! 
Friend  of  my  youth !  whilst  thou  wast  by  my 

side 
Autumnal  days  still  breathed  a  vernal  breath ; 
How  like  a  charm  thy  life  to  me  supplied 
All  waste  and  injury  of  time  and  tide. 
How  like  a  disenchantment  was  thy  death! 

IIenbt  Taylor. 


ELEGY  ON  CAPTAIN  MATTHEW 
HENDERSON. 

O  Death  !  thou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody  1 
The  muckle  devil  wi'  a  woodie 
Haurl  thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie, 

O'er  hurcheon  hides. 
And  like  stockfish  come  o'er  his  studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides ! 

He 's  gane !  he 's  gane  !  he 's  frae  us  torn, 
The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born! 
Thee,  Matthew,  nature's  sel'  shall  mourn 

By  wood  and  wild, 
Where,  haply,  pity  strays  forlorn, 

Frae  man  exOed. 

Ye  hUls,  near  neebors  o'  the  starns. 
That  proudly  cock  your  cresting  cairns ! 
Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  yearns, 

Where  echo  slumbers ! 
Come  join,  ye  nature's  stm-diest  bairns, 

My  wailing  numbers ! 

Mourn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens ! 
Ye  hazelly  shaws  and  briery  dens ! 
Ye  burnies,  wimplin  down  your  glens, 

Wi'  todlin'  din. 
Or  foaming  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens, 

Frae  linn  to  linn. 

Mourn,  little  harebells  owre  the  lea; 
Ye  stately  foxgloves  fair  to  see ; 
Ye  woodbines  hanging  bonnilie. 

In  scented  bowers ; 
Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree, 

The  first  o'  flowers! 

At  dawn,  when  every  grassy  blade 

Droops  with  a  diamond  at  his  head. 

At  even,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed 

I'  th'  rustling  gale. 
Ye  maukins,  whiddin'  througli  the  glade. 

Come,  join  my  wail ! 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood ; 
Ye  grouse  that  crap  the  heather  bud ; 
Ye  curlews  calling  through  a  clud ; 

Ye  whistling  plover; 
And  mourn,  ye  whirring  paitrick  brood; 

He's  gane  for  ever! 


608 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


Mourn,  sooty  coots,  find  speckled  teals ; 
Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels; 
Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lalce ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Rair  for  his  sake ! 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks,  at  close  o'  day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flowering  clover  gay ! 
And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore. 
Tell  thae  far  worlds  wha  lies  in  clay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 

Ye  howlets,  frae  your  ivy  bower. 
In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch  tower. 
What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glower, 

Sets  up  her  horn, 
Wail  through  the  weary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn ! 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  cantie  strains ; 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  of  woe ; 
And  frae  my  een  the  drapping  rains 

ilaun  ever  flow ! 

Mourn,  spring,  thou  darling  of  the  year ! 
Ilk  cowslip  cup  shall  kcp  a  tear ; 
Thou,  simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 

Shoots  up  his  head. 
Thy  gay,  green,  flow'ry  tresses  shear, 

For  him  that 's  dead ! 

Then  autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair. 
In  grief  thy  sallow  mantle  tear ! 
Thou,  winter,  hurling  through  the  air 

The  roaring  blast. 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we  've  lost! 

Mourn  him,  thou  sun,  great  source  of  light ! 
Mourn,  empress  of  the  silent  night ! 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright, 

My  Matthew  mourn ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he's  taen  his  flight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

O  Henderson  !  the  man  !  the  brother ! 
And  art  thou  gone,  and  gone  for  ever? 
And  hast  thou  crossed  that  unknown  river. 

Life's  di-eary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 

The  world  around  ? 


Go  to  your  sculptured  tombs,  ye  great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I'll  wait 

Thou  man  of  worth  ! 
And  weep  the  ac  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 

Egbert  Bckns. 


A  FUNERAL  HYMN. 

Ye  midnight  shades,  o'er  nature  spread  I 

Dumb  silence  of  the  dreary  hour ! 
In  honor  of  th'  approaching  dead, 
Around  your  awful  terrors  pour. 

Yes,  pour  around, 

On  this  pale  ground, 
Through  all  this  deep  surrounding  gloom, 

The  sober  thought, 

The  tear  untaught, 
Those  meetest  mourners  at  a  tomb. 

Lo !  as  the  surpliced  train  draw  near 

To  this  last  mansion  of  mankind, 
The  slow  sad  bell,  the  sable  bier, 
In  holy  musings  wrap  the  mind ! 

And  while  their  beam. 

With  trembling  stream. 
Attending  tapers  faintly  dart, 

Each  mouldering  bone, 

Each  sculptured  stone, 
Strikes  mute  instruction  to  the  heart ! 

Now,  let  the  sacred  organ  blow. 
With  solemn  pause,  and  sounding  slow  ; 
Now,  let  the  voice  due  measure  keep. 
In  strains  that  sigh,  and  words  that  weep  ; 
Till  all  the  vocal  current  blended  roll. 
Not  to  depress,  but  lift  the  soaring  soul — 

To  lift  it  to  the  Maker's  praise. 

Who  first  informed  our  frame  with  breath 
And,  after  some  few  stormy  days, 
Now,  gracious,  gives  us  o'er  to  death. 

No  king  of  fears 

In  him  appears. 
Who  shuts  the  scene  of  human  woes ; 

Beneath  his  shade 

Securely  laid, 
The  dead  alone  find  true  repose. 


OH!    BREATHE    NOT    HIS    NAME. 


509 


Then,  while  we  mingle  dust  with  dust, 

To  One,  supremely  good  and  wise, 
Eaise  hallelujahs !     God  is  just, 
And  man  most  happy  when  he  dies ! 
His  winter  past, 
Fair  spring  at  last 
Receives  him  on  her  flowery  shore ; 
Where  pleasure's  rose 
Immortal  blows. 
And  sin  and  sorrow  are  no  more! 

Datid  Mallett. 


GAKE  WERE  BUT  THE  WINTER 
CAULD. 

Gane  were  but  the  winter  cauld, 
And  gane  were  but  the  snaw, 

I  could  sleep  in  the  wild  woods, 
Where  primroses  blaw. 

Cauld 's  the  snaw  at  my  head, 

And  cauld  at  my  feet, 
And  the  finger  o'  death 's  at  my  een, 

Closing  them  to  sleep. 

Let  nana  tell  my  father. 

Or  ray  mither  sac  dear ; 
I  '11  meet  them  baith  in  heaven 

At  the  spring  o'  the  year. 

Allan  Cunningham. 


OH !   SNATCHED  AWAY  IN  BEAUTY'S 
BLOOM. 

Oh  !  snatched  away  in  beauty's  bloom, 
On  thee  shall  press  no  ponderous  tomb ; 
But  on  thy  turf  shall  roses  rear 
Their  leaves,  the  earliest  of  the  year  ; 
And  the  wild  cypress  wave  in  tender  gloom. 

And  oft  by  you  blue  gushing  stream 
Shall  sorrow  lean  her  drooping  head, 

And  feed  deep  thought  with  many  a  dream. 
And  lingering  pause  and  lightly  tread — 
Fond  wretch  !  as  if  her  step  disturbed  the 
dead. 

Away  !  we  know  that  tears  arc  vain. 
That  death  nor  heeds  nor  hears  distress : 


Will  this  unteach  us  to  complain  ? 

Or  make  one  mourner  weep  the  less  ? 
And  thou— who  tell'st  me  to  forget, 
Thy  looks  are  wan,  thine  eyes  are  wet. 

LOKD   BrEON. 


CORONACH. 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain. 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest. 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font  re-appearing 

From  the  rain-drops  shall  borrow  ; 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering. 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  ! 
The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary. 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

WaUs  manhood  in  glory. 
The  autumn  winds  rushing, 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest. 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing, 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi. 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber  I 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain. 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river. 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain. 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


OH !   BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

Oh!  breathe  not  his  name!  let  it  sleep  in  the 

ghade. 
Where  cold  and  unhonorcd  his  relics  arc  laid ; 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night  dew  that  falls  on  the  grave  o'er 

his  head. 

But  the  night  dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence 

it  weeps, 
Shall  brighten  with  vcrdui'c  the  grave  where 

"he  sleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret 

it  rolls. 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls. 

Thomas  Mooke, 


510                              rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

A  DIRGE. 

VI. 

The  gold-eyed  kingcups  fine, 

L^      J— '-4AW^.iJ« 

The  frail  bluebell  peereth  over 

X 

Rare  broid'ry  of  the  purple  clover. 

I. 

Let  them  rave. 

No-w  is  done  thy  long  day's  work ; 

Kings  have  no  such  couch  as  thine, 

Fold  thy  palms  across  thy  breast — ■ 

As  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Fold  thine  arms,  turn  to  thy  rest. 

liet  them  rave. 

Let  them  rave. 

Shadows  of  the  silver  hirk 

VII. 

Sweep  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Wild  Avords  wander  here  and  there ; 

Let  them  rave. 

God's  great  gift  of  speech  abused 

Makes  thy  memory  confused — 

II. 

But  let  them  rave. 

The  balm-cricket  carols  clear 

Thee  nor  carketh  care  nor  slander ; 

In  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Nothing  but  the  small  cold  worm 

Let  them  rave. 

Fretteth  thine  enshrouded  form. 

Alfred  Tennysom. 

Let  them  rave. 
Light  and  shadow  ever  wander 

O'er  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Let  them  rave. 

THE  DIRGE  OF  IMOGEN". 

III. 

Feae  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages ; 

Thou  wilt  not  turn  upon  thy  bed ; 

Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 
Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages  : 

Chanteth  not  the  brooding  bee 

Sweeter  tones  than  calumny  ? 

T        J.    J.1 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

Let  them  rave. 
Thou  wilt  never  raise  thine  head 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

From  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great — 

Let  them  rave. 

Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke ; 

Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat ; 

IV. 

To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak. 

Crocodiles  wept  tears  for  thee ; 

The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 

The  woodbine  and  eglatere 

All  follow  this,  and  come  to  dust. 

Drip  sweeter  dews  than  traitor's  tear. 
T.pt  them  r.ivp 

Fear  no  more  the  lightning-flash. 

.1 JV  \>     V'XA\.J  111     XU/TV^a 

Rain  makes  music  in  the  tree 

Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone  ; 

O'er  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 
Let  them  rave. 

Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash ; 
Thou  hast  finished  joy  and  moan : 

All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 

V. 

Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

Round  thee  blow,  self-pleached  deep 

No  exorciser  harm  thee! 

Bramble  roses,  faint  and  pale, 

Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee ! 

And  long  purples  of  the  dale. 

Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee  ! 

Let  them  rave. 

Nothing  ill  come  near  thee ! 

These  in  every  shower  creep 

Quiet  consummation  have ; 

Tlirough  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

And  renowned  be  thy  grave ! 

Let  them  rave. 

Shakespbaeb. 

DIRGE    OF    JEPHTHAH'S    DAUGHTER. 


511 


DIRGE  OF  JEPHTHAH'S  DAUGHTER. 

SUNG   BY   THE   TIEGIXS. 

O  THOTT,  the  wonder  of  all  dayes ! 
O  paragon,  and  pearl  of  praise ! 
O  virgin-martyr,  ever  blest 

Above  the  rest 
Of  all  the  maiden  traine !     We  come, 
And  bring  fresh  strewings  to  thy  tombe. 

Thus,  thus,  and  thus  -n-e  compasse  round 
Tby  harmlesse  and  unhaunted  ground ; 
And  as  we  sing  thy  dirge,  we  will 

The  daffodill, 
And  other  flowers,  lay  upon 
The  altar  of  our  love,  thy  stone. 

Thou,  wonder  of  all  maids,  rest  here — 
Of  daughters  all,  the  deerest  deere  ; 
The  eye  of  virgins ;  nay,  the  queen 

Of  this  smooth  green, 
And  all  sweet  meades  from  whence  we  get 
The  primrose  and  the  violet. 

Too  soone,  too  deere,  did  Jephthah  buy, 

By  thy  sad  losse,  our  liberty  ; 

His  was  the  bond  and  cov'nant,  yet 

Thou  paid'st  the  debt ; 
Lamented  maid !  he  won  the  day, 
But  for  the  conquest  thou  didst  pay. 

Thy  father  brought  with  him  along 
The  olive  branch,  and  victor's  song ; 
He  slew  the  Ammonites  we  know — 

But  to  thy  woe  ; 
And  in  the  purchase  of  our  peace 
The  cure  was  worse  than  the  disease. 

For  which  obedient  zeale  of  thine 
We  offer  here,  before  thy  shrine, 
Our  sighs  for  storax,  teares  for  wine ; 

And,  to  make  tine 
And  fresh  thy  herse-cloth,  we  will  here 
Four  times  bestrew  thee  every  yeere. 

Receive,  for  this  thy  praise,  our  tears ; 
Receive  this  offering  of  our  haires ; 
Receive  these  christall  vials,  filled 
With  tears  distilled 


From  teeming  eyes ;  to  these  we  bring. 
Each  maid,  her  silver  filleting, 

To  guild  thy  tombe ;  besides,  these  caules, 
These  laces,  ribbands,  and  these  faules — 
These  veiles,  wherewith  we  use  to  hide 

The  bashfuU  bride, 
"W  hen  we  conduct  her  to  her  groome  ; 
All,  all  we  lay  upon  thy  tombe. 

No  more,  no  more,  since  thou  art  dead, 
Shall  we  e'er  bring  coy  brides  to  bed ; 
No  more,  at  yeerly  festivalls, 

We  cowslip  balls. 
Or  chaines  of  columbines,  shall  make 
For  this  or  that  occasion's  sake. 

No,  no !  our  maiden  pleasures  be 
Wrapt  in  the  winding-shoet  with  thee ; 
'T  is  we  are  dead,  though  not  i'  th'  grave  ; 

Or  if  we  have 
One  seed  of  life  left,  't  is  to  keep 
A  Lent  for  thee,  to  fast  and  weep. 

Sleep  in  thy  peace,  thy  bed  of  spice, 
And  make  this  place  all  paradise  ; 
May  sweets  grow  here,  and  smoke  from 
hence 

Fat  frankincense ; 
Let  balme  and  cassia  send  their  scent 
From  out  thy  maiden  monument. 

May  no  wolfe  howle,  or  screech-owle  stir 

A  wing  about  thy  sepulchre ; 

No  boysterous  winds  or  storms  come  hither, 

To  starve  or  wither 
Thy  soft  sweet  earth ;  but,  like  a  spring. 
Love  keep  it  ever  flourishing. 

May  all  shie  maids,  at  wonted  hours, 
Come  forth  to  strew  thy  tombe  with  flowers  ; 
May  virgins,  when  they  come  to  mourn, 

Male  incense  burn 
Upon  thine  altar ;  then  return, 
And  leave  thee  sleeping  in  thy  urn. 

HOBEBT  IIEEBICK, 


PI2 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


DIRGE. 

"  On  dig  a  grave,  and  dig  it  deep, 
Where  1  and  my  true-love  may  sleep ! " 
We  HI  dig  a  grave,  and  dig  it  deep, 
Where  thou  and  thy  true  love  shall  sleep  ! 

''And  let  it  be  five  fathom  low, 
Where  winter  winds  may  never  blow !  " 
And  it  shall  le  five  fatJioms  low, 
Where  winter  winds  shall  never  Moio  ! 

"And  let  it  be  on  yonder  hill, 
Where  grows  the  mountain  daifodil ! " 
And  it  shall  le  on  yonder  hill, 
Where  groics  the  mountain  daffodil! 

"And  plant  it  round  with  holy  briers, 

To  fright  away  the  fairy  fires ! " 

WeHl plant  it  round  with  holy  driers, 
To  fright  away  the  fairy  fires  ! 

"  And  set  it  round  with  celandine, 
And  nodding  heads  of  columbine !  " 
We  HI  set  it  round  with  celandine, 
And  nodding  heads  of  columbine  ! 

"  And  let  the  ruddock  build  his  nest 
Just  above  my  true-love's  breast ! " — 
The  ruddocTc  he  shall  build  his  nest 
Just  above  thy  true-love'' s  breast ! — 

"And  warble  his  sweet  wintry  song 
O'er  our  dwelling  all  day  long!  " 
And!  he  shall  warble  his  sweet  song 
O'er  your  dwelling  all  day  long. 

"  Now,  tender  friends,  my  garments  take. 
And  lay  me  out  for  Jesus'  sake !  " 
And  we  will  now  thy  garments  tahe. 
And  lay  thee  out  for  Jesus'*  saTce  ! 

"And  lay  me  by  my  true-love's  side. 
That  I  may  be  a  faithful  bride ! " 

WeHl  lay  thee  by  thy  true-love's  side. 
That  thou  may^st  be  a  faithful  bride! 

"  When  I  am  dead,  and  buried  be. 
Pray  to  God  in  heaven  for  me ! " 
Now  thou  art  dead,  weHl  bury  thee. 
And  pray  to  God  in  heaven  for  thee! 
Benedicite  ! 
William  Stanley  Koscoe. 


DIRGE  IN"  CYMBELINE, 


SCNQ    BT    GUIDERUS   AND   AEVIKAGU3    OVER 


To  fiiir  Fidele's  grassy  tomb 

Soft  maids  and  village  hinds  shall  bring 
Each  opening  sweet  of  earliest  bloom, 

And  rifle  all  the  breathing  spring. 

No  wailing  ghost  shall  dare  appear, 
To  vex  with  shrieks  this  quiet  grove ; 

But  shepherd  lads  assemble  here. 
And  melting  virgins  own  their  love. 

No  withered  witch  shall  here  be  seen-  - 
No  goblins  lead  their  nightly  crew  ; 

The  female  fays  shall  haunt  the  green, 
And  dress  thy  grave  with  pearly  dew. 

The  redbreast  oft,  at  evening  hours, 
Shall  kindly  lend  his  little  aid. 

With  hoary  moss,  and  gathered  flowers, 
To  deck  the  ground  where  thou  art  laid 

When  howling  winds  and  beating  rain 
In  tempests  shake  the  sylvan  cell. 

Or  'midst  the  chase,  on  every  plain. 
The  tender  thought  on  thee  shall  dwell. 

Each  lonely  scene  shall  thee  restore. 
For  thee  the  tear  be  duly  shed ; 

Beloved  till  life  can  charm  no  more. 
And  mourned  till  pity's  self  be  dead. 

William  Collins. 


DIRGE. 


If  thou  wilt  ease  thine  heart 
Of  love,  and  all  its  smart — 

Then  sleep,  dear,  sleep ! 
And  not  a  sorrow 

Hang  any  tear  on  your  eyelashes  • 

Lie  still  and  deep. 
Sad  soul,  until  the  sea- wave  washes 
The  rim  o'  the  sun  to-morrow. 
In  eastern  sky. 


DIRGE    FOR    A    YOUNG    GIRL. 


513 


But  wilt  tbou  cure  thine  heart 
Of  love,  and  all  its  smart — 

Then  die,  dear,  die! 
'T  is  deeper,  sweeter, 

Than  on  a  rose  bank  to  lie  dreaming 

With  folded  eye ; 
And  then  alone,  amid  the  beaming 
Of  love's  stars,  thou  'It  meet  her 
In  eastern  skv. 

Thomas  Lovell  Bepdoes. 


BRIDAL  SO^G  AND  DIRGE. 

A  CTPRESS-Bouon  and  a  rose-wreath  sweet, 
A  wedding-robe  and  a  winding-sheet, 
A  bridal-bed  and  a  bier ! 
Thine  be  the  kisses,  maid, 

And  smiling  love's  alarms ; 
And  thou,  pale  youth,  be  laid 
In  the  grave's  cold  arms : 
Each  in  his  own  charms — 

Death  and  Hymen  both  are  here. 
So  up  with  scythe  and  torch. 
And  to  the  old  church  porch, 
"While  all  the  bells  ring  clear ; 
And  rosy,  rosy  the  bed  shall  bloom, 
And  earthy,  earthy  heap  up  the  tomb. 

Now  tremble  dimples  on  your  cheek — 
Sweet  be  your  lips  to  taste  and  speak. 
For  he  who  kisses  is  neaSL* : 
By  her  the  bridegod  fair. 

In  youthful  power  and  force ; 
By  him  the  grizard  bare. 
Pale  knight  on  a  pale  liorse. 
To  woo  him  to  a  corse — 

Death  and  Hymen  both  are  here. 
So  up  with  scythe  and  torch, 
And  to  the  old  church  porch. 
While  all  the  bells  ring  clear ; 
And  rosy,  rosy  the  bed  shall  bloom, 
And  earthy,  earthy  heap  up  the  touib. 
Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes. 


DIRGE. 


Softly ! 
She  is  lying 
With  her  lips  apftrt. 

Softly ! 
She  is  dying  of  a  bi'oken  heart. 

II. 
Whisper ! 
She  is  going 

To  her  final  rest. 
Whisper ! 
Life  is  growing 
Dim  within  her  breast. 

III. 

Gently ! 
She  is  sleeping ; 

She  has  breathed  her  last 
Gently! 
While  you  are  weepmg. 
She  to  heaven  has  past ! 

Charles  Gamage  Eastman. 


DIRGE  FOR  A  YOUNG  GIRL. 

Underneath  the  sod  low-lying, 

Dark  and  drear, 
Sleepeth  one  who  left,  in  dying 

Sorrow  here. 

Yes,  they  're  ever  bending  o'er  her 

Eyes  that  weep ; 
Forms,  that  to  the  cold  grave  bore  her, 

Vigils  keep. 

When  the  summer  moon  is  shining 

Soft  and  fair, 
Friends  she  loved  in  tears  are  twining 

Chaplets  there. 

Rest  in  peace,  thou  gentle  spirit, 

Throned  al)ove — 

Souls  like  thine  with  God  inherit 

Life  and  love ! 

James  T.  Fikld^ 


69 


614 


POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 


A  BPvIDAL  DIRGE. 

TVeave  no  more  the  marriage  chain  I 

All  unmated  is  the  lover ; 
Death  has  ta'en  the  place  of  pain ; 
Love  doth  call  on  love  in  vain  ; 

Life  and  years  of  hope  are  over ! 

No  more  want  of  marriage  bell ! 

No  more  need  of  bridal  favor ! 
■Where  is  she  to  wear  them  well? 
You  beside  the  lover,  tell ! 

Gone — with  all  the  love  he  gave  her 

Paler  than  the  stone  she  lies — 
Colder  than  the  winter's  morning ! 

Wherefore  did  she  thus  despise 

(She  with  pity  in  her  eyes) 
Mother's  care,  and  lover's  warning  ? 

Youth  and  beauty — shall  they  not 
Last  beyond  a  brief  to-morrow? 

No — a  prayer  and  then  forgot ! 

This  the  truest  lover's  lot, 

This  the  sum  of  human  sorrow ! 

Barry  Cornwall, 


DIRGE. 


WnERK  shall  we  make  her  grave  ? 
Oh,  where  the  Avild-flowers  wave 

In  the  free  air ! 
When  shower  and  singing  bird 
'Midst  the  young  leaves  are  heard- 

Tliere — lay  her  there  ! 

Harsh  was  the  world  to  her — 
Now  may  sleep  minister 

Balm  for  each  ill ; 
Low  on  sweet  nature's  breast 
Let  the  meek  heart  find  rest. 

Deep,  deep  and  still ! 

Murmur,  glad  waters,  by ! 
Faint  gales,  with  happy  sigh. 

Come  wandering  o'er 
That  green  and  mossy  bed, 
Where,  on  a  gentle  head, 

Storms  beat  no  more  I 


What  though  for  her  in  vain 
Tails  now  the  bright  spring-rain, 

Plays  the  soft  wind  ? 
Yet  still,  from  where  she  lies, 
Should  blessed  breathings  rise, 

Gracious  and  kind. 

Therefore  let  song  and  dew, 
Thence,  in  the  heart  renew 

Life's  vernal  glow ! 
And  o'er  tliat  holy  earth 
Scents  of  the  violet's  birth 

Still  come  and  go ! 

Oh,  then,  where  wild-flowers  wave, 
Make  ye  her  mossy  grave 

In  the  free  air  1 
Where  shower  and  singing-bird 
'Midst  the  young  leaves  are  heard — 

There,  lay  her  there ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. 


THE  PHANTOM. 

Again  I  sit  within  the  mansion. 

In  the  old,  familiar  seat ; 
And  shade  and  sunshine  chase  each  other 

O'er  the  carpet  at  my  feet. 

But  the  sweet-brier's  arms  have  wrestled 
upwards 

In  the  summers  that  are  past, 
And  the  willow  trails  its  branches  lower 

Than  when  I  saw  them  last. 

They  strive  to  shut  the  sunshine  wholly 
From  out  the  haunted  room — 

To  fill  the  house,  that  once  was  joyful, 
With  silence  and  with  gloom. 

And  many  kind,  remembered  faces 

Within  the  doorway  come — 
Voices,  that  wake  the  sweeter  musio 

Of  one  that  now  is  dumb. 

They  sing,  in  tones  as  glad  as  ever. 

The  songs  she  loved  to  hear  ; 
They  braid  the  rose  in  summer  garlands, 

Whose  flowers  to  her  wore  dear. 


ICHABOD.                                                                615 

And  still,  her  footsteps  ia  the  passage, 

Her  blushes  at  the  door, 

ICHABOD. 

Her  timid  words  of  maidea  welcome, 

Come  back  to  me  once  more. 

So  fallen !  so  lost !  the  light  witharawu 

And  all  forgetful  of  my  sorrow, 

Which  once  he  wore ! 

Unmindful  of  my  pain, 

The  glory  from  his  gray  hairs  gone 

I  think  she  has  but  newly  left  me, 

For  evermore ! 

And  soon  will  come  again. 

Revile  him  not — the  tempter  hath 

She  stays  without,  perchance,  a  moment, 

A  snare  for  all ! 

To  dress  her  dark-brown  hair ; 

And  pitying  tears,  not  scorn  and  wrath, 

I  hear  the  rustle  of  her  garments — 

Befit  his  fall ! 

Her  light  step  on  the  stair ! 

0  fluttering  heart !  control  thy  tumult. 

Oh !  dumb  is  passion's  stormy  rage, 

Lest  eyes  profane  should  see 

When  he  who  might 

My  cheeks  betray  the  rush  of  rapture 

Have  lighted  up  and  led  his  age. 

Her  coming  brings  to  me ! 

Falls  back  in  night. 

She  tarries  long :  but  lo !  a  whisper 

Beyond  the  open  door  — 

Scorn !     Would  the  angels  laugh,  to  mark 

And,  gliding  through  the  quiet  sunshine, 

A  bright  soul  driven. 

A  shadow  on  the  floor ! 

Fiend-goaded,  down  the  endless  dark. 

From  hope  and  heaven  ? 

Ah !  'tis  the  whispering  pine  that  calls  me, 

The  vine  whose  shadow  strays  ; 

Let  not  the  land,  once  proud  of  him. 

And  my  patient  heart  must  still  await  her. 

Insult  him  now ; 

Nor  chide  her  long  delays. 

ISTor  brand  with  deeper  shame  his  dim. 

But  my  heart  grows  sick  with  weary  wait- 

Dishonored  brow. 

As  many  a  time  before  : 

But  let  its  humbled  sons,  instead. 

Her  foot  is  ever  at  the  threshold. 

From  sea  to  lake. 

Yet  never  passes  o'er. 

A  long  lament,  as  for  the  dead. 

Bataed  Tatloe. 

In  sadness  make. 
Of  all  we  loved  and  honored,  naught 

EPITAPH  OX  ELIZABETH  L.  H. 

Save  power  remains — 

A  fallen  angel's  pride  of  thought, 

WouLDST  thou  heare  what  man  can  say 

Still  strong  in  chains. 

In  a  little  ? — reader,  stay  ! 

Underneath  this  stone  doth  lye 

All  else  is  gone  ;  from  those  great  eyes 

As  much  beauty  as  could  dye  ; 

The  soul  has  fled  ; 

Which  in  life  did  harbor  give 

When  faith  is  lost,  when  honor  dies. 

To  more  vertue  than  doth  live. 

The  man  is  dead ! 

If  at  all  she  had  a  fault, 

Leave  it  buried  in  this  vault. 

One  name  was  Elizabeth — 

Then,  pay  the  reverence  of  old  days 

Th'  other,  let  it  sleep  with  death  : 

To  his  dead  fame  ; 

Fitter,  where  it  dyed  to  tell. 

Walk  backward,  with  averted  gaze, 

Than  that  it  lived  at  all.     Farewell ! 

And  hide  the  shame  ! 

Ben  Jonson. 

John  Greenleaf  "Wuittier. 

516                               POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

Best  fight  on  Avell,  for  we  taught  him — strike 

THE  LOST  LEADER. 

gallantly. 

Aim  at  our  heart  ere  we  pierce  through  his 

I. 

own  \ 
Then  let  liim  receive  the  new  knowledge  and 

JdST  for  a  handful  of  silver  he  left  us  ; 

wait  us, 

Just  for  a  riband  to  stick  in  his  coat — 

Pardoned    in     heaven,    the    first  by   the 

Found  the  one  gift  of  which  fortune  bereft  us, 

throne ! 

Lost  all  the  others  she  lets  us  devote. 

EoBEBT  Browning. 

They,  with  the  gold  to  give,  doled  him  out 
silver, 

So  much  was  theirs  who  so  little  allowed. 

How  all  our  copper  had  gone  for  his  service ! 

0^  THE  EUNEPvAL  OF  CHARLES 

Eags — were  they  purple,  his  heart  had  been 

THE  FIRST, 

proud ! 

"We  that  had  loved  him  so,  followed  him,  hon- 

AT   NIGHT    IN    ST.    GEOEGE's   CHAPEL,  WINDSOR 

ored  him, 

The  castle  clock  had  tolled  midnight. 

Lived  in  his  mild  and  magnificent  eye, 

"With  mattock  and  with  spade— 

Learned  his  great  language,  caught  his  clear 

And  silent,  by  the  torches'  light — 

accents, 

His  corse  in  earth  we  laid. 

Made  him  our  pattern  to  live  and  to  die ! 

Shakspeare  was  of  us,  Milton  was  for  us, 

The  coflan  bore  his  name ;  that  those 

Burns,  Shelley,  were  with  us — they  watch 

Of  other  years  might  know. 

from  their  graves ! 

"When  earth  its  secrets  should  disclose, 

He  alone  breaks  from  the  van  and  the  free- 
men ; 

"Whose  bones  were  laid  below. 

He  alone  sinks  to  the  rear  and  the  slaves ! 

"Peace  to  the  dead!  "  no  children  sung, 

Slow  pacing  up  the  nave ; 

II- 

No  prayers  were  read,  no  knell  was  rung, 

"We  shall  march  prospering — not  through  his 

As  deep  we  dug  his  grave. 

presence ; 

Songs  may  inspirit  us — not  from  his  lyre ; 

"We  only  heard  the  winter's  wind, 

Deeds   will  be   done — while   he    boasts  his 

In  many  a  sullen  gust. 

quiescence. 

As  o'er  the  open  grave  inclined, 

Still  bidding  crouch  whom  the  rest  bade 

"We  murmured,  "Dust  to  dust ! " 

aspire. 

Blot  out  his  name,  then — record  one  lost  soul 

A  moonbeam  from  the  arch's  height 

more. 

Streamed,  as  we  placed  the  stone ; 

One  task  more  declined,  one  more  footpath 

The  long  aisles  started  into  light, 

untrod. 

And  all  the  windows  shone. 

One  more  triumph  for  devils,  and  sorrow  for 

angels. 

"We  thought  we  saw  the  banners  then 

One  wrong  more  to  man,  one  more  insult 

That  shook  along  the  walls, 

to  God ! 

"Whilst  the  sad  shades  of  mailed  men 

Life's  night  begins  ;  let  him  never  come  back 
to  us! 
There  would  be  doubt,  hesitation  and  pain, 

"Were  gazing  on  the  stalls. 

'T  is  gone ! — Again  on  tombs  defaced 

Forced  praise  on  our  part — the  glimmer  of 

Sits  darkness  more  profound  ; 

twilight. 

And  only  by  the  torch  we  traced 

"N"ever  glad,  confident  morning  again  ! 

The  shadows  on  the  ground. 

33 

ox  THE  DEATH  OF  GEORGE  THE  THIRD. 


517 


And  now  the  chilling,  freezing  air 
"Without  blew  long  and  loud  ; 

Upon  our  knees  we  breathed  one  prayer, 
Where  he  slept  in  his  shroud. 

"We  laid  the  broken  marble  floor, — 

No  name,  no  trace  appears ! 
And  wlien  we  closed  the  sounding  door, 

"We  thought  of  him  with  tears. 

WiLi.iAii  Lisle  Bowles. 


BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  nor  a  funeral  note. 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

"We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night. 
The  sod  with  our  bayonets  turning. 

By  the  struggling  moonbeams'  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  inclosed  his  breast, 

Nor  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  bound  him ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
"NTith  his  martial  cloak  around  him  ! 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said. 
And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 

But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  tlie  fiice  of  the 
dead, 
And  we  bitterly  tliought  of  the  morrow. 

'Wo  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er 
his  head. 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow ! 

Lightly  they  '11  talk  of  the  sjjirit  that 's  gone. 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him — 

But  little  he  '11  reck  if  they  let  him  sleep  on. 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 
"When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  rctir- 

inrr  • 
'"o  ) 

And  we  knew  by  the  distant  random  gun, 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 


Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 
From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 

"We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone- 
But  we  left  him  alonp  in  liis  glory. 

Chakles  "Wolfb. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  GEORGE  THE 
THIRD. 

WEITTEN    UNDER    WINDSOR   TEEEAOE. 

I  SAW  him  last  on  this  terrace  proud, 
"Walking  in  health  and  gladness, 

Begirt  with  his  court ;  and  in  all  the  crowd 
Not  a  single  look  of  sadness. 

Bright  was  the  sun,  the  leaves  were  green — 
Blithely  the  birds  were  singing; 

The  cymbals  replied  to  the  tambourine, 
And  the  bells  were  merrily  ringing. 

I  have  stood  with  the  crowd  beside  his  bier, 
"When  not  a  word  was  spoken — 

"When  every  eye  "was  dim  with  a  tear. 
And  the  silence  by  sobs  was  broken. 

I  have  heard  the  earth  on  his  coffin  pour 
To  the  muffled  drums,  deep  rolling, 

"While  the  minute-gun,  with  its  solemn  roar. 
Drowned  the  death-bells'  tolling. 

The  time — since  he  walked  in  his  glory  thus. 

To  the  grave  till  I  saw  him  carried — 
"Was  an  age  of  the  mightiest  change  tC  us, 

But  to  him  a  night  unvaried. 

A  daughter  beloved,  a  queen,  a  son, 
And  a  son's  sole  child,  have  perished ; 

And  sad  was  each  heart,  save  only  the  one 
By  which  they  were  fondest  cherished ; 

For  his  eyes  were  sealed  and  his  mind  was 
dark. 

And  he  sat  in  his  age's  lateness — 
Like  a  vision  throned,  as  a  solemn  mark 

Of  the  frailty  of  human  greatness ; 

His  silver  beard,  o'er  a  bosom  spread 

Unvexed  by  life's  commotion, 
Like  a  yearly  lengthening  snow-drift  shed 

On  the  calm  of  a  frozen  ocean. 


518 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


Still  o'er  him  oblivion's  Avaters  lay, 
Thougli  the  stream  of  life  kept  flowing ; 

When  they  spoke  of  onr  king,  't  was  but  to 
say 
The  old  man's  strength  was  going. 

At  intervals  thus  the  waves  disgorge, 

By  weakness  rent  asunder, 
A  piece  of  the  wreck  of  the  Eoyal  George, 

To  the  people's  pity  and  wondei*. 

He  is  gone  at  length — he  is  laid  in  the  dust. 
Death's  hand  his  slumbers  breaking  ; 

For  the  coffined  sleep  of  the  good  and  just 
Is  a  sure  and  blissful  waking. 

His  people's  heart  is  his  funeral  urn  ; 

And  should  sculptured  stone  be  denied  him, 
There  will  his  name  be  found,  when  in  turn 

We  lay  our  heads  beside  him. 

HoEACE  Smith. 


THE  WARDEN  OF  THE  CIITQUE  POETS. 

A  MIST  was  driving  down  the  British  chan- 
nel; 
The  day  was  just  begun; 
And  through  the  window-panes,  on  floor  and 
panel, 
Streamed  the  red  autumn  sun. 

It  glanced  on  flowing  flag  and  rippling  pen- 
non, 
And  the  white  sails  of  ships ; 
And,  from  the  frowning  rampart,  the  black 
cannon 
Hailed  it  with  feverish  lips. 

Sandwich  and  Eomney,  Hastings,  Hithe,  and 
Dover, 

Were  all  alert  that  day. 
To  see  the  French  war-steamers  speeding  over 

When  the  fog  cleared  away. 

Sullen  and  silent,  and  like  couchant  lions, 
Their  cannon,  through  the  night. 

Holding  their  breath,  had  watched  in  grim 
defiance 
The  sea-coast  opposite. 


And  now  tliey  roared,  at  drum-beat,  from 
their  stations 
On  every  citadel ; 
Each  answering  each,  with  morning  saluta- 
tions. 
That  all  was  well  1 

And  down  the  coast,  all  taking  up  the  burden. 

Eeplied  the  distant  forts — 
As  if  to  summon  from  his  sleep  the  warden 

And   lord  of  the  Cinque  Ports. 

Ilim  shall  no  sunshine  from  the  fields  of 
azure, 
No  drum-beat  from  the  wall, 
No  morning  gun  from  the  black  forts'  embra- 
zure, 
Awaken  with  their  call ! 

No  more,  surveying  with  an  eye  impartial 

The  long  line  of  the  coast. 
Shall  the  gaunt  figure  of  the  old  field-marshal 

Be  seen  upon  his  post ! 

For  in  the  night,  unseen,  a  single  warrior, 

In  sombre  harness  mailed. 
Dreaded  of  man,  and  surnamed  the  destroyer. 

The  rampart  wall  has  scaled ! 

He  passed  into  the  chamber  of  the  sleeper — 

The  dark  and  silent  room ; 
And,  as  he  entered,  darker  grew,  and  deeper, 

The  silence  and  the  gloom. 

He  did  not  pause  to  parley,  or  dissemble, 
But  smote  the  warden  hoar — 

Ah!  what  a  blow! — that  made  all  England 
tremble 
And  groan  from  shore  to  shore. 

Meanwhile,  without,  the  surly  cannon  waited. 
The  sun  rose  bright  o'erhead — 

Nothing  in  nature's  aspect  intimated 
That  a  great  man  was  dead ! 

IIbnkt  Wadswokth  Lo>orEi,iow, 


STANZAS  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THOMAS  HOOD, 


519 


STANZAS    TO    THE    ilEMOEY    OF 
THOMAS  HOOD. 


Take  back  into  thy  bosom,  earth, 

This  joyous,  May-eyed  morrow, 
The  gentlest  child  that  ever  mirth 

Gave  to  be  reared  by  sorrow ! 
'T  is  hard — while  rays  half  green,  half  gold, 

Through  vernal  bowers  are  burning, 
And  streams  their  diamond-mirrors  hold 

To  summer's  face  returning — 
To  say  we  're  thankful  that  his  sleep 

Shall  never  more  be  lighter, 
In  whose  sweet-tongued  companionship 

Stream,  bower,  and  beam  grew  brighter ! 

II. 

But  all  the  more  intensely  true 

His  soul  gave  out  each  feature 
Of  elemental  love — each  hue 

And  grace  of  golden  nature — 
The  deeper  still  beneath  it  all 

Lurked  the  keen  jags  of  anguish ; 
The  more  the  laurels  clasped  his  brow 

Their  poison  made  it  languish. 
Seemed  it  that  like  the  nightingale 

Of  his  own  mournful  siuging, 
The  tenderer  would  his  song  prevail 

While  most  the  thorn  was  stinging. 

III. 

So  never  to  the  desert-worn 

Did  fount  bring  freshness  deeper, 
Than  that  his  placid  rest  this  morn 

Has  brought  the  shrouded  sleeper. 
That  rest  may  lap  his  weary  head 

"Where  charnels  choke  the  city. 
Or  where,  mid  woodlands,  by  his  bed 

The  wren  shall  wake  its  ditty; 
But  near  or  far,  while  evening's  star 

Is  dear  to  hearts  regretting. 
Around  that  spot  admiring  thought 

Shall  hover,  unforgetting. 

IV. 

And  if  tliis  sentient,  seething  world 

Is,  after  all,  ideal, 
Or  in  the  immaterial  furled 

Alone  resides  tlie  real, 


Freed  one !  there 's  a  wail  for  theo  this  hour 

Through  thy  loved  elves'  dominions ; 
Hushed  is  each  tiny  trumpet-flower, 

And  droopeth  Ariel's  pinions ; 
Even  Puck,  dejected,  leaves  his  swing, 

To  plan,  with  fond  endeavor. 
What  pretty  buds  and  dews  shall  keep 

Thy  pillow  bright  for  ever. 


And  higher,  if  less  happy,  tribes — 

The  race  of  early  childhood — 
Shall  miss  thy  whims  of  frolic  wit. 

That  in  the  summer  wild-wood, 
Or  by  the  Christmas  hearth,  were  hailed, 

And  hoarded  as  a  treasure 
Of  undecaying  merriment 

And  ever-changing  pleasure. 
Things  from  thy  lavish  humor  flung 

Profuse  as  scents,  are  flying 
This  kindling  morn,  when  blooms  are  boru 

As  fast  as  blooms  are  dying. 

VI. 

Sublimer  art  owned  thy  control- 

The  minstrel's  mightiest  magic, 
With  sadness  to  rubdue  the  soul, 

Or  thriU  it  with  the  tragic. 
ISTow  listening  Aram's  fearful  dream, 

We  see  beneath  the  willow 
That  dreadful  thing,  or  watch  him  steal, 

Guilt-lighted,  to  his  pillow. 
Now  with  thee  roaming  ancient  groves, 

W'e  watch  the  woodman  felling 
The  funeral  elm,  while  through  its  boughs 

The  gliostly  wind  comes  knelling. 

VII. 

Dear  worshipper  of  Dian's  face 

In  solitary  places, 
Shalt  thou  no  more  steal,  as  of  yore, 

To  meet  her  Avhite  embraces  ? 
Is  there  no  purple  in  the  rose 

Henceforward  to  thy  senses  ? 
For  thee  have  dawn  and  daylight's  close 

Lost  their  sweet  influences? 
No ! — by  the  mental  night  untamed 

Thou  took'st  to  death's  dark  portal, 
The  joy  of  the  wide  universe 

Is  now  to  thee  immortal  I 


620                               POEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROW. 

Till. 

The  world  and  all  its  manifold  creation  sleep- 

How fierce  contrasts  the  city's  roar 

ing— 

"With  thy  new-conqncred  quiet! — 

The  great  and  small — 

This  stunning  liell  of  wheels  that  pour 

Will  there  be  one,  even  at  that  dread  hour, 

"With  princes  to  their  riot  I 

weeping 

Loud  clash  the  crowds — the  busy  clouds 

Forme— for  all? 

With  thunder-noise  are  shaken, 

While  pale,  and  mute,  and  cold,  afar 

When  no  star  twinkles  with  its  eye  of  glory 

Thou  liest,  men-forsaken. 

On  that  low  mound, 

Hot  life  reeks  on,  nor  recks  that  one 

And  wintry  storms  have  with  their  ruins 

— The  playful,  human-hearted — 

hoary 

Who  lent  its  clay  less  earthiness. 

Its  loneness  crowned. 

Is  just  from  earth  departed. 

Will  there  be  then  one  versed  in  misery's 

B.  Simmons. 

story 

Pacing  it  round  ? 
It  may  be  so — but  this  is  selfish  sorrow 

• 

WHE>f  I  BENEATH  THE  COLD,  EED 

To  ask  such  meed — 

EARTH  AM  SLEEPING. 

A  weakness  and  a  wickedness,  to  borrow 

From  hearts  that  bleed 

Whex  I  beneath  the  cold,  red  earth  am  sleep- 

The  wailings  of  to-day,  for  what  to-morrow 

in  <t 

Shall  never  need. 

Life's  fever  o'er. 

Will  there  for  me  be  any  bright  eye  weeping 

Lay  me  then  gently  in  my  narrow  dwelling, 

That  I  'm  no  more  ? 

Thou  gentle  heart ! 

WiU  there  be  any  heart  still  memory  keeping 

And,  though  thy  bosom  should  with  grief  be 

Of  heretofore  ? 

3                    O                 1/                                                                               O 

swelling, 

Let  no  tear  start ; 

When   the  great  winds,  through  leafless  for- 

It were  in  vain — for    time  hath  long  been 

ests  rushing. 

knelling — 

Like  full  hearts  break — 

Sad  one,  depart ! 

When  the  swoU'n  streams,  o'er  crag  and  gully 

William  Motheuwell. 

gushing. 

R*if1  mn«;i(^.  mnlco — 

Will  there  be  one,  whose  heart    despair  is 

♦ 

crushing, 

A  POET'S  EPITAPH. 

Mourn  for  my  sake  ? 

Stop,  mortal !     Here  thy  brother  lies — 

When  the  bright  sun  upon  that  spot  is  shin- 

The poet  of  the  poor. 

ing 

His  books  were  rivers,  Avoods,  and  skies, 

With  purest  ray. 

The  meadow  and  the  moor ; 

And  the  small  flowers,  their  buds  and  blos- 

His teachers  were  the  torn  heart's  wail, 

soms  twining. 

The  tyrant  and  the  slave, 

Burst  through  that  clay — 

The  street,  the  factory,  the  jail. 

Will  there  be  one  still  on  that  spot  repining 

The  palace — and  the  grave ! 

Lost  hopes  all  day  ? 

Sin  met  thy  brother  every  where ! 

And  is  thy  brother  blamed  ? 

When  the    night  shadows,  with  the  ample 

From  passion,  danger,  doubt,  and  care, 

sweeping 

He  no  exemption  claimed. 

Of  her  dark  pall, 

The  meanest  thing,  earth's  feeblest  worm, 

A     LAMENT. 


521 


He  feared  to  scorn  or  hate ; 
But,  lionoring  in  a  peasant's  form 

The  equal  of  the  great, 
He  blessed  the  steward,  whose  wealth  makes 

Tlie  poor  man's  little,  more ; 
Yet  loathed  the  haughty  wretch  that  takes 

From  plundered  labor's  store. 
A  hand  to  do,  a  head  to  plan, 

A  heart  to  feel  and  dare — 
Tell  man's  worst  foes,  here  lies  the  man 

Who  drew  them  as  they  are. 

Ebejtezek  Elliott. 


SOLITUDE. 

It  is  not  that  my  lot  is  low 
That  makes  this  silent  tear  to  flow ; 
It  is  not  grief  that  bids  me  moan ; 
It  is  that  I  am  aU  alone. 


In  woods  and  glens  I  love  to  roam, 
"When  the  tired  hedger  hies  him  home ; 
Or  by  the  woodland  pool  to  rest. 
When  pale  the  star  looks  on  its  breast. 

Yet  when  the  sUent  evening  sighs 
With  hallowed  airs  and  symphonies. 
My  spirit  takes  another  tone, 
And  sighs  that  it  is  all  alone. 

The  autuum  leaf  is  sere  and  dead — 
It  floats  upon  the  waters  bed ; 
I  would  not  be  a  leaf,  to  die 
Without  recording  sorrow's  sigh  ! 

The  woods  and  winds,  with  suUcn  wail. 
Toll  all  the  same  unvaried  tale  ; 
I've  none  to  smile  when  I  am  free. 
And  when  I  sigh  to  sigh  with  me. 


Yet  in  my  dreams  a  form  I  view, 
That  thinks  on  me,  and  loves  me  too , 
I  start,  and  when  the  vision 's  flown, 
I  weep  that  I  am  all  alone. 

Heset  Kieke  WniTE. 

70 


A  LAMENT. 

Swifter  far  than  summer's  flight, 
Swifter  fai-  than  youth's  delight, 
Swifter  far  than  happy  night, 

Art  thou  come  and  gone ; 
As  the  earth  when  leaves  are  dead, 
As  the  night  when  sleep  is  sped, 
As  the  heart  when  joy  is  fled. 

I  am  left  lone,  alone. 

The  swallow,  summer,  comes  again ; 
The  owlet,  night,  resumes  her  reign ; 
But  the  wild  swan,  youth,  is  fain 

To  fly  with  thee,  false  as  thou. 
My  heart  each  day  desires  the  morrow ; 
Sleep  itself  is  turned  to  sorrow  ; 
Vainly  would  my  winter  borrow 

Sunny  leaves  from  any  bough. 

Lilies  for  a  bridal  bed, 
Roses  for  a  matron's  head, 
Violets  for  a  maiden  dead — 

Pansies  let  my  flowers  be ; 
On  the  living  grave  I  bear, 
Scatter  them  without  a  tear, 
Let  no  friend,  however  dear, 

Waste  one  hope,  one  fear  for  me. 

Peecy  Btsshe  Sbellkt. 


A  LAMENT. 

O  WORLD  !  0  life !  0  time ! 
On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 

Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before, 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime? 

No  more — oh,  never  more ! 

Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  flight ; 

Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with 
delight 
No  more — oh,  never  more ! 

Pebct  Bybsiie  Shelley. 


5  2  2 


rOEMS    OF    TRAGEDY    AND    SORROAV. 


"  CALM  IS  THE  NIGHT." 

Calm  is  the  niglit,  and  the  city  is  sleeping— 
Once  in  this  house  dwelt  a  lady  fair ; 

Long,  long  ago,  slie  left  it,  weeping; 
But  still  the  old  house  is  standing  there. 

Yonder  a  man  at  the  heavens  is  staring. 
Wringing  his  hands  as  in  sorrowful  case ; 

He  turns  to  the  moonlight,  his  countenance 
baring — 
Oh,  heaven !  he  shows  me  my  own  sad  face ! 

Shadowy  form,  with  my  own  agreeing ! 

Why  mockest  thou  thus,  in  the  moonlight 
cold, 
The  sorrows  which  here  once  vexed  my  being, 

Many  a  night  in  the  days  of  old  ? 

Henry  Heine.    (German.) 
Translation  of  Charles  G.  Leland. 


THE  CASTLE  BY  THE  SEA. 

"■  Hast  thou  seen  that  lordly  castle. 

That  castle  by  the  sea? 
Golden  and  red,  above  it 

The  clouds  float  gorgeously. 

"  And  fain  it  would  stoop  downward 
To  the  mirrored  wave  below ; 

And  fain  it  would  soar  npward 
In  the  evening's  crimson  glow." 

"  "Well  have  I  seen  that  castle. 

That  castle  by  the  sea — 
And  the  moon  above  it  standing, 

And  the  mist  rise  solemnly." 

'"The  winds  and  waves  of  ocean, 

Had  they  a  merry  chime  ? 
Didst  thou  hear,  from  those  lofty  chambers. 

The  harp  and  the  minstrel's  rhyme?  " 

'•  The  -winds  and  the  waves  of  ocean. 

They  rested  quietly ; 
Buu  I  heard  on  the  gale  a  sound  of  wail. 

And  tears  came  to  mine  eye." 

"  And  sawest  thou  on  the  turrets 
The  king  and  his  royal  bride  ? 

And  the  wave  of  their  crimson  mantles  ? 
And  the  golden  crown  of  pride  ? 


"  Led  they  not  forth,  in  raptm*e, 

A  beauteous  maiden  there — 
Eesplendent  as  the  morning  sun, 

Beaming  with  golden  hair?" 

"  Well  saw  I  the  ancient  parents. 

Without  the  crown  of  pride ; 
They  were  moving  slow,  in  weeds  of  woe ; 

No  maiden  was  by  their  side !  " 

LtTD-mo  Uhland.    (German.) 
Translation  of  Henry  W.  Longfellow. 


MOTHER  AND  POET. 

TtJEIX — AFTER  NEWS   FROM   GAETA.      1861. 


Dead  !  one  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the 
east, 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  west  by  the 
sea. 
Dead  !  both  my  boys !     When  you  sit  at  the 
feast 
And  are  wanting  a  great  song  for  Italy  free, 
Let  none  look  at  me  ! 

II. 

Yet  I  was  a  poetess  only  last  year, 
And  good  at  my  art,  for  a  woman,  men 
said. 
But  this  woman,  this,  who  is  agonized  here. 
The  east  sea  and  west  sea  rhyme  on  in  her 
head 

For  ever  instead. 

ni. 
What  art  can  a  woman  be  good  at?  oh,  vain! 
What  art  is  she  good  at,  but  hurting  her 
breast 
With  the  milk  teeth  of  babes,  and  a  smile  at 
the  pain  ? 
Ah,  boys,  how  you  hurt!  you  were  strong 
as  you  pressed. 

And  I,  proud  by  tliat  test. 

i\. 

What  art 's  for  a  woman !     To  hold  on  her 
knees 
Both  darlings !  to  feel  all  their  arms  round 
her  throat 


MOTHER     AXD    POET. 


523 


Cling,  struggle  a  little  !  to  sew  by  degrees 
And   'broider  the  long-clotlies  and  neat 
little  coat ! 

To  di-eam  and  to  dote. 


To  teach  them.  .  .  It  stings  there.    I  made 
them  indeed 
Speak  plain  the  word  "country,"  I  taught 
them  no  doubt 
That  a  country 's  a  thing  men  should  die  for 
at  need. 
I  prated  of  liberty,  rights,  and  about 
The  tyrant  turned  out. 

TI. 

And  when  theh-  eyes  flashed.  .  .  0  my  beau- 
tiful eyes !  .  . 
I  exulted !  nay,  let  them  go  forth  at  the 
wheels 
Of  the  guns,  and  denied  not. — But  then  the 
surprise, 
When  one  sits  quite   alone ! — Then  one 
weeps,  then  one  kneels ! 
— God !  how  the  house  feels ! 

TII. 

At  first  happy  news  came,  in  gay  letters 
moiled 
With  ray  kisses,  of  camp-life,  and  glory, 
and  how 
Tliey  both  loved  me,  and  soon,  coming  home 
to  be  spoiled. 
In  return  would  fan  off  every  fly  from  my 
brow 

"With  their  green  laurel-hough. 

vni. 
Then  was  triumph  at  Turin.     "  Ancona  was 
free !  " 
And  some  one  came  out  of  the  cheers  in 
the  street 
With  a  face  pale  as  stone,  to  say  something 
to  me. 
— My  Guido  was  dead ! — I  fell  down  at  his 
feet. 
While  they  cheered  in  the  street. 

IX. 

I  bore  it ; — friends  soothed  me :   my  grief 
looked  sublime 
As  the  ransom  of  Italy.    One  boy  remained 


To  be  leant  on  and  walked  with,  recaUing  the 
time 
When  the  first  grew  immortal,  while  both 
of  us  strained 
To  the  height  he  had  gained. 

X. 

And  letters  still  came, — shorter,  sadder,  more 
strong. 
Writ  now  but  in  one  hand.     "  I  was  not  to 
faint. 
One  loved  me  for  two  .  •  would  be  with  me 
ere  long : 
And  '  viva  Italia '  he  died  for,  our  saint. 
Who  forbids  our  complaint." 

XT. 

My  Nanni  would  add   "  ho  was  safe,  and 
aware 
Of  a  presence  that  turned  off  the  balls  .  .  . 
was  imprest 
It  was  Guido  himself,  who  knew  what  I  could 
bear. 
And    how    'twas    impossible,   quite    dis- 
possessed. 

To  live  on  for  the  rest." 

XII. 

On  which  without  pause  up  the  telegraph 
line 
Swept  smoothly  the  next  news  from  Gaeta: 
— "  Shot. 
Tell  his  mother."     Ah,  ah,  "his,"  "their" 
mother ;  not  "  mine." 
No  voice  says  "  my  mother  "  again  to  me. 
What ! 

You  think  Guido  forgot  ? 

XIII 

Are  souls  straight  so  happy  that,  dizzy  with 
heaven. 
They  drop  earth's  affections,  conceive  not 
of  woe  ? 
I  think  not.    Themselves  were  too  lately  for- 
given 
Through  that  love  and  sorrow  which  recon- 
ciled so 
The  above  and  below. 


624 


POEMS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  SORROW. 


XIV. 

O  Christ  of  the  seven  wounds,  who  lookVlst 
through  the  dark 
To  the  face  of  thy  mother!  consider,  I  pray, 
Uow   we  common  mother!   stand  desolate, 
mark. 
Whose  sons,  not  being  Ohrists,  die  with 
eyes  turned  away. 

And  no  hist  word  to  say ! 

XT. 

Both  boys  dead !  but  that 's  out  of  nature ; 
We  all 
Ilave  been  patriots,  yet  each  house  must 
always  keep  one. 
'T  were  imbecile,  hewing  out  roads  to  a  wall. 
And  when  Italy 's  made,  for  what  end  is  it 
done, 

If  we  have  not  a  son  ? 

XVI. 

Ah,  ah,  ah!  when  Gaeta's  taken,  what  then? 
When  the  fair  wicked  queen  sits  no  more 
at  her  sport 
Of  the  tire-balls  of  death  crashing  souls  out 
of  men  ? 
When  your  guns  at  Cavalli  with  final  retort 
Have  cut  the  game  short. — 

XVII. 

When  Venice  and  Eome  keep  their  new 
jubilee. 
When  your  flag  takes  all  heaven  for  its 
white,  green,  and  red, 
When  you  have  your  country  from  mountain 
to  sea, 
When  King  Victor  has  Italy's  crown  on 
.  his  head, 

(And  I  have  my  dead,) 

XVIII. 

What  then  ?     Do  not  mock  me.     Ah,  ruig 
your  bells  low. 
And  burn  your  lights  faintly ! — My  country 
is  there. 
Above  the  star  pricked  by  the  last  peak  of 
snow. 
My  Italy's  there, — with  mj  brave  civic 
pair, 

To  disfranchise  despair. 


XIX. 

Forgive  me.     Some  women  bear  children  in 
strength. 
And  bite  back  the  cry  of  their  pain  in  self- 
scorn. 
But  the  birth-pangs  of  nations  will  wring  us 
at  length 
Into   such  wail  as  this! — and  we  sit  on 
forlorn 

When  the  man-child  is  born. 

XX. 

Dead  !  one  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the 
west. 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  east  by  the 
sea! 
Both !  both  my  boys ! — If  in  keeping  the  feast 
You  want  a  great  song  for  your  Italy  free, 
Let  none  look  at  me ! 

Elizabeth  Baerett  Browning. 


THE  FISHING  SONG, 

Dowx  in  the  wide,  gray  river 
The  current  is  sweeping  strong; 

Over  the  wide,  gray  river 
Floats  the  fisherman's  song. 

The  oar-stroke  times  the  singing, 
The  song  falls  Wiih  the  oar ; 

And  an  echo  in  both  is  ringing, 
I  thought  to  hear  no  more. 

Out  of  a  deeper  current 
The  song  brings  back  to  me 

A  cry  from  mortal  silence 
Of  mortal  agony. 

Life  that  was  spent  and  vanished, 
Love  that  had  died  of  wrong, 

Hearts  that  are  dead  in  living. 

Come  back  in  the  fisherman's  song. 

I  see  the  maples  leafing. 

Just  as  they  leafed  before ; 
The  green  grass  comes  no  greener 

Down  to  the  very  shore — 

With  the  rude  strain  swelling,  sinking. 
In  the  cadence  of  days  gone  by. 

As  the  oar,  from  the  water  drinking, 
Eipples  the  mirrored  sky. 


THE  DAYS  THAT  ARE  NO  MORE. 


525 


Yet  the  soul  hath  life  diviner ; 

Its  past  returns  no  more, 
But  in  echoes,  that  answer  the  minor 

Of  the  boat-song,  from  the  shore. 

And  the  ways  of  God  are  darkness ; 

His  judgment  waiteth  long ; 
He  breaks  the  heart  of  a  woman 

With  a  fisherman's  careless  song. 

EosE  Teekt. 


"BEE^VK,  BREAK,  BEEAK." 

Beeak,  break,  break 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Oh  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy 
That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play ! 

Oh  well  for  the  sailor  lad 
That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on. 

To  the  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  oh  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  stiU ! 

Break,  break,  breat 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  sea ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

WiU  never  come  back  to  me, 

Alfred  Tenntson. 


THE  DAYS  THAT  AEE  KO  MOEE. 

Teaes,  idle  tears !     I  know  not  what  they 
mean. 
Tears,  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair, 
Eise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

Fresh  as  the  first  beam  glittering  on  a  sail 
That  brings  our  friends  up  from  the  under- 
world ; 
Sad  as  the  last  which  reddens  over  one 
That  sinks  with  all  we  love  below  the  verge 
So  sad,  so  fresh,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

Ah,  sad  and  strange  as  in  dark  summer 

dawns 
The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awakened  birds 
To  dying  ears,  when  unto  dying  eyes 
The  casement  slowly  grows  a  glimmering 

square : 
So  sad,  so  strange,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

Dear  as  remembered,  kisses  after  death, 
And  sweet  as  those  by  hopeless  fancy  feigned 
On  lips  that  are  for  otiicrs ;  deep  as  love, 
Deep  as  first  love,  and  wild  with  all  regret, 
0  death  in  life !  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


PART   VIII. 


POEMS    OE    THE    IMAGINATION 


I  KNOW  more  than  Apollo  ; 
For  oft,  when  he  lies  sleeping, 

I  behold  the  stars 

At  mortal  wars, 
And  the  rounded  welkin  weeping. 
The  moon  embraces  her  shepherd ; 
And  the  queen  of  love  her  warrior; 

"While  the  first  doth  horn 

The  stars  of  the  morn, 
And  the  next  the  heavenly  farrier. 

With  a  host  of  furious  fancies. 
Whereof  I  am  commander — 
"With  a  burning  spear, 
And  a  horse  of  air, 
lo  the  wilderness  I  wander; 
With  a  knight  of  ghosts  and  shadows 
I  summoned  am  to  tourney, 
Ten  leagues  beyond 
The  wide  world's  end — 
Methinks  it  is  no  journey  ! 

Tom  o'  Bedlam. 


POEMS    OF    TEE    IMAGOATIOI^. 


Kl^Q  ARTHUR'S  DEATH. 

On  Trinitye  Mondaye  in  the  morne, 
This  sore  battayle  was  doomM  to  be, 

WJiere  manye  a  knighte  cry'd,  Well-awaye ! — 
Alacke,  it  was  the  more  pittie. 

Ere  the  first  crowinge  of  the  cocke, 
When  as  the  kinge  ia  his  bed  lave, 

He  thoughte  Sir  Gawaine  to  him  came. 
And  there  to  him  these  wordes  did  saye  : 

"  Nowe,  as  you  are  mine  uncle  deare. 
And  as  you  prize  your  life,  this  daye 

Oh  meet  not  with  your  foe  in  fighte ; 
Putt  off  the  battayle,  if  yee  maye ! 

"  For  Sir  Launcelot  is  nowe  in  Fraunce, 
And  with  him  many  an  hardye  knigTite, 

Who  will  within  this  moneth  be  backe, 
And  will  assiste  yee  in  the  fighte." 

The  kinge  then  called  his  nobles  all, 
Before  the  breakinge  of  the  daye, 

And  tolde  them  howe  Sir  Gawaine  came. 
And  there  to  him  these  wordes  did  saye. 

His  nobles  all  this  eounsayle  gave  : 
Tliat,  earlye  in  the  morning,  hee 

Shold  send  awaye  an  herauld  at  armes, 
To  aske  a  parley  faire  and  free. 

Then  twelve  good  knightes  King  Arthur  chose, 
The  best  of  all  that  with  him  were, 

To  parley  with  the  foe  in  field. 

And  make  with  him  agreement  faire. 
71 


The  king  he  charged  all  his  hoste 

In  readinesse  there  for  to  bee  ; 
But  noe  man  sholde  noe  weapon  sturre, 

Unlesse  a  sword  drawne  they  shold  see. 

And  llordred,  on  the  other  parte, 

Twelve  of  his  knights  did  likewise  briuge, 

The  beste  of  all  his  companye, 

To  holde  the  parley  with  the  kinge. 

Sir  ITordred  alsoe  charged  his  hoste 

In  readinesse  there  for  to  bee  ; 
But  noe  man  sholde  noe  weapon  sturre,   . 

But  if  a  sworde  drawne  they  shold  see. 

# 

For  he  durste  not  his  uncle  truste, 
Xor  he  his  nephewe,  sothe  to  tell ; 

Alacke !  it  was  a  woefulle  case, 
As  ere  in  Ohristentye  befelle. 

But  when  they  were  together  mettc, 
And  both  to  faire  accordance  broughte. 

And  a  month's  league  betwecne  them  sctte, 
Befoi-e  the  battayle  sholde  be  foughte. 

An  addere  crepte  forthe  of  a  bushe, 

Stunge  one  o'  the  king's  knightes  on  the 
knee; 

Alacke !  it  Avas  a  AvoefuUe  chance, 
As  ever  was  in  Christentie. 

When  the  knighte  found  hhu  wounded  sore. 
And  sawe  the  wild-worme  hanginge  there, 

His  sworde  he  from  his  scabberde  drewe — 
A  piteous  case,  as  ye  shall  hears. 


530                                         POEMS    OF    THE 

IMAGINATION. 

For  when  tlio  two  liostes  sawe  the  swordo 

"Alas  !  "  then  sayd  the  noble  king, 

They  joyncd  battayle  instantlye ; 

"Tliat  I  should  live  this  sight  to  see!— 

Till  of  so  luanyo  noble  knightes 

To  see  this  good  knight  here  be  slaine, 

Ou  one  side  there  were  left  bnt  three. 

All  for  his  love  in  lielping  mee  !  " 

For  all  were  slaine  that  durst  abide, 

lie  put  his  speare  into  his  reste. 

And  but  some  fewe  that  fled  awaye  ; 

And  to  Sir  Mordred  loud  gan  crye : 

Ah  mee  !  it  was  a  bloodye  fielde, 

"  Nowe  sette  thyself  upon  thy  guarde ! 

As  ere  was  fouglite  on  summer's  daye. 

For,  traitor,  nowe  thy  death  is  nye! " 

FiDon  King  Arthur's  own  partyo 

Sir  Mordred  hfted  up  his  sworde. 

Onlye  himselfe  escaped  there, 

And  fierce  to  meet  the  king  ran  hee  , 

And  Lukyn,  duke  of  Gloster,  free — 

The  king  his  speare  he  through  him  thrust — 

And  the  king's  butler,  Bedevere. 

A  fathom  thorow  his  bodie. 

And  when  the  king  beheld  his  knightes 

When  Mordred  felt  the  stroke  of  death, 

All  dead  and  scattered  on  the  molde. 

And  found  that  he  was  wounded  soe, 

The  teares  last  trickled  downe  his  face — 

He  thruste  himselfe  upon  the  speare. 

That  manlye  face  in  tight  so  bolde. 

And  strucke  the  king  a  deadlye  blowe. 

"Nowe    reste   yee    all,  brave  knights,"   he 

Then  grimmlye  dyed  Sir  Mordered, 

said — 

Presently e  upon  that  tree  ; 

"  Soe  true  and  faithful  to  your  trust ! 

And  bloody  streames  ranne  from  the  kiuge, 

And  must  yee  then,  yee  valiant  hearts, 

Ere  to  the  duke  returned  hee. 

Be  lefte  to  moulder  into  dust  ? 

Sir  Lukyn  then  he  thus  bespake  : 

"  Most  loyal  have  yee  been  to  mee, 

"Sir  knighte,   thou  hast    been  faithfulle 

Most  true  and  faithful  unto  deathe ; 

tryde ; 

And,  oh !  to  rayse  yee  up  againe. 

Nowe  take  my  sword  Excalibar, 

How  freelye  could  I  yield  my  breathe! 

That  hangs  so  freelye  by  my  syde — 

"  But  se«,  the  traitor  's  yet  alive  ! 

"  Oh  take  my  sworde  Excalibar, 

Lo  where  hee  stalkes  among  the  deade  1 

And  there  into  the  river  throwe ; 

Kowe  bitterlye  he  shall  abye, 

For  here,  henceforth,  benethe  this  tree, 

And  vengeance  fall  upon  his  head." 

All  use  of  weapons  I  foregoe. 

'•  Oh  staye,  my  liege!  "  then  sayd  the  duke; 

"And  fare  thee  well,  thou  trustye  sword! 

"  Oh  staye  for  love  and  chai-itie ! 

A  better  neer  had  valiant  knighte  ; 

Remember  what  the  vision  spake. 

With  thee  full  ofte,  and  many  a  daye, 

Nor  meete  your  foe,  if  it  may  bee." 

Have  I  withstood  my  foe  in  fighte. 

''  Oh  staye  mee  not,  thou  worthye  wight! 

"  With  this  good  fauchion  in  my  hande, 

This  debt  my  loyal  knights  I  owe  ; 

Oft  have  I  reapd  the  bloody  feelde  ; 

Betide  me  hfe,  betide  me  death, 

But  nowe  the  fatalle  houre  is  come. 

I.  will  avenge  them  of  their  foe." 

That  never  more  I  may  thee  weelde." 

Then  straite  he  grasped  his  trusty  speare, 

The  duke  to  the  river  side  he  went, 

And  on  his  horse  then  mounted  hee : 

And  there  his  owne  sword  in  threwe  he ; 

As  his  butler  holpe  him  to  his  horse 

But  he  kept  back  Excalibar — 

His  bowels  gushed  to  his  knee. 

He  kept  it  back  in  privitie. 

THOMAS    THE    RHYMER. 


531 


For  all  of  coleyne  was  the  blade, 
And  all  the  hilte  of  precious  stone  : 

"And  ever  alacke !  "  then  sayd  the  knighte, 
"Must  such  a  sword  awaye  be  throwne?  " 

Then  backe  he  came  unto  the  kinge, 

Who   sayd,    "Sir  Lukyn,   what    did    yee 
see?"— 

"  Nothing,  my  liege,  save  bhat  the  winde 
Blewe  oer  the  waters  faire  and  free." 

"  Oh  goe  again  e,"  then  said  the  kinge, 
"  0  good  Syr  Lukyn,  goe  againe  ! 

Into  the  rivere  throwe  my  sword, 

Nor  keepe  me  lingering  here  in  paine." 

The  duke  then  to  the  river  went. 

And  the  king's  scabbard  in  threwe  hee ; 

But  hee  kept  backe  Excalibar, 
And  hid  it  undernethe  a  tree. 

Then  backe  he  came  to  tell  the  kinge. 

Who  sayde,  "  Sir  Lukyn,  sawe  ye  oughte  ? " 

"  ISTothinge,  my  liege,  save  that  the  winde 
Nowe  with  the  angrye  waters  fought." 

"0  Lukyn,  Lukyn,"  said  the  kinge, 
"Twice  haste  thou  dealt  deceytfullye  ! 

Alacke !   whom  may  wee  ever  truste. 
When  suche  a  knighte  soe  false  can  bee? 

"  Saye,  wouldst  thou  have  thy  master  dead. 
All  for  a  sword  that  wins  thine  eye  ? 

N'ow  goe  againe,  and  throwe  it  in, 
Or  here  the  one  of  us  shall  dye." 

The  duke,  all  shent  with  this  rebuke, 
No  aunswere  made  unto  the  kinge  ; 

But  to  the  rivere  tooke  the  swordc. 
And  threwe  it  far  as  he  coulde  flinge. 

A  hande  and  an  arme  did  meete  the  sworde, 
And  flourished  three  times  in  the  air ; 

Then  sunke  benethe  the  renninge  streme. 
And  of  the  duke  was  scene  noe  mair. 

All  sore  astonied  stood  the  duke — 
lie  stood  as  still  as  still  mote  bee  ; 

Then  hastend  backe  to  tell  the  kinge — 
But  he  was  gone  from  under  the  tree. 


But  to  what  place  he  cold  not  tell. 
For  never  after  hee  did  him  see  ; 

But  hee  sawe  a  barge  goe  from  the  land, 
And  hee  heard  ladyes  howle  and  crye. 

And  whether  the  kinge  were  there  or  not, 
Hee  never  knewe,  nor  ever  colde  ; 

For  from  that  sad  and  direfulle  daye 
Hee  never  more  Avas  scene  on  molde. 

Anonymous. 


tho:m:as  the  ehymer. 

Teue  TnoMAs  lay  on  Huntlie  bank ; 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  ee  ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright. 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 

Her  shirt  was  o'  the  grass  green  silk, 
Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 

At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 
Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas  he  pulled  aff  his  cap. 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee ; 

"  All  hail,  thou  mighty  queen  of  heaven ! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see." — 

"  Oh  no,  oh  no,  Thomas !  "  she  said, 
"  That  name  does  not  belang  to  me ; 

I  am  but  the  queen  of  fair  Eltland, 
That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

"Harp  and  carp,  Thomas!"  she  said 
"  Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me  ! 

And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips. 
Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be." 

"Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe. 
That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me." — 

Syne  he  has  kissed  her  rosy  lips. 
All  underneath  the  Eildon  tree. 

"Now,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me,"  she  said — 
"  True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me  ; 

And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years. 

Thro'  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be." 


5'^'i 


rOEMS   OF   THE    IMAGINATION. 


She  mounted  ou  her  inilk-wliito  steed ; 

She's  ta'en  true  Thomfcs  up  behind ; 
And  aye,  ■svhene'er  her  bridle  rung, 

The  steed  flew  swifter  tlian  the  wind. 

And  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on — 
The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind ; 

Until  they  reached  a  desert  wide, 
And  living  land  was  left  behind. 

"Light  down,  light  down,  now,  true  Thomas, 
And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee  ! 

Abide  and  rest  a  little  space. 

And  I  will  shew  you  ferlies  three. 

"  Oh  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  road, 

So  thick  beset  Avith  thorns  and  briers  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness, 
Though  after  it  but  few  enquires. 

"And  see  ye  not  that  braid,  braid  road. 
That  lies  across  that  lily  leven  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  wickedness — 

Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 

"And  see  not  ye  that  bonny  road. 
That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae  ? 

That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

"But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue, 

"Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see ; 
For,  if  you  speak  word  in  Elfyn  land, 

Ye'll  ne'er  get  back  to  your  ain  countrie." 

Oh  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on, 

And  they  waded  through  rivers  aboon  the 
kuee ; 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon. 

But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk,  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae 
stern  liglit. 
And  they  waded  through  red  blude  to  the 
knee; 
For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  earth 

Pans  through  the  springs  o'  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green. 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree : 

"Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas — 
It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never 
lie." 


"  My  tongue  is  mine  ain ; "  true  Thomas  said ; 

"A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me ! 
I  neither  dought  to  buy  nor  sell. 

At  fair  or  tryst  where  I  may  be. 

"  I  donght  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 
Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye." — 

"Now  hold  thy  peace  ! "  the  lady  said, 
"  For  as  I  say.  so  must  it  be." — 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 
And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  velvet  green ; 

And  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past. 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen. 

Anontmoiis. 


THE  WEE  WEE  MAN. 

As  I  was  walking  by  my  lane. 

At  ween  a  water  and  a  wa. 
There  sune  I  spied  a  wee,  wee  man — 

He  was  the  least  that  ere  I  saw. 

Ilis  legs  were  scant  a  shathmont's  length. 
And  sma  and  limber  was  his  thie ; 

Between  his  een  there  was  a  span, 
Betwixt  his  shoulders  there  were  ells  three 

He  has  tane  up  a  meikle  stane, 
And  flang  't  as  far  as  I  cold  see  ; 

Ein  tliouch  I  had  been  Wallace  wicht, 
I  dought  na  lift  it  to  my  knie. 

"  0  wee,  wee  man,  but  ye  be  Strang : 
Tell  me  whar  may  thy  dwelling  be  ? " 

"  I  dwell  benetJi  that  bonnie  bouir— 
Oh  will  ye  gae  wi  me  and  see  ?  " 

On  we  lap,  and  awa  we  rade. 

Till  we  cam  to  a  bonny  green  ; 
We  lichted  syne  to  bait  our  steid, 

And  out  there  cam  a  lady  sheen— 

Wi  four  and  twentie  at  her  back, 
A  comely  cled  in  glistering  green  ; 

Thouch  there  the  king  of  Scots  had  stude. 
The  warst  micht  weil  hae  been  his  queen. 


THE    MERRY    PRANKS    OF    ROBIN    GOOD-FELLOW. 


t)t>-J 


On  syne  we  past  wi  wondering  cheir, 

Till  we  cam  to  a  bonny  ha ; 
The  roof  was  o'  the  beaten  gowd, 

The  flure  was  o'  the  crystal  a'. 

When  we  cam  there,  wi  wee,  wee  knichts 
War  ladies  dancing,  jimp  and  sma; 

But  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eie 

Baith  green  and  ha  war  clein  awa. 

Anokymous. 


THE  MERRY  PRAIfKS  OF  ROBIN 
GOOD-EELLOW 

From  Oberon,  in  fairy  land. 

The  king  of  ghosts  and  shadowes  there, 
Mad  Robin,  I,  at  his  command. 
Am  sent  to  view  the  night-sports  here. 
What  re  veil  rout 
Is  kept  about 
In  every  corner  where  I  go, 
I  will  o'ersee, 
And  merrie  be, 
And  make  good  sport  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

More  swift  than  lightning  can  I  flye 

About  the  aery  Avelkin  soone. 
And  in  a  minute's  space  descrye 

Each  thing  that 's  done  belowe  the  moone. 
There 's  not  a  hag 
Or  ghost  shall  wag, 
Or  cry  'ware  goblins !  where  I  go ; 
But  Robin,  I, 
Their  feates  will  spy, 
And  send  them  home  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

Whene'er  such  wanderers  I  meete, 

As  from  their  night-sports  they  trudge  home. 
With  counterfeiting  voice  I  grcete, 
And  call  them  on  with  me  to  roame. 
Thro'  woods,  thro'  lakes. 
Thro'  bogs,  thro'  brakes. 
Or  else  unsecne,  Avith  them  I  go — 
All  in  the  nicke, 
To  play  some  tricke, 
And  frolick  it  with  ho,  ho,  lio! 


Sometimes  I  meete  them  like  a  man — 

Sometimes  an  ox,  sometimes  a  hound ; 
And  to  a  horse  I  turn  me  can, 

To  trip  and  trot  about  them  round  ; 
But,  if  to  ride, 
My  backe  they  stride, 
More  swift  than  wind  away  I  goe ; 
O'er  hedge  and  lands, 
Through  pools  and  ponds, 
I  whirry,  laughing  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  lads  and  lasses  merry  be, 

With  possets,  and  with  junkets  fine, 
Unseene  of  all  the  company, 

I  eat  their  cakes,  and  sip  their  wine  ; 
And  to  make  sport, 
I  fume  and  snort, 
And  out  the  candles  I  do  blow. 
The  maids  I  kiss  ; 
They  shrieke.  Who's  this? 
I  answer  nought  but  ho,  ho,  ho! 

Yet  now  and  then,  the  maids  to  please. 

At  midnight  I  card  up  their  wooll ; 
And  while  they  sleepe  and  take  their  ease, 
With  wheel  to  threads  their  flax  I  pull. 
I  grind  at  mill 
Their  malt  up  still ; 
I  dress  their  hemp,  I  spiu  their  tow. 
If  any  wake. 
And  would  me  take, 
I  wend  me  laughing  lio,  ho,  ho  I 

When  house  or  heartli  dotli  sluttish  lye, 

I  pinch  tlic  maidens  black  and  blue  ; 
The  bedd-clothes  from  the  bedd  pull  I, 
And  in  their  ear  I  bawl  too-whoo  ! 
'Twixt  sleepe  and  Avake 
I  do  them  take, 
And  on  the  clay-cold  floor  them  throw  ; 
If  out  they  cry, 
Tlien  forth  I  fly. 
And  loudly  laugh  out  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  any  need  to  borrow  ought. 

We  lend  them  what  they  do  require ; 
And  for  the  use  demand  we  naught — 
Our  ownc  is  all  we  do  desire. 
If  to  repay 
They  do  delay. 


534 


POEMS    OF    TUE    IMAGINATION. 


Abroad  auiongst  tlioin  then  I  go  ; 

Ami  night  by  night 

I  tlicm  aftVight, 
Vith  pinchiugs,  dreams,  and  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  lazie  queans  have  nonglit  to  do 

But  study  how  to  cog  and  lye, 
To  make  debate  and  mischief  too, 
'Twixt  one  another  secretly, 
I  marke  their  gloze, 
And  it  disclose 
To  them  whom  they  have  wronged  so. 
When  I  have  done 
I  get  me  gone, 
And  leave  them  scolding,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  men  do  traps  and  engines  set 

In  loope  holes,  where  the  vermine  creepe, 
Who  from  their  foldes  and  houses  get 
Their  duckes  and  geese,  and  lambes  and 
sheepe, 

I  spy  the  gin. 
And  enter  in. 
And  seeme  a  vermin  taken  so ; 
But  when  they  there 
Approach  me  neare, 
I  leap  out  laughing  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

By  wells  and  rills,  in  meadowes  green. 

We  nightly  dance  our  hey-day  guise ; 
And  to  our  fairye  kinge  and  queene 

We  chaunt  our  moon-lighte  minstrelsies. 
When  larkes  gin  singe 
Away  we  flinge, 
And  babes  new-born  steale  as  we  go  ; 
And  shoes  in  bed 
We  leave  instead. 
And  wend  us  laugliing  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

From  hag-bred  Merlin's  time  have  I 
Thus  nightly  revelled  to  and  fro  ; 
And,  for  my  prankes,  men  call  me  by 
The  name  of  Robin  Good- Fellow. 

Friends,  ghosts,  and  sprites 
Who  haunt  the  nightes. 
The  hags  and  gobblins,  do  me  know ; 
And  beldames  old 
My  feates  have  told — 
So  vale^  Tale  !  Ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

ANONTMOrS. 


THE  FAIRY  QUEEN". 

Come,  follow,  follow  me — 
You,  fairy  elves  that  be. 
Which  circle  on  the  green — 
Come,  follow  Mab,  your  queen ! 

Hand  in  hand  let 's  dance  around, 

For  this  place  is  fairy  ground. 

When  mortals  are  at  rest, 

And  snoring  in  their  nest. 

Unheard  and  unespied. 

Through  keyholes  we  do  glide ; 
Over  tables,  stools,  and  shelves. 
We  trip  it  with  our  fairy  elves. 

And  if  the  house  be  foul 

With  platter,  dish,  or  bowl, 

Up  stairs  we  nimbly  creep. 

And  find  the  sluts  asleep  ; 
There  Ave  pinch  their  arms  and  thigha — 
Is'one  escapes,  nor  none  espies. 

But  if  the  house  be  swept, 

And  from  nncleanness  kept. 

We  praise  the  household  maid. 

And  duly  she  is  paid ; 
For  we  use,  before  we  go. 
To  drop  a  tester  in  her  shoe. 

Upon  a  mushroom's  head 

Our  table  cloth  we  spread ; 

A  grain  of  rye  or  wheat 

Is  manchet,  which  we  eat ; 
Pearly  drops  of  dew  we  drink. 
In  acorn  cups,  filled  to  the  brmk. 

The  brains  of  nightingales. 
With  unctuous  fat  of  snails. 
Between  two  cockles  stewed. 
Is  meat  that 's  easily  chewed  ; 
Tails  of  worms,  and  marrow  of  mice, 
Do  make  a  dish  that 's  wondrous  nice. 

The  grasshopper,  gnat,  and  fly. 

Serve  us  for  our  minstrelsy ; 

Grace  said,  we  dance  a  while, 

And  so  the  time  beguile ; 
And  if  the  moon  doth  hide  lier  head, 
The  glow-worm  lights  us  home  to  bed. 


FAIRY    SONG. 


535 


On  tops  of  dewy  grass 
So  nimbly  do  we  pass, 
The  young  and  tender  stalk 
Ne'er  bends  when  we  do  walk ; 
Yet  in  the  morning  may  be  seen 
T\1iere  we  the  night  before  have  been. 

Anontmofs. 


THE  FAIEIES'  SONG. 

We  dance  on  hills  above  the  wind, 
And  leave  our  footsteps  there  behind ; 
Which  shall  to  after  ages  last. 
When  all  our  dancing  days  are  past. 

Sometimes  we  dance  upon  the  shore. 
To  whistling  winds  and  seas  that  roar ; 
Then  we  make  the  wind  to  blow, 
And  set  the  seas  a-dancing  too. 

The  thunder's  noise  is  our  delight. 
And  lightnings  make  us  day  by  night ; 
And  in  the  air  we  dance  on  high. 
To  the  loud  music  of  the  sky. 

About  the  moon  we  make  a  ring, 
And  fiilling  stars  we  wanton  fling, 
Like  squibs  and  rockets,  for  a  toy ; 
While  what  friglits  others  is  our  joy. 

But  when  we  'd  hunt  away  our  cares, 
We  boldly  mount  the  galloping  spheres  ; 
And,  riding  so  from  east  to  west, 
We  chase  each  nimble  zodiac  beast. 

Thus,  giddy  grown,  we  make  our  beds. 
With  thick,  black  clouds  to  rest  our  heads, 
And  flood  the  earth  with  our  dark  showers. 
That  did  but  sprinkle  these  our  bowers. 

Thus,  having  done  with  orbs  and  sky, 
Those  mighty  spaces  vast  and  high. 
Then  down  we  come  and  take  the  shapes, 
Soiiii  times  of  cats,  sometimes  of  apes. 

Next,  turned  to  mites  in  cheese,  forsooth. 
We  get  into  some  hollow  tooth ; 
Wherein,  as  in  a  Christmas  hall. 
We  frisk  and  dance,  the  devil  and  all. 


Then  we  change  our  wily  features 
Into  yet  far  smaller  creatures, 
And  dance  in  joints  of  gouty  toes. 
To  painful  tunes  of  groans  and  woes. 

Anontjiods. 


SONG  OF  THE  FAIRY. 

OvEE  hill,  over  dale. 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier. 
Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where. 
Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere  ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen. 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green ; 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see  : 
These  be  rubies,  fairy  favors — 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savors. 
I  must  go  seek  some  dewdrops  here, 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

Shakespeaee. 


FAIRY  SONG. 

Shed  no  tear !  oh  shed  no  tear ! 
The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 
Weep  no  more !  oh  weep  no  more  ! 
Young  buds  sleep  in  the  root's  white  core. 
Dry  your  eyes !  oh  dry  your  eyes ! 
For  I  was  taught  in  Paradise 
To  ease  my  breast  of  melodies — 
Shed  no  tear. 

Overhead  !  look  overhead ! 
'Mong  the  blossoms  white  and  red-  ■ 
Look  up,  look  up !     I  flutter  now 
On  this  fresh  pomegranate  bough. 
See  me!  'tis  this  silvery  bill 
Ever  cures  the  good  man's  ill. 
Shed  no  tear !    oh  shed  no  tear ! 
The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 
Ac^eu,  adieu — I  f.y — adieu  ! 
I  vanish  in  the  heaven's  blue — 

Adieu,  adieu  I 

Jons  Keats 


53G 


FOEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


SOXG  OF  FAIRIES. 

"We  tlie  fairies,  blithe  and  antic, 
Of  dimensions  not  gigantic, 
Though  the  moonshine  mostly  keep  us. 
Oft  in  orchards  frisk  and  peep  us. 

Stolen  sweets  are  always  sweeter; 
Stolen  kisses  much  completer ; 
Stolen  looks  are  nice  in  chapels : 
Stolen,  stolen  be  your  apples. 

When  to  bed  the  world  are  bobbing, 

Then 's  the  time  for  orchard-robbing ; 

Yet  tlie  fruit  were  scarce  worth  peeling 

Were  it  not  for  stealing,  stealing. 

Thomas  Eandolph.    (Latin.) 
Translation  of  Leigh  Hunt. 


LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCI. 

A    BALLAD. 
I. 

Oh  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms  ! 

Alone  and  palely  loitering  ? 
The  sedge  has  withered  from  the  lake. 

And  no  birds  sing. 

II. 

Oh  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms  1 
So  haggard  an-d  so  woe-begone  ? 

The  squirrel's  granary  is  full. 
And  the  harvest 's  done. 


III. 

I  see  a  lily  on  thy  brow. 

With  anguish  moist  and  fever  dew ; 
And  on  thy  cheeks  a  fading  rose 

Fast  withereth  too. 

IV. 

I  met  a  lady  in  the  mead —  ^ 

Full  beautiful,  a  fairy's  child ; 

Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light, 
And  her  eyes  were  wild. 


I  made  a- garland  for  her  head. 

And  bracelets  too,  and  fragrant  zone ' 

She  looked  at  me  as  she  did  love, 
And  made  sweet  moan. 


VI. 


I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long ; 

For  sidelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  fairy  song. 

TII. 

She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet, 
And  honey  wild,  and  manna  dev/  ; 

And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said — 
"I  love  thee  true." 

VIII. 

She  took  me  to  her  elfin  grot. 

And  there  she  wept,  and  sighed  full  sore  ; 
And  there  I  shut  her  wild,  wild  eyes 

With  kisses  four. 

IX. 

And  there  she  lulled  me  asleep ; 

And  there  I  dreamed — Ah !  woe  betide ! 
The  latest  dream  I  ever  dreamed 

On  the  cold  hill's  side. 


I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes  too — 

Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they  all ; 

They  cried — "  La  belle  dame  sans  merci 
Hath  thee  in  thrall !  " 

XI. 

I  saw  their  starved  lips  in  the  gloam. 
With  horrid  warning  gaped  wide  ; 

And  I  awoke  and  found  me  here, 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 

XII. 

And  this  is  vv'hy  I  sojourn  here, 

Alone  and  palely  loitering, 
Though  the  sedge  is  withered  from  the 
lake. 


And  no  birds  sing. 


John  Keats 


KILMENY. 


537 


KILMEXY. 

BoN^'T  Kilmeny  gaed  up  the  glen ; 
But  it  wasna  to  meet  Duneira's  men, 
N"or  the  rosy  monk  of  the  isle  to  see, 
For  Kilmeny  was  pure  as  pure  could  be. 
It  was  only  to  hear  the  yorlin  sing, 
And  pu'  the  cress-flower  round  the  spring — 
The  scarlet  hypp,  and  the  hind  berry, 
And  the  nut  that  hung  frae  the  hazel  tree ; 
For  Kilmeny  was  pure  as  pure  could  be. 
But  lang  may  her  minny  look  o'er  the  wa', 
And  lang  may  she  seek  i'  the  green-wood 

shaw ; 
Lang  the  laird  of  Duneira  blame, 
And  lang,  lang  greet  or  Kilmeny  come  hame. 

"When  many  a  day  had  come  and  fled, 
"When  grief  grew  calm,  and  hope  was  dead. 
When  mass  for  Kilmeny's  soul  had  been  sung. 
When  the  bedes-man  had  prayed,  and  the 

dead-bell  rung; 
Late,  late  in  a  gloamin,  when  all  was  still, 
"When  the  fringe  was  red  on  the  westlin  hill. 
The  wood  was  sere,  the  moon  i'  the  wane. 
The  reek  o'  the  cot  hung  over  the  plain — 
Like  a  little  wee  cloud  in  the  world  its  lane  ; 
"When  the  ingle  lowed  with  an  eiry  leme, 
Late,   late  in  the    gloamin    Kilmeny   came 
hame! 

"  Kilmeny,  Kilmeny,  where  have  you  been? 
Leng  hae  Ave  sought  both  holt  and  den — 
By  linn,  by  ford,  and  green-wood  tree ; 
Yet  you  are  halesome  and  fair  to  see. 
"Where  got  you  that  joup  o'  the  lily  sheen? 
That  bonny  snood  of  the  birk  sae  gi'een? 
And  these  roses,  the  fairest  that  ever  was 

seen? 
Kilmeny,  Kilmeny,  where  have  you  been  ? " 

Kilmeny  looked  up  with  a  lovely  grace, 
But  nae  smile  was  seen  on  Kilmcny's  face ; 
As  still  was  her  look,  and  as  still  was  her  ee, 
As  the  stillness  that  lay  on  the  cmerant  lea. 
Or  the  mist  that  sleeps  on  a  waveless  sea. 
For  Kilmeny  had  been  she  knew  not  where, 
And  Kilmeny  had  seen  what  she  could  not 
declare ; 

72 


Kilmeny  had  been  where  the   cock  never 

crew, 
"Where  the  rain  never  fell,  and  the  Avind  nevei 

blew ; 
But  it  seemed  as  the  harp  of  the  sky  had 

rung. 
And  the  airs  of  heaven  played  round  her 

tongue, 
"When  she  spake  of  the  lovely  forms  she  had 

seen. 
And  a  land  where  sin  had  never  been — 
A  land  of  love,  and  a  land  of  light, 
"Withouten  sun,  or  moon,  or  night ; 
Where  the  river  swa'd  a  living  stream. 
And  the  light  a  pure  celestial  beam : 
The  land  of  vision  it  would  seem, 
A  still,  an  everlasting  dream. 

In  yon  green- wood  there  is  a  walk. 
And  in  tha;;  walk  there  is  a  wene. 

And  in  that  wene  there  is  a  maike. 
That  neither  has  flesh,  blood,  nor  bane ; 
And  down  in  yon  green-wood  he  walks  his 

lane. 

In  that  green  wene,  Kilmeny  lay. 
Her  bosom  happed  wi'  the  flowerets  gay ; 
But  the  air  was  soft,  and  the  silence  deep. 
And  bonny  Kilmeny  fell  sound  asleep ; 
She  kend  nae  mair,  nor  opened  her  ee, 
Till  waked  by  the  hymns  of  a  far  countrye. 

She  'wakened  on  a  couch  of  the  silk  sao 
slim. 
All  striped  wi'  the  bars  of  the  rainbow's  rim ; 
And  lovely  beings  around  were  rife, 
Who  erst  had  travelled  mortal  life ; 
And  aye  they  smiled,  and  'gan  to  speer: 
"  What  spirit  has  brought  this  mortal  here !  " 

"Lang  have  I  journeyed  the  world  wide," 
A  meek  and  reverend  fere  replied  ; 
"Baith  night  and  day  I  have  watched  tho 

fair 
Eidcnt  a  thousand  years  and  mair. 
Yes,  I  have  Avatched  o'er  ilk  degree, 
AVherever  blooms  femenitye ; 
But  sinless  virgin,  free  of  stain, 
In  mind  and  body,  fimd  I  nane. 
Never,  since  the  banquet  of  time, 
Found  I  a  virgin  in  her  prime. 


538 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION, 


Till  late  this  bonny  maiden  I  saw, 

As  spotless  as  the  morniug  snaw. 

Full  twenty  years  slie  lias  lived  as  free 

As  the  spirits  that  sojourn  in  this  countrye. 

I  have  brought  her  away  frae  the  snares  of 

men, 
That  sin  or  death  she  may  never  ken." 

Tiiey  clasped  her  waist  and  her  hands  sae  fair ; 
They  kissed  her  cheek,  and  they  kemed  her 

hair ; 
And  round  came  many  a  blooming  fere, 
Saying,  "Bonny  Kilmenj^,  ye're  welcome  here; 
Women  are  freed  of  the  littand  scorn  ; 
Oh,  blest  be  the  day  Kilmeny  was  born ! 
Now  shall  the  land  of  the  spirits  see, 
Now  shall  it  ken,  what  a  woman  may  be ! 
Many  a  lang  year  in  sorrow  and  pain, 
Many  a  lang  year  through  the  world  we  've 

gane, 
Commissioned  to  watch  fair  womankind. 
For  it 's  they  who  nurice  the  immortal  mind. 
We  have  watched  their  steps  as  the  dawning 

shone. 
And  deep  in  the  green-wood  walks  alone ; 
By  lily  bower  and  silken  bed 
The  viewless  tears  have  o'er  them  shed ; 
Have  soothed  their  ardent  minds  to  sleep, 
Or  left  the  couch  of  love  to  weep. 
We  have  seen !  we  have  seen !  but  the  time 

must  come. 
And  the  angels  will  weep  at  the  day  of  doom ! 

"Oh,  would  the  fairest  of  mortal  kind 
Aye  keep  the  holy  truths  in  mind. 
That  kindred  spirits  their  motions  see. 
Who  watch  their  ways  with  anxious  ee, 
And  grieve  for  the  guilt  of  humanitye! 
Oh,  sweet  to  heaven  the  maiden's  prayer. 
And  the  sigh  tliat  heaves  a  bosom  sae  fair ! 
And  dear  to  heaven  the  words  of  truth 
And  the  praise  of  virtue  frae  beauty's  mouth ! 
And  dear  to  the  viewless  forms  of  air, 
The  minds  that  kythe  as  the  body  fair  ! 

"  O,  bonny  Kilmeny !  free  frae  stain. 
If  ever  you  seek  the  world  again — 
That  world  of  sin,  of  sorrow  and  fear — 
Oh,  tell  of  the  joys  that  are  waiting  here ; 
And  tell  of  the  signs  you  shall  shortly  see ; 
Of  the  times  that  are  now,  and  the  times  that 
shall  be."— 


They  lifted  Kilmeny,  they  led  her  away, 
And  she  walked  in  the  light  of  a  sunless  day; 
The  sky  Avas  a  dome  of  crystal  bright, 
The  fountain  of  vision,  and  fountain  of  light; 
The  emerald  fields  were  of  dazzling  glow, 
And  the  flowers  of  everlasting  blow. 
Then  deep  in  the  stream  her  body  they  laid, 
That  her  youth  and  beauty  never  might  fade ; 
And  they  smiled  on  heaven,  when  they  saw 

her  lie 
In  the  stream  of  life  that  wandered  by. 
And  she  heard  a  song — she  heard  it  sung, 
She  kend  not  where ;  but  sae  sweetly  it  rung, 
It  fell  on  her  ear  like  a  dream  of  the  morn— 
"  Oh !  blest  be  the  day  Kilmeny  was  born ! 
Now  shall  the  land  of  the  spirits  see. 
Now  shall  it  ken,  what  a  woman  may  be ! 
The  sun  that  shines  on  the  world  sae  bright, 
A  borrowed  gleid  frae  the  fountain  of  light ; 
And  the  moon  that  sleeks  the  sky  sae  dun, 
Like  a  gouden  bow,  or  a  beamless  sun — 
Shall  wear  away,  and  be  seen  nae  mair ; 
And  the  angels  shall  miss  them,  travelling 

the  air. 
But  lang,  lang  after  baith  night  and  day. 
When  the   sun  and  the  world  have    dyed 

away, 
When  the  sinner  has  gane  to  his  waesome 

doom, 
Kilmeny  shall  smile  in  eternal  bloom!"-- 

They  bore  her  away,  she  wist  not  how. 
For  she  felt  not  arm  nor  rest  below ; 
But  so  swift  they  wained  her  through  the 

light, 
'T  was  like  the  motion  of  sound  or  sight; 
They  seemed  to  split  the  gales  of  air. 
And  yet  nor  gale  nor  breeze  was  there. 
Unnumbered  groves  below  them  grew ; 
They  came,  they  past,  and  backward  flew, 
Like  floods  of  blossoms  gliding  on, 
In  moment  seen,  in  moment  gone. 
Oh,  never  vales  to  mortal  view 
Appeared  like  those  o'er  which  they  flejv 
That  land  to  human  spirits  given. 
The  lowermost  vales  of  the  storied  heaven ; 
From  whence  they  can  view  the  world  below, 
And    heaven's    blue    gates    with    sapphires 

glow  — 
More  glory  yet  unmeet  to  know. 


KILMENY. 


They  bore  her  far  to  a  mountain  green, 
To  see  what  mortal  never  had  seen ; 
And  they  seated  her  high  on  a  purple  sward, 
And  hade  her  heed  what  she  saw  and  heard, 
And  note  the  changes  the  spirits  wrought ; 
For  now  she  lived  in  the  laud  of  thought. — 
She  looked,  and  she  saw  nor  sun  nor  skies. 
But  a  crystal  dome  of  a  thousand  dies ; 
She  looked,  and  she  saw  nae  land  aright, 
But  an  endless  whirl  of  glory  and  light ; 
And  radiant  beings  went  and  came. 
Far  swifter  than  wind,  or  the  linked  flame ; 
She  hid  her  een  frae  the  dazzling  view ; 
She  looked  again,  and  the  scene  was  new. 

She  saw  a  sun  on  a  summer  sky, 
And  clouds  of  amber  sailing  by ; 
A  lovely  land  beneath  her  lay. 
And  that  land  had  glens  and  mountains  gray; 
And  that  land  had  valleys  and  hoary  piles. 
And  marled  seas,  and  a  thousand  isles ; 
Its  fields  were  speckled,  its  forests  green. 
And  its  lakes  were  all  of  the  dazzling  sheen. 
Like  magic  mirrors,  where  slumbering  lay 
The  sun  and  the  sky  and  the  cloudlet  gray, 
"Which   heaved    and    trembled,   and    gently 

swung; 
On  every  shore  they  seemed  to  be  hung ; 
For  there  they  were  seen  on  their  downward 

plain 
A  thousand  times  and  a  thousand  again ; 
In  winding  lake  and  placid  firth — 
Little   peaceful  heavens    in   the    bosom    of 

earth. 

Kilmeny  sighed  and  seemed  to  grieve, 
For  she  found  her  heart  to  that  land  did 

cleave ; 
Slie  saw  the  corn  wave  on  the  vale ; 
She  saw  the  deer  run  down  the  dale ; 
She  saw  the  plaid  and  the  broad  claymore, 
And  the  brows  that  the  badge  of  freedom 

boi'c ; 
And  she  thought  she  had  seen  the  land  be- 
fore. 

She  saw  a  lady  sit  on  a  throne. 
The  fairest  that  ever  the  sun  shone  on ! 
A  lion  licked  her  hand  of  milk. 
And  site  held  him  in  a  leish  of  silk. 


And  a  leifu'  maiden  stood  at  her  knee, 
With  a  silver  wand  and  melting  ee — 
Her  sovereign  shield,  till  love  stole  in, 
And  poisoned  all  the  fount  within. 

Then  a  gruff,  untoward  bedes-man  came, 
And  hundit  the  lion  on  his  dame  ; 
And  the  guardian  maid  wi'  the  dauntless  ee. 
She  dropped  a  tear,  and  left  her  knee ; 
And  she  saw  till  the  queen  frae  the  lion  fled, 
Till  the  bonniest    flower  of   the  world  lay 

dead; 
A  coSin  was  set  on  a  distant  plain. 
And  she  saw  the  red  blood  fall  like  rain. 
Then  bonny  Kilmeny's  heart  grew  sair, 
And  she  turned  away,  and  could  look  nae 
mair. 

Then  the  gruff,  grim  carle  girned  amain. 
And  they  trampled  him  down — but  he  rose 

again ; 
And  he  baited  the  lion  to  deeds  of  weir. 
Till  he  lapped  the  blood  to   the  kingdom 

dear ; 
And,  weening  his  head  was  danger-preef 
When  crowned  with  the  rose  and  clover  leaf. 
He  growled  at  the   carle,  and  chased  hin; 

away 
To  feed  wi'  the  deer  on  the  mountain  gray. 
He  growled  at  the  carle,  and  he  gecked  at 

heaven ; 
But  his  mark  was  set,  and  his  arles  given. 
Kilmeny  a  while  her  een  withdrew ; 
She  looked  again,  and  the  scene  was  new, 

She  saw  below  her,  fair  unfurled, 
One  half  of  all  the  glowing  world, 
Where  oceans  rolled  and  rivers  ran^ 
To  bound  the  aims  of  sinful  man. 
She  saw  a  people  fierce  and  fell. 
Burst  frae  their  bounds  like  fiends  of  hell; 
There  lilies  grew,  and  the  eagle  flew ; 
And  she  herked  on  her  ravening  crew. 
Till  the  cities  and  towers  were  wrapt  in  a 

blaze. 
And  the  thunder  it  roared  o'er  the  lands  and 

the  seas. 
The  widows  they  Availed,  and  the  red  blood 

ran. 
And  she  threatened  an  end  to  the  race  of 

man. 


540 


rOEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION 


She  never  lened,  nor  stood  in  awe, 
Till  canglit  by  the  lion's  deadly  paw. 
Oh !  then  tlie  eagle  swinked  for  life, 
And  brainzelled  up  a  mortal  strife ; 
But  Hew  she  north,  or  flew  she  south, 
She  met  wi'  the  growl  of  the  lion's  mouth. 

Witli  a  mooted  wing  and  wacfu'  maen. 
The  eagle  sought  her  eiry  again  ; 
But  lang  may  she  cower  in  her  bloody  nest, 
And  lang,  lang  sleek  her  wounded  breast, 
Before  she  sey  another  flight, 
To  play  wi'  the  norland  lion's  might. 

But  to  sing  the  sights  Kilmeny  saw, 
So  far  surpassing  nature's  law, 
The  singer's  voice  wad  sink  away, 
And  the  string  of  his  harp  wad  cease  to  play. 
But  she  saw  till  the  sorrows  of  man  were  by. 
And  all  was  love  and  harmony ; 
Till  the  stars  of  heaven  fell  calmly  away, 
Like  the  flakes  of  suaw  on  a  winter's  day. 

Then  Kilmeny  begged  again  to  see 
The  friends  she  had  left  in"  her  own  countrye. 
To  tell  of  the  place  where  she  had  been. 
And  the  glories  that  lay  in  the  land  unseen ; 
To  warn  the  living  maidens  fair. 
The  loved  of  heaven,  the  spirits'  care. 
That  all  whose  minds  unmeled  remain 
Shall  bloom  in  beauty  when  time  is  gane. 

AYith  distant  music,  soft  and  deep. 
They  lulled  KUmeny  sound  asleep ; 
And  when  she  awakened,  she  lay  her  lane. 
All  happed  with  flowers  in  the  green-wood 

wene. 
When  seven  long  years  had  come  and  fled ; 
"When  grief  was  calm,  and  hope  was  dead  ; 
When    scarce    was    remembered    Kilmeny's 

name,    • 
Late,  late  in  a  gloamin,  Kilmeny  came  hame ! 
And  oh,  her  beauty  was  fair  to  see. 
But  still  and  steadfast  was  her  ee ! 
Such  beauty  bard  may  never  declare, 
For  there  was  no  pride  nor  passion  there ; 
And  the  soft  desire  of  maidens'  een. 
In  that  mild  face  could  never  be  seen. 
Her  seymar  was  the  lily  flower. 
And  her  cheek  the  moss-rose  in  the  shower ; 


And  her  voice  like  the  distant  melodye 
That  floats  along  the  twilight  sea. 
But  she  loved  to  raike  the  lanely  glen. 
And  keepcd  afar  frae  the  haunts  of  men ; 
Her  holy  hymns  unheard  to  sing, 
To  suck  the  flowers  and  drink  the  spring. 
But  wherever  her  peaceful  form  appeared, 
The  wild  beasts  of  the  hills  were  cheered ; 
The  wolf  played  blythely  round  the  field, 
The  lordly  byson  lowed  and  kneeled ; 
The  dun  deer  wooed  with  manner  bland, 
And  cowered  aneath  her  lily  hand. 
And  when  at  even  the  woodlands  rung. 
When  hymns  of  other  worlds  she  sung 
In  ecstasy  of  sweet  devotion. 
Oh,  then  the  glen  was  all  in  motion  ! 
The  wild  beasts  of  the  forest  came, 
Broke  from  their  bughts  and  faulds  the  tame, 
And  goved  around,  charmed  and  amazed ; 
Even  the  dull  cattle  crooned  and  gazed. 
And  murmured  and  looked  with  anxious  pain, 
For  something  the  mystery  to  explain. 
The  buzzard  came  with  the  throstle-cock, 
The  corby  left  her  houf  in  the  rock ; 
The  black-bird  alang  wi'  the  eagle  flew ; 
The  hind  came  tripping  o'er  the  dew ; 
The  wolf  and  the  kid  their  raike  began ; 
And  the  tod,  and  the  lamb,  and  the  leveret 

ran; 
The  hawk  and  the  hern  attour  them  hung, 
And  the  merl  and  the  mavis  forhooyed  their 

young; 
And  all  in  a  peaceful  ring  were  hurled : 
It  was  like  an  eve  in  a  sinless  world ! 


When  a  month  and  day  had  come   and 
gane, 
Kilmeny  sought  the  green- wood  wene ; 
There  laid  her  down  on  the  leaves  sae  green. 
And  Kilmeny  on  earth  was  never  mair  seen. 
But  oh,  the  words  that  fell  from  her  mouth, 
Were  words  of  wonder,  and  words  of  truth  1 
But  all  tlie  land  were  in  fear  and  dread. 
For  they  kend  na  whether  she  was  living  or 

dead. 
It  wasna  her  hame,   and    she    couldna    re- 
main; 
She  left  this  world  of  sorrow  and  pain. 
And  returned  to  the  land  of  thought  again. 

James  Hooa 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  THE  CALDOX  LOW 


541 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  THE  CALDOX  LOW. 

A   MIDSTTMIIEE   LEGEND. 

"  AxD  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 
And  where  have  you  been  from  me  ? " 

"  I  've  been  to  the  top  of  the  Oaldon  Low, 
The  midsummer-night  to  see !  " 

"  And  what  did  you  see,  my  Mary, 

All  up  on  the  Caldon  Low  ? " 
"I  saw  the  glad  sunshine  come  down, 

And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"  And  what  did  you  hear,  my  Mar}-, 

All  up  on  the  Caldon  hill?" 
"I  heard  the  drops  of  the  water  made, 

And  the  ears  of  the  green  corn  fill." 

"  Oh  !  tell  me  all,  my  Mary- 
All,  all  that  ever  you  know  ; 

For  you  must  have  seen  the  fairies, 
Last  night  on  the  Caldon  Low." 

"Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother ; 

And  listen,  mother  of  mine : 
A  hundred  fairies  danced  last  night. 

And  the  harpers  they  were  nine ; 

"And  their  harp-strings  rung  so  merrily 
To  their  dancing  feet  so  small ; 

But  oh !  the  words  of  their  talking 
Were  merrier  far  than  all." 

"And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 
That  then  you  heard  them  say  ? " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all,  my  mother ; 
But  let  me  have  my  waj*. 

"Some  of  them  i)layed  with  the  water. 

And  rolled  it  down  the  hill ; 
And  this,'  they  said,  '  shall  speedily  turn 
The  poor  old  miller's  mill; 

"  '  For  there  has  been  no  water 

Ever  since  the  first  of  Mjy  ; 
And  a  busy  man  will  the  miller  be 

At  dawning  of  the  day. 


"  ' Oh!  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
When  he  sees  the  mill-dam  rise ! 

The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
Till  the  tears  fill  both  his  eyes ! ' 

"And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds 

That  sounded  over  the  hill ; 
And  each  put  a  horn  unto  his  mouth. 

And  blew  both  loud  and  shrill; 

"  '  And  there,'  they  said,  '  the  merry  winds 
go 

Away  from  every  horn  ; 
And  they  shall  clear  the  mildew  dank 

From  the  blind,  old  widow's  corn. 

"  '  Oh !  the  poor,  blind  widow, 
Though  she  has  been  blind  so  long. 

She  '11  be  blithe  enough  when  the  mildew 's 
gone, 
And  the  corn  stands  taU  and  strong.' 

"And  some  they  brought  the  brown  lint- 
seed, 

And  flung  it  down  from  the  Low ; 
'And  this,'  they  said,  'by  the  sunrise, 

In  the  weaver's  croft  shall  grow. 

"  '  Oh !  the  poor,  lame  weaver. 

How  will  he  laugh  outright 
When  he  sees  his  dwindling  flax-field 

All  full  of  flowers  by  night ! ' 

"And  then  outspoke  a  brownie, 
With  a  long  beard  on  his  chin  ; 

'  I  have  spun  up  all  the  tow,'  said  he, 
'  And  I  want  some  more  to  spin. 

"  'I've  spun  a  piece  of  hempen  cloth, 

And  I  want  to  spin  another ; 
A  little  sheet  for  Mary's  bed, 

And  an  apron  for  her  mother, 

"With  that  I  could  not  help  but  laugli, 
And  I  laughed  out  loud  and  free  ; 

And  then  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low 
There  was  no  one  left  but  me. 

"  And  all  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low 
The  mists  were  cold  and  gray. 

And  nothing  I  saw  but  the  mossy  stones 
Tliat  round  about  me  lay. 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


"But,  coming  duwii  from  the  lull-top, 

I  heard  afar  below, 
How  busy  tlie  jolly  miller  was, 


And  how  the  wheel  did  go. 

"  And  I  peei^ted  into  the  widow's  field, 
And,  snre  enough,  were  seen 

The  yellow  ears  of  the  mildewed  corn, 
All  standing  sfout  and  green. 

"And  down  by  the  weaver's  croft  I  stole. 
To  see  if  tlie  flax  were  sprung ; 

And  I  met  the  weaver  at  his  gate, 
With  the  good  news  on  his  tongue. 

"  Xow  this  is  all  I  heard,  mother. 

And  all  that  I  did  see ; 
So,  pr'ythee,  make  my  bed,  mother, 

Tor  I  'm  tired  as  I  can  be." 

Mart  IIowitt. 


OH !  TTIIERE  DO  FAIRIES  HIDE  THEIR 
HEADS  ? 

Oh  !  whei'e  do  fairies  hide  their  heads, 

When  snow  lies  on  the  hills — 
"When  frost  has  spoiled  their  mossy  beds. 

And  crystallized  their  rills  ? 
Beneath  the  moon  they  cannot  trip 

In  circles  o'er  the  plain ; 
And  draughts  of  dew  they  cannot  sip, 

Till  gi-een  leaves  come  again. 

Perhaps,  in  small,  blue  diving-bells. 

They  plunge  beneath  the  waves. 
Inhabiting  the  wreathed  shells 

That  lie  in  coral  caves. 
Perhaps,  in  red  Vesuvius, 

Carousals  they  maintain ; 
And  cheer  their  little  spirits  thus. 

Till  green  leaves  come  again. 

When  they  return  there  will  be  mirth. 

And  music  in  the  air, 
And  fairy  wings  upon  the  earth. 

And  mischief  every  where. 
The  maids,  to  keep  the  elves  aloof. 

Will  bar  the  doors  in  vain : 
Xo  key-hole  will  be  fairy-proof. 

When  green  leaves  come  again. 

TnoMAS  Hatnes  Batlt. 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 


"My  visual  orbs  are  purged  from  fllin,  and,  lol 
Instead  of  Aiister's  turnip-boariiig  vales, 

I  see  old  fairy  land's  miraculous  show  1 
Her  trees  of  tinsel  kissed  by  freakish  gales, 

Iler  ouphs  that,  cloaked  in  leaf-gold,  skim  the  breczo. 

And  fairies,  swarming ." 

Tennant's  Anstee  Faiu. 


'T  IS  the  middle  watch  of  a  summer's  night— 
The  earth  is  dark,  but  the  heavens  are  bright ; 
JSTaught  is  seen  in  the  vault  on  high 
But  the  moon,  and  the  stars,  and  the  cloud- 
less sky, 
And  the  Hood  which  rolls  its  milky  laie, 
A  river  of  light  on  the  welkin  blue. 
The  moon  looks  down  o.n  old  Cronest ; 
She  mellows  the  shades  on  his  shaggy  breast, 
And  seems  his  huge  gray  form  to  throw 
In  a  silver  cone  on  the  wave  below ; 
His  sides  are  broken  by  spots  of  shade, 
By  the  walnut  bough  and  the  cedar  made, 
And  through  their  clustering  branches  dark 
Glimmers  and  dies  the  fire-fly's  spark — 
Like  starry  twinkles  that  momently  break 
Through  the  rifts  of  the  gathering  tempest's 
rack. 

II. 

The  stars  are  on  the  moving  stream, 

And  fling,  as  its  ripples  gently  flow, 
A  burnished  length  of  wavy  beam 

In  an  eel-like,  spiral  line  below  ; 
The  winds  are  whist,  and  the  owl  is  still ; 

The  bat  in  the  shelvy  rock  is  hid ; 
And  nought  is  heard  on  the  lonely  hill 
But  the  cricket's  chirp,  and  the  answer  shrill 

Of  the  gauze-winged  katy-did  ; 
And  the  plaint  of  the  wailing  whip-poor-will. 

Who  moans  unseen,  and  ceaseless  sings, 
Ever  a  note  of  wail  and  Avoe, 

Till  morning  spreads  her  rosy  wings, 
And  earth  and  sky  in  her  glances  glow. 

III. 
'T  is  the  hour  of  fairy  ban  and  spell : 
The  wood-tick  has  kept  the  minutes  well ; 
He  has  counted  them  all  with  click  and  stroke 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain-oak. 
And  he  has  awakened  the  sentry  elve 
Who  sleeps  with  him  in  the  haunted  tree, 


THE    CULPRIT    FAY. 


54?, 


To  bid  him  ring  the  hour  of  twelve, 
And  call  the  fays  to  their  revelry ; 
Twelve  small  strokes  on  his  tinkling  bell — 
('Twas  made   of   the   white  snail's   pearly 

shell—) 
"  Midnight  comes,  and  all  is  well ! 
Hither,  hither,  wing  your  way ! 
'T  is  the  dawn  of  the  fairy-day." 

IV. 

They  come  from  beds  of  lichen  green, 
They  creep  from  the  muUen's  velvet  screen ; 

Some  on  the  backs  of  beetles  fly 
From  the  silver  tops  of  moon-touched  trees, 

"Where  they  swung  in  their  cobweb  ham- 
mocks high, 
And  rocked  about  in  the  evening  breeze  ; 

Some  from  the  hum-bird's  downy  nest — 
They  had  driven  him  out  by  elfin  power. 

And,  pillowed  on  plumes  of  his  rainbow 
breast. 
Had  slumbered  there  till  the  charmed  hour ; 

Some  had  lain  in  the  scoop  of  the  rock. 
With  glittering  ising-stars  inlaid ; 

And  some  had  opened  the  four-o'clock, 
And  stole  within  its  purple  shade. 

And  now  they  throng  the  moonlight  glade, 
Above — below — on  every  side, 

Their  little  minim  forms  arrayed 
In  the  tricksy  pomp  of  fairy  pride  ! 

V. 

They  come  not  now  to  print  the  lea. 

In  freak  and  dance  around  the  tree. 

Or  at  the  mushroom  board  to  sup. 

And  drink  the  dew  from  the  buttercup  ; — 

A  scene  of  sorrow  waits  them  now. 

For  an  ouphe  has  broken  his  vestal  vow  ; 

He  has  loved  an  earthly  maid. 

And  left  for  her  his  woodland  shade  ; 

He  has  lain  upon  her  lip  of  dew, 

And  sunned  hiin  in  her  eye  of  blue, 

Fanned  her  cheek  with  his  wing  of  air. 

Played  in  the  ringlets  of  her  hair. 

And,  nestling  on  her  snowy  breast, 

Forgot  the  lily-king's  behest. 

For  this  the  shadowy  tribes  of  air 

To  tlie  elfin  court  must  haste  away : — 
And  now  they  stand  expectant  there. 

To  hear  the  doom  of  the  culprit  fay. 


VI. 

The  tlirone  was  reared  upon  the  grass, 
Of  spice-wood  and  of  sassafras ; 
On  pillars  of  mottled  tortoise-shell 

Hung  the  burnished  canopy — 
And  o'er  it  gorgeous  curtains  fell 

Of  the  tulip's  crimson  drapery. 
The  monarch  sat  on  las  judgment-seat, 

On  his  brow  the  crown  imperial  shone, 
The  prisoner  fay  was  at  his  feet, 

And  his   peers  were   ranged   around   tho 
throne. 
He  waved  his  sceptre  in  the  air, 

lie  looked  around  and  calmly  spoke  ; 
His  brow  was  grave  and  his  eye  severe. 

But  his  voice  in  a  softened  accent  broke : 


VII. 

"  Fairy !    fairy !  list  and  mark  : 

Thou  hast  broke  thine  elfin  chain  ; 
Thy    fiame-wood    lamp    is    quenched    and 
dark, 

And  thy  wings  are  dyed  with  a  deadly 
stain — 
Thou  hast  sullied  thine  elfin  purity 

In  the  glance  of  a  mortal  maiden's  eye ; 
Thou  hast  scorned  our  dread  decree, 

And  thou  shouldst  pay  tho  forfeit  high. 
But  well  I  know  her  sinless  mind 

Is  pure  as  the  angel  forms  above, 
Gentle  and  meek,  and  chaste  and  kind. 

Such  as  a  spirit  well  might  love  ; 
Fairy!  had  she  spot  or  taint, 
Bitter  had  been  thy  punishment: 
Tied  to  the  hornet's  shardy  wings ; 
Tossed  on  the  pricks  of  nettles'  stings ; 
Or  seven  long  ages  doomed  to  dwell 
With  the  lazy  worm  in  tho  walnut-shell ; 
Or  every  night  to  writhe  and  bleed 
Beneath  the  tread  of  tho  centipede  ; 
Or  bound  in  a  cobweb  dungeon  dim, 
Your  jailer  a  spider,  huge  and  grim, 
xVmid  the  carrion  bodies  to  lie 
Of  the  worm,  and  the  bug,  and  tho  murdered 

fly: 

These  it  had  been  your  lot  to  bear, 
Had  a  stain  been  found  on  the  earthly  fair. 
Now  list,  and  mark  our  mild  decree — 
Fairy,  this  your  doom  nuist  be  : 


544 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


VIII. 

"  Thou  slialt  seek  the  beacli  of  sand 
"Where  the  water  bounds  the  elfin  hind ; 
Thou  shalt  watch  the  oozy  braie 
Till  the  sturgeon  leaps  in  the  bright  moon- 
shine, 
Then  dart  the  glistening  arch  below, 
And  catcli  a  drop  from  his  silver  bow. 
The  water-sprites  will  Avield  their  arms 

And  dash  around,  with  roar  and  rave, 
And  vain  are  the  woodland  spirits'  charms ; 

Tliey  are  the  imps  that  rule  the  wave. 
Yet  trust  thee  in  thy  single  might : 
If  thy  heart  be  pure  and  thy  spirit  right. 
Thou  shalt  win  the  warlock  fight. 

IS. 

"If  the  spray-bead  gem  be  won, 
The  stain  of  thy  wing  is  washed  away ; 

But  another  wrand  must  be  done 
Ere  thy  crime  be  lost  for  aye  : 

Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark, 

Thou  must  reillume  its  spark. 

Mount  thy  steed  and  spurl)im  high 

To  the  heaven's  blue  canopy  ; 

And  when  thou  seest  a  shooting  star, 

FolloAV  it  fast,  and  follow  it  far — 

The  last  faint  spark  of  its  burning  train 

Shall  light  the  elfiu  lamp  again. 

Thou  hast  heard  our  sentence,  fay  ; 

Hence !  to  the  water-side,  away ! " 

X. 

The  goblin  marked  his  monarch  well ; 

He  spake  not,  but  he  bowed  him  low. 
Then  plucked  a  crimson  colen-bell, 

And  turned  him  round  in  act  to  go. 
The  way  is  long,  he  cannot  fly, 

His  soiled  wing  has  lost  its  power, 
And  he  winds  adown  the  mountain  high. 

For  many  a  sore  and  w^eary  hour. 
Through  dreary  beds  of  tangled  fern, 
Tlirough  groves  of  nightshade  dark  and  dern. 
Over  the  grass  and  through  the  brake, 
Where  toils  the  ant  and  sleeps  the  snake  ; 

Now  o'er  the  violet's  azure  flush 
He  skips  along  in  lightsome  mood ; 

And  now  he  thrids  the  bramble-bush, 
Till  its  points  are  dyed  in  fairy  blood. 


He  has  leaped  tlie  bog,  he  has  pierced  the 

brier, 
He  has  swum  the  brook,  and  waded  the  mire. 
Till  his  spirits  sank,  and  his  limbs  grew  weak, 
And  the  red  waxed  fainter  in  his  cheek. 
He  had  fallen  to  the  ground  outright. 

For  rugged  and  dim  was  his  onward  track, 
But  there  came  a  spotted  toad  in  sigiit, 

And  he  laughed  as  he  jumped  upon  her 
back ; 
He  bridled  her  mouth  with  a  silkweed  twist, 

He  lashed  her  sides  with  an  osier  thong : 
And  now,  through  evening's  dewy  mist. 

With  leap  and  spring  they  bound  along. 
Till  the  mountain's  magic  verge  is  past. 
And  the  beach  of  sand  is  reached  at  last. 


XI. 

Soft  and  pale  is  the  moony  beam. 
Moveless  still  the  glassy  stream ; 
The  wave  is  clear,  the  beach. is  bright 

With  snowy  shells  and  sparkling  stones ; 
The  shore-surge  comes  in  ripples  light, 

In  murmurings  faint  and  distant  moans ; 
And  ever  afar  in  the  silence  deep 
Is  heard  the  splash  of  the  sturgeon's  leap. 
And  the  bend  of  his  graceful  bow  is  seen— 
A  glittering  arch  of  silver  sheen, 
Spanning  the  wave  of  burnished  blue, 
And  dripping  with  gems  of  the  river-dew. 

XII. 

The  elfin  cast  a  glance  around. 

As  he  lighted  down  from  his  courser  toad ; 
Then  round  his  breast  his  wings  he  wound. 

And  close  to  the  river's  brink  he  strode  ; 
He  sprang  on  a  rock,  he  breathed  a  prayer, 

Above  his  head  his  arms  he  threw, 
Then  tossed  a  tiny  curve  in  air. 

And  headlong  plunged  in  the  waters  blue. 

XIII, 

Up  sprung  the  spirits  of  the  waves. 
From  tlie  sea-silk  beds  in  their  coral  caves ; 
With  snail-plate  armor  snatched  in  haste. 
They  speed  their   way   through  the  liquid 

waste ; 
Some  are  rapidly  borne  along 
On  the  mailed  shrimp  or  the  prickly  prong ; 


THE    CULPRIT    FAY. 


515 


Borne  on  the  blood-red  leeches  glide, 
Some  on  the  stony  star-fish  ride, 
Some  on  the  back  of  the  lancing  squab, 
Some  on  the  sideling  soldier-crab  ; 
And  some  on  the  jellied  quarl,  that  flings 
At  once  a  thousand  streamy  stings ; 
They  cut  the  wave  with  the  living  oar, 
And  hurry  on  to  the  moonlight  shore. 
To  guard  their  realms  and  chase  away 
The  footsteps  of  the  invading  fay, 

XIV. 

Fearlessly  he  skims  along. 
His  hope  is  high,  and  his  limbs  are  strong; 
He  spreads  his  arms  like  the  swallow's  wing, 
And  throws  his  feet  with  a  frog-like  fling ; 
His  locks  of  gold  on  the  waters  shine, 

At  his  breast  the  tiny  foam-bees  rise. 
His  back  gleams  bright  above  the  brine. 

And  the  wake-line  foam  behind  him  lies. 
But  the  water-sprites  are  gathering  near 

To  check  his  course  along  the  tide  ; 
Their  warriors  come  in  swift  career 

And  hem  him  round  on  every  side  ; 
On  his  thigh  the  leech  has  fixed  his  hold, 
The  quarl's  long  arms  are  round  him  rolled, 
The  prickly  prong  has  pierced  his  skin. 
And  the  squab  has  thrown  his  javelin ; 
The  gritty  star  has  rubbed  him  raw, 
And  the  crab  has  struck  with  his  giant  claw ; 
He  howls  with  rage,  and  he  shrieks  with  pain; 
He  strikes  around,  but  his  blows  are  vain  ; 
Hopeless  is  the  unequal  fight. 
Fairy !  naught  is  left  but  flight. 

xx. 
He  turned  him  round,  and  fled  amain 
With  hurry  and  dash  to  the  beach  again; 
He  twisted  over  from  side  to  side, 
And  laid  his  cheek  to  the  cleaving  tide ; 
The  strokes  of  his  plunging  arms  are  fleet, 
And  with  all  his  might  ho  flings  his  feet. 
But  the  water-sprites  are  round  him  still. 
To  cross  his  path  and  work  him  ill. 
They  bade  the  wave  before  him  rise; 
They  flung  the  sea-fire  in  his  eyes ; 
And  they  stunned  his  ears  with  the  scallop- 
stroke. 
With  tlie  porpoise  heave  and  the  drum-fish 

croak, 

13 


Oh!  but  aweary  wight  was  he 

When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  dogwood 
tree. 

— Gashed  and  wounded,  and  stiff  and  sore, 

He  laid  him  down  on  the  sandy  shore ; 

He  blessed  the  force  of  the  charmed  line, 
And  he  banned  the  water-goblin's  spite. 

For  he  saw  around  in  the  sweet  moonshine 

Their  little  wee  faces  above  the  brine, 

Giggling  and  laughing  Avith  all  their  might 
At  the  piteous  hap  of  the  fairy  wight. 


XVI. 

Soon  he  gathered  the  balsam  dew 

From  the  sorrel-leaf  and  the  henbane  bud ; 
Over  each  wound  the  balm  he  drew, 

And  with  cobweb  lint  he  stanched  the 
blood. 
The  mild  west  wind  was  soft  and  low. 
It  cooled  the  heat  of  his  burning  brow; 
And  he  felt  new  life  in  his  sinews  shoot. 
As  he  drank  the  juice  of  the  calamus  root ; 
And  now  he  treads  the  fatal  shore. 
As  fresh  and  vigorous  as  before. 

XVII. 

Wrapped  in  musing  stands  the  sprite  : 
'T  is  the  middle  wane  of  night ; 

His  task  is  hard,  his  way  is  far. 
But  he  must  do  his  errand  right 

Ere  dawning  mounts  her  beamy  car, 
And  rolls  her  chariot  wheels  of  light ; 
And  vain  are  the  spells  of  fairy-land — 
He  must  work  with  a  human  hand. 

XVIII. 

He  cast  a  saddened  look  around ; 

But  he  felt  new  joy  his  bosom  swell, 
When,  glittering  on  the  shadowed  ground, 

He  saw  a  purple  muscle-shell ; 
Thither  he  ran,  and  he  bent  him  low, 
He  heaved  at  the  stern  and  he  heaved  at  tlie 

bow, 
And  he  pushed  her  over  the  yielding  sand. 
Till  he  came  to  the  verge  of  tlie  haunted  land. 
She  was  as  lovely  a  pleasure-boat 

As  ever  fairy  had  paddled  in. 
For  she  glowed  with  purple  paint  without, 

And  sliouo  witli  silvery  pearl  within  ; 


1 


646 


rOEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


A  sculler's  notch  in  the  stern  he  made, 
An  oar  he  shaped  of  the  bootle  blade  ; 
Then  siirung  to  his  seat  wltli  a  lightsome  Icap^ 
And  launched  afar  on  the  calm,  blue  deep. 

XIX. 

The  imps  of  the  river  yell  and  rave ; 
They  had  no  power  above  the  wave ; 
But  tliey  heaved  the  billow  before  the  prow, 

And  they  dashed  the  surge  against  her  side, 
And  they  struck  her  keel  with  jerk  and  blow, 

Till  the  gunwale  bent  to  the  rocking  tide. 
She  whimplcd  about  to  the  pale  moonbeam, 
Like  a  feather  that  floats  on  a  wind-tossed 

stream ; 
And  momently  athwart  her  track 
The  quarl  upreared  his  island  back. 
And  the  fluttering  scallop  behind  would  float. 
And  patter  the  water  about  the  boat ; 
But  he  bailed  her  out  with  his  colen-bell. 

And  he   kept  her  trimmed  with  a  Avary 
tread, 
"While  on  every  side  like  lightning  fell 

The  heavy  strokes  of  his  bootle-blade. 

XX. 

Onward  still  he  held  his  way, 

Till  he  came  where  the  column  of  moonshine 

lay. 
And  saw  beneath  the  surface  dim 
The  brown-backed  sturgeon  slowly  swim  ; 
Around  him  were  the  goblin  train — 
But  he  sculled  with  all  his  might  and  main, 
And  followed  wherever  the  sturgeon  led. 
Till  he  saw  him  upward  point  his  head  ; 
Then  he  dropped  his  paddle-blade, 
And  held  his  colen-goblet  up 
To  catch  the  drop  in  its  crimson  cup. 

XXI. 

"With  sweeping  tail  and  quivering  fin 

Through  the  wave  the  sturgeon  flew, 
4nd,  like  the  heaven-shot  javelin, 

He  sprung  above  the  waters  blue, 
instant  as  the  star-fall  light, 

lie  plunged  him  in  the  deep  again. 
But  he  left  an  arch  of  silver  bright, 

The  rainbow  of  the  moony  main. 
It  was  a  strange  and  lovely  sight 

To  see  the  puny  goblin  there  ; 


lie  seemed  an  angel  form  of  light, 
With  azure  wing  and  sunny  hair, 
Throned  on  a  cloud  of  purple  fair. 

Circled  with  blue  and  edged  with  white, 

And  sitting  at  the  fall  of  even 

Beneath  the  bow  of  summer  heaven. 

XXII. 

A  moment,  and  its  lustre  fell ; 

But  ere  it  met  the  billow  blue, 
He  cauglit  within  his  crimson  bell 

A  droplet  of  its  sparkling  dew — 
Joy  to  thee,  fay !  thy  task  is  done, 
Thy  wings  are  pure,  for  the  gem  is  won — 
Cheerly  ply  thy  dripping  oar, 
And  liaste  away  to  the  elfin  shore. 

XXIII. 

He  turns,  and,  lo !  on  either  side 

The  ripples  on  his  path  divide  ; 

And  the  track  o'er  which  his  boat  must  pass 

Is  smooth  as  a  sheet  of  polished  glass. 

Around,  their  limbs  the  sea-nymphs  lave, 

With  snowy  arms  half-swelling  out. 
While  on  the  glossed  and  gleamy  wave 

Their  sea-green  ringlets  loosely  float ; 
They  swim  around  with  smile  and  song; 

They  press  the  bark  Avith  pearly  hand, 
And  gently  urge  her  course  along. 

Toward  the  beach  of  speckled  sand ; 

And,  as  he  lightly  leaped  to  land. 
They  bade  adieu  -with  nod  and  bow ; 

Then  gayly  kissed  each  little  hand. 
And  dropped  in  the  crystal  deep  below. 

XXIV. 

A  moment  stayed  the  fairy  there  ; 

He  kissed  the  beach  and  breathed  a  prayer ; 

Then  spread  his  wings  of  gilded  blue. 

And  on  to  the  elfin  court  he  flew ; 

As  ever  ye  saw  a  bubble  rise. 

And  shine  with  a  thousand  changing  dyes, 

Till,  lessening  far,  through  ether  driven. 

It  mingles  with  the  hues  of  heaven  ; 

As,  at  the  glimpse  of  morning  pale. 

The  lance-fly  spreads  his  silken  sail, 

And  gleams  with  blendings  soft  and  bright, 

Till  lost  in  the  shades  of  fading  night : 

So  rose  from  earth  the  lovely  fay — 

So  vanished,  far  in  heaven  away ! 


THE    CULPRIT    FAY 


547 


Up,  fairy !  quit  thy  chick-weed  bower, 
The  cricket  has  called  the  second  hour ; 
Twice  again,  and  the  lark  will  rise 
To  kiss  the  streaking  of  the  skies — 
Up !  thy  charmed  armor  don. 
Thou  'It  need  it  ere  the  night  be  gone. 

XXT, 

He  put  his  acorn  helmet  on ; 

It  was  plumed  of  the  silk  of  the  thistle-down; 

The  corslet  plate  that  guarded  his  breast 

Was  once  the  wild  bee's  golden  vest ; 

His  cloak,  of  a  thousand  mingled  dyes, 

Was  formed  of  the  wings  of  butterflies ; 

His  shield  was  the  shell  of  a  lady-bug  queen, 

Studs  of  gold  on  a  ground  of  green ; 

And  the  quivering  lance  which  he  brandished 

bright. 
Was  the  sting  of  a  wasp  he  had  slain  in  fight. 
Swift  he  bestrode  his  fire-fly  steed ; 

He  bared  his  blade  of  the  bent-grass  blue ; 
He  drove  his  spurs  of  the  cockle-seed, 

And  away  like  a  glance  of  thought  he  ficAv, 
To  skim  the  heavens,  and  follow  far 
The  fiery  trail  of  the  rocket-star. 

XXVI, 

The  moth-fly,  as  he  shot  in  air, 

Crept  under  the  leaf,  and  hid  her  there ; 

The  katy-did  forgot  its  lay, 

The  prowling  gnat  fled  fast  away. 

The  fell  mosquito  checked  his  drone 

And  folded  his  wings  till  the  fay  was  gone, 

And  the  wily  beetle  dropped  his  head, 

And  fell  on  the  ground  as  if  he  were  dead; 

They  crouched  them  close  in  the  darksome 

shade, 
They  quaked  all  o'er  with  awe  and  fear, 
For  they  had  felt  the  blue-bent  blade, 

And  writhed  at  the  prick  of  the  elfin  spear; 
Many  a  time,  on  a  summer's  night. 
When  the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  moon  was 

bright, 
They  had  been  roused  from   the    haunted 

ground 
By  the  yelp  and  bay  of  the  fairy  hound  ; 

They  had  heard  the  tiny  bugle-horn, 
riiey  had  licard  the  twang  of  the  maize-silk 

string, 
When  the   vine-twig    bows  were  tightly 

drawn, 


And    the    needle-shaft    through    air  was 
borne, 
Feathered   with    down    of    the   hum-bird's 

wing. 
And  now  they  deemed  the  courier  ouphe, 
Some  hunter-sprite  of  the  elfin  gi-ound ; 
And  they  watched  till  they  saw  him  mount 
the  roof 
That  canopies  the  Avorld  around; 
Then  glad  they  left  their  covert  lair. 
And  freaked  about  in  the  midnight  air. 

XXVII. 

Up  to  the  vaulted  firmament 

His  path  the  fire-fly  courser  bent, 

And  at  every  gallop  on  the  vrind. 

He  flung  a  glittering  spark  behind; 

He  flies  like  a  feather  in  the  blast 

Till  the  first  light  cloud  in  heaven  is  past. 

But  the  shapes  of  air  have  begun  their 
work, 
And  a  drizzly  mist  is  round  him  cast ; 

He  cannot  see  through  the  mantle  murk ; 
He  shivers  with  cold,  but  he  urges  fast; 

Through  storm   and    darkness,   sleet  and 
shade. 
He  lashes  his  steed,  and  spurs  amain — 
For  shadowy  hands  have  twitched  the  rein, 

And  flame-shot  tongues  around  him  played, 
And  near  him  many  a  fiendish  eye 
Glared  with  a  fell  malignity. 
And  yells  of  rage,  and  shrieks  of  fear, 
Came  screaming  on  his  startled  ear. 


XXVIII. 

His  wings  are  wet  around  his  breast. 
The  plume  hangs  dripping  from  his  crest, 
His   eyes   are  blurred   witli  the  lightning's 

glare, 
And  his  ears  are  stunned  with  the  thunder's 

blare  • 
But  he  gave  a  shout,  and  his  blade  he  drew. 

He  thrust  before  and  he  struck  behind. 
Till  he  pierced  their  cloudy  bodies  through, 

And  gashed  their  shadowy  limbs  of  wind: 
Howling  the  misty  spectres  flew. 

They  rend  the  air  with  frightful  cries; 
For  he  has  gained  the  welkin  blue. 

And  the  land  of  clouds  beneath  liiin  lies. 


r)is 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION 


5XIX. 

Up  to  the  cope  careeriug  swift, 

In  breathless  motion  fast, 
Fleet  as  the  SAvallow  cuts  the  drift, 

Or  the  sea-roc  rides  the  blast, 
Th.e  sapphire  sheet  of  eve  is  shot. 

The  sphered  moon  is  past, 
The  earth  but  seems  a  tiny  blot 

On  a  sheet  of  azure  cast. 
Oh!  it  was  sweet,  in  the  clear  moonlight, 

To  tread  the  starry  plain  of  even ! 
To  meet  the  thousand  eyes  of  night, 

And  feel  the  cooling  breath  of  heaven ! 
But  the  elfin  made  no  stop  or  stay 
Till  he  came  to  the  bank  of  the  milky-way ; 
Then  he  checked  his  courser's  foot. 
And  watched  for  the  glimpse  of  the  planet- 
slioot. 

XXX. 

Sudden  along  the  snowy  tide 

That  swelled  to  meet  their  footsteps'  fall. 
The  sylphs  of  heaven  were  seen  to  glide. 

Attired  in  sunset's  crimson  pall ; 
Around  the  fay  they  weave  the  dance. 

They  skip  before  him  on  the  plain. 
And  one  has  taken  his  wasp-sting  lance, 

And  one  upholds  his  bridle-rein ; 
With  warblings  wild  they  lead  him  on 

To  where,  through  clouds  of  amber  seen, 
Studded  with  stars,  resplendent  shone 

The  palace  of  the  sylphid  queen. 
Its  spiral  columns,  gleaming  bright, 
Were  streamers  of  the  northern  light ; 
Its  curtain's  light  and  lovely  flush 
Was  of  the  morning's  rosy  blush ; 
And  the  ceiling  fair  that  rose  aboon, 
The  white  and  feathery  fleece  of  noon. 

XXXI. 

But,  oh!  how  fair  the  shape  that  lay 

Beneath  a  rainbow  bending  bright: 
She  seemed  to  the  entranced  fay 

The  loveliest  of  the  forms  of  light ; 
Her  mantle  was  the  purple  rolled 

At  twilight  in  the  west  afar ; 
'T  was  tied  with  threads  of  dawning  gold, 

And  buttoned  with  a  sparkling  star. 
Her  face  was  like  the  lily  roon 

That  veils  the  vestal  planet's  hue; 
Her  eyes,  two  beanilets  from  the  moon, 

Set  floating  in  the  welkin  blue. 


Her  hair  is  like  the  sunny  beam, 

And  the  diamond  gems  which  round  it  gleam 

Are  the  pure  drops  of  dewy  even 

That  ne'er  have  left  their  native  heaven. 

SXXII. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  wondering  sprite, 

And  they  leaped  with  smiles;  for  well  1 
ween 
Never  before  in  the  bowers  of  light 

Had  the  form  of  an  earthly  fay  been  seen. 
Long  she  looked  in  his  tiny  face ; 

Long  with  his  butterfly  cloak  she  played; 
She  smoothed  his  wings  of  azure  lace. 

And  handled  the  tassel  of  his  blade ; 
And  as  he  told,  in  accents  low. 
The  story  of  his  love  and  woe. 
She  felt  new  pains  in  her  bosom  rise. 
And  the  tear-drop  started  in  her  eyes. 
And  "  O,  sweet  spirit  of  earth,"  she  cried, 

"  Keturn  no  more  to  your  woodland  height, 
But  ever  here  with  me  abide 

In  the  land  of  everlasting  light ! 
Within  the  fleecy  drift  we  '11  lie, 

We'll  hang  upon  the  rainbow's  rim; 
And  all  the  jewels  of  the  sky 

Around  thy  brow  shall  brightly  beam ! 
And  thou  shalt  bathe  thee  in  the  stream 

That  rolls  its  whitening  foam  aboon, 
And  ride  upon  the  lightning's  gleam. 

And  dance  upon  the  orbed  moon ! 
We  '11  sit  within  the  Pleiad  ring, 

"We  '11  rest  on  Orion's  starry  belt, 
And  I  will  bid  my  sylphs  to  sing 

The  song  that  makes  the  dew-mist  melt ; 
Their  harps  are  of  the  umber  shade 

That  hides  the  blush  of  waking  day. 
And  every  gleamy  string  is  made 

Of  silvery  moonshine's  lengthened  ray ; 
And  thou  shalt  pillow  on  my  breast, 

While  heavenly  breathings  float  around, 
And,  wuth  the  sylphs  of  ether  blest, 

Forget  the  joys  of  fairy  ground." 

XXXIII. 

She  was  lovely  and  fair  to  see 
And  the  elfin's  heart  beat  fitfully ; 
But  lovelier  far,  and  still  more  fair, 
The  earthly  form  imprinted  there ; 
Naught  he  saw  in  the  lieavens  above 
Was  half  so  dear  as  his  mortal  love, 


THE    CULPRIT    FAY. 


543 


For  he  thought  upon  her  looks  so  meek, 
And  he  thought  of  the  light  flush  on  her 

cheek ; 
Never  again  might  he  bask  and  lie 
On  that  sweet  cheek  and  moonlight  eye ; 
But  in  his  dreams  her  form  to  see, 
To  clasp  her  in  his  revery. 
To  think  upon  his  virgin  bride, 
Was  worth  all  heaven,  and  earth  beside. 

XXXIV. 

"Lady,"  he  cried,  "I  have  sworn  to-night, 

On  the  word  of  a  fairy-knight, 

To  do  my  sentence-task  aright ; 

My  honor  scarce  is  free  from  stain — 

I  may  not  soil  its  snows  again ; 

Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 

Its  mandate  must  be  answered  now." 

Her  bosom  heaved  with  many  a  sigh. 

The  tear  was  in  her  drooping  eye ; 

But  she  led  him  to  the  palace  gate, 

And  called  the  sylphs  who  hovered  there, 
And  bade- them  fly  and  bring  him  straight, 

Of  clouds  condensed,  a  sable  car. 
"With  charm  and  spell  she  blessed  it  there, 
From  all  the  fiends  of  upper  air ; 
Then  round  him  cast  the  shadowy  shroud. 
And  tied  his  steed  behind  the  cloud ; 
And  pressed  his  hand  as  she  bade  him  fly 
Far  to  the  verge  of  the  northern  sky, 
For  by  its  wane  and  wavering  light 
There  was  a  star  would  fall  to-night. 

xxxr. 

Borne  afar  on  the  wings  of  the  blast, 
Northward  away,  he  speeds  him  fast. 
And  his  courser  follows  the  cloudy  wain 
Till  the  hoof-strokes  fall  like  pattering  rain. 
The  clouds  roll  backward  as  he  flies. 
Each  flickering  star  behind  him  lies, 
And  he  has  reached  the  northern  plain, 
And  backed  his  fire-fly  steed  again, 
Ready  to  follow  in  its  flight 
The  streaming  of  the  rocket-light. 

XXXVI. 

The  star  is  yet  in  the  vault  of  heaven. 
But  it  rocks  in  the  summer  gale  ; 

And  now  't  is  fltful  and  uneven. 
And  now  't  is  deadly  pale  ; 


And  now  't  is  wrapped  in  sulphur-smoke. 

And  quenched  is  its  rayless  beam ; 
And  now  with  a  rattling  thunder-stroke 

It  bursts  in  flash  and  flame. 
As  swift  as  the  glance  of  the  arrowy  lance 

That  the  storm-spirit  flings  from  high, 
The  star-shot  flew  o'er  the  welkin  blue, 

As  it  fell  from  the  sheeted  sky. 
As  swift  as  the  wind  in  its  train  behind 

The  elfin  gallops  along  : 
The  fiends  of  the  clouds  are  bellowing  loud, 

But  the  sylphid  charm  is  strong  ; 
He  gallops  unhurt  in  the  shower  of  fire, 

"While  the  cloud-fiends  fiy  from  the  blaze ; 
He  watches  each  flake  till  its  sparks  expire, 

And  rides  in  the  light  of  its  rays. 
But  he  drove  his   steed  to  the  lightning's 
speed, 

And  caught  a  glimmering  spark ; 
Then  wheeled  around  to  the  fairy  ground. 

And  sped  through  the  midnight  dark. 


Ouphe  and  goblin !  imp  and  sprite ! 

Elf  of  eve !  and  starry  fay ! 
Ye  that  love  the  moon's  soft  light. 

Hither — hither  wend  your  way ; 
Twine  ye  in  a  jocund  ring. 

Sing  and  trip  it  merrilj'-. 
Hand  to  hand,  and  wing  to  wing, 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  ti-ee. 


Hail  the  wanderer  again 

"With  dance  and  song,  and  lute  and  lyre  ; 
Pure  his  wing  and  strong  his  chain, 

And  doubly  bright  his  fairy  fire. 
Twine  ye  in  an  airy  round. 

Brush  the  dew  and  print  the  lea  ; 
Skip  and  gambol,  hop  and  bound, 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 


The  beetle  guards  our  holy  ground, 

He  flies  about  the  haunted  place, 
And  if  mortal  tlicre  be  found, 

He  hums  in  his  ears  and  flaps  liis  face ; 
The  leaf-harp  sounds  our  roundelay, 

The  owlet's  eyes  our  lanterns  be  ; 
Thus  we  sing,  and  dance,  and  play. 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 


B50                                         ruEMS    OF    THE 

IMAGINATION. 

But,  hark !  from  tower  on  tree-top  Ligli, 

They  took  her  lightly  back. 

The  sentry-elf  ]iis  call  has  made; 

Between  the  night  and  morrow ; 

A  streak  is  in  the  eastern  sky, 

They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 

Shapes  of  moonlight !  flit  and  fade  ! 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 

Tlie  hill-tops  gleam  in  morning's  spring, 

They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

The  sky-lark  shakes  his  dappled  wing. 

Deep  within  the  lakes, 

The  day-glimpse  glimmers  on  the  lawn, 

On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

The  cock  has  crowed,  and  the  fays  are  gone. 

Watching  till  she  wakes. 

Joseph   Kodmak  Drake. 

By  the  craggy  hill-side. 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 

THE  FAIRIES. 

Is  any  man  so  daring 

To  dig  one  up  in  spite, 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

He  shall  find  the  thornies  set 

Down  the  rushy  glen. 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

We  dare  n't  go  a  hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men ; 

Up  the  airy  mountain. 

Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Down  the  rushy  glen. 

Trooping  all  together ; 

We  daren't  go  a  hunting 

Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

For  fear  of  little  men ; 

And  white  owl's  feather ! 

Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  aU  together ; 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

Some  make  their  home — 

And  white  owl's  feather ! 

They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

William  Allinguaji. 

Of  yellow  tide-foam ; 

Some  in  the  reeds 

♦ 

.  Of  the  hlack  mountain-lake, 

With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 

THE  FAIRIES'  FAREWELL. 

All  night  awake. 

Farewell  rewards  and   fairies  ! 

High  on  the  hill-top 

Good  housewives  now  may  say  ; 

The  old  king  sits ; 

For  now  foule  sluts  in  dairies 

He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

Doe  fare  as  well  as  they  ; 

He 's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 

And  though  they  sweepe  their  hearths  no 

With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

less 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 

Than  mayds  were  wont  to  doe. 

On  his  stately  journeys 

Yet  who  of  late  for  cleaneliness 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses ; 

Finds  sixe-pence  in  her  shoe  ? 

Or  going  up  with  music 

On  cold,  starry  nights, 

Lament,  lament,  old  abbeys, 

To  sup  with  the  queen 

The  fairies'  lost  command! 

Of  the  gay  jSTorthern  Lights. 

They  did  but  change  priests'  babies. 

But  some  have  clianged  your  land ; 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

And  all  your  children,  stoln  from  thence, 

For  seven  years  long ; 

Are  now  growne  Puritanes, 

When  she  came  down  again 

Who  live  as  changelings  ever  since, 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 

For  love  of  your  demaines. 

THE     GREEX    GXOME. 


551 


At  morning  and  at  evening  botli 

You  merrj'  were  and  glad ; 
So  little  care  of  sleepe  and  sloth 

These  prettie  ladies  had. 
When  Tom  came  home  from  labor, 

Or  Ciss  to  milking  rose, 
Then  merrily  went  their  tabour, 

And  nimbly  went  their  toes. 

Witness,  those  rings  and  roundelayes 

Of  theirs,  which  yet  remaine, 
Were  footed  in  Queen  Marie's  dayes 

On  many  a  grassy  playne. 
But  since  of  late  Elizabeth, 

And  later  James,  came  in 
They  never  danced  on  any  heath 

As  when  the  time  hath  bin. 

By  which  wee  note  the  fairies 

Were  of  the  old  profession ; 
Their  songs  were  Ate-Maries, 

Their  dances  were  procession. 
But,  now,  alas !  they  all  are  dead, 

Or  gone  beyond  the  seas, 
Or  farther  for  religion  fled ; 

Or  else  they  take  their  ease. 

A  tell-tale  in  their  company 

Thoy  never  could  endure  ; 
And  whoso  kept  not  secretly 

Their  mirth,  was  punished  sure ; 
It  was  a  just  and  Christian  deed 

To  pinch  such  blacke  and  blue : 
Oh  how  the  commonwelth  doth  need 

Such  justices  as  you! 

Now  they  have  left  our  quarters, 

A  register  they  have, 
Who  can  preserve  their  cliarters — 

A  man  both  wise  and  grave. 
An  hundred  of  their  merry  pranks. 

By  one  that  I  could  name, 
Are  kept  in  store  ;  con  twenty  thanks 

To  William  for  the  same. 

To  WilUam  Ohurne  of  Staffordshire 

Give  laud  and  praises  due. 
Who,  every  meale,  can  mend  your  cheare 

Witli  tales  both  old  and  true ; 
To  William  all  give  audience, 

And  pray  yee  for  his  noddle  ; 
For  all  the  fairies'  evidence 

Were  lost  if  it  were  addle. 

ElCnARD   CORBETT. 


THE  GEEEN  GNOME. 

A   MELODY. 

RixG,  sing!  ring,  sing!  pleasant  Sabbath  bells! 
Chime,  rhyme!  chime,  rhyme!  thorough  dales 

and  dells ! 
Rhyme,  I'ing !  chime,  sing !  pleasant  Sabbath 

bells! 
Chime,  sing!    rhyme,  ring!    over  fields  and 

fells! 

And  I  galloped  and  I  galloped  on  my  palfrey 

white  as  milk, 
My  robe  was  of  the  sea-green  woof,  my  serk 

was  of  the  silk  ; 
My  hair  was  golden  yellow,  and  it  floated  to 

my  shoe. 
My  eyes  were  like  two  harebells  bathed  in 

little  drops  of  dew ; 
My  palfrey,  never  stopping,  made  a  music 

sweetly  blent 
With  the  leaves  of  autumn  dropping  all  around 

me  as  I  went; 
And  I  heard  the  bells,  grown  fainter,  far  be- 
hind me  peal  and  play, 
Fainter,  fainter,  fainter,  till  they  seemed  to 

die  away ; 
And  beside  a  silver  runnel,  on  a  little  heap 

of  sand, 
I  saw  the  green  gnome  sitting,  with  liis  cheek 

upon  his  hand. 
Then  he  started  up  to  see  me,  and  he  ran  with 

cry  and  bound, 
And  drew  me  from  my  palfrey  white  and  set 

me  on  the  ground. 
Oh  crimson,  crimson  were  his  locks,  his  face 

was  green  to  see. 
But  he  cried,  "  O  light-haired  lassie,  you  are 

bound  to  marry  me !  " 
He  clasped  me  round  the  middle  small,  he 

kissed  me  on  the  cheek, 
He  kissed  me  once,  he  kissed  me  twice— I 

could  not  stir  or  speak ; 
He  kissed  me  twice,  he  kissed  me  thrice— but 

when  lie  kissed  again, 
I  called  aloud  upon  the  name  of  Him  who 

died  for  men. 

Sing,  sing!  ring,  ring!  pleasant  Sabbath  bells! 
Chime,  rhyme!  cliiine,  rhyme!  thorough  dales 
and  dells ! 


65'J 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


Rlijmo,  ring !  cliimc,  siug !  pleasant  Sabbath 

bells ! 
Chime,  sing!   rhyme,  ring!    over  fields  and 


Oh  fointly,  faintly,  faintly,  calling  men  and 

maids  to  pray, 
So  faintly,  faintly,  laintly  rang  the  bells  far 

away ; 
And  as  I  named  the  Blessed  Name,  as  in  our 

need  we  can, 
The  ngly  green  green  gnome  became  a  tall 

and  comely  man : 
His  hands  were  white,  his  beard  was  gold,  his 

eyes  were  black  as  sloes, 
His  tunic  was  of  scai'lct  woof,  and  silken  Avere 

his  hose ; 
A  pensive  light  from  Faeryland  still  lingered 

on  his  check. 
His  voice  was  like  the  running  brook,  when 

he  began  to  speak : 
'■  Oh  you  have  cast  away  the  charm  my  step- 
dame  put  on  me, 
Seven  years  I  dwelt  in  Faeryland,  and  you 

have  set  me  free. 
Oh  I  vrill  mount  thy  palfrey  white,  and  ride 

to  kirk  with  thee, 
And  by  those  little  dewy  eyes,  we  twain  will 

wedded  be  I " 

Back  we  galloped,  never  stopping,  he  before 

and  I  behind, 
And  the  autumn  leaves  were  dropping,  red 

and  yellow,  in  the  wind  ; 
And  the  sun  was  shining   clearer,  and  my 

heai't  was  high  and  proud. 
As  nearer,  nearer,  nearer,  rang  the  kirk  bells 

sweet  and  loud. 
And  we  saw  the  kirk  before  ns,  as  we  trotted 

down  the  fells. 
And  nearer,  clearer,  o'er  us,  rang  the  welcome 

of  the  bells. 

Ring,  sing!  ring,  sing!  pleasant  Sabbath  bells! 
Chime,  rhyme !  cliime,  rhyme  !  thorough  dales 

and  dells ! 
Rhyme,  ring!  chime,  sing!  pleasant  Sabbath 

bells ! 
Chime,  sing !    rhyme,  ring !    over  fields  and 

fells! 

EOBEET  BirCHANAN. 


ARIEL'S  SOXGS. 


OosiE  nnto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands ; 
Court'sicd  when  you  have,  and  kissed, 

(The  wild  waves  whist !) 
Foot  it  featly  here  and  there ; 
And,  sweet  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark ! 
BoicgJi,  icowrjTi. 

The  watch-dogs  bark — 
Boicgli,  wowgh. 
Hark,  hark !     I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticleer 
Cry  Cock-a-doodle-doo. 

II. 

Full  fathoms  five  thy  father  lies  ; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 
Those  ai-e  pearls  that  were  his  eyes ; 
Nothing  of  him  doth  fade 
But  doth  suiTer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nyraphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 

Ding-dong. 
Hark!  now  I  hear  them — ding,  dong,  beU! 

III. 
Where  the  bee  sucks  there  suck  I ; 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie; 
There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry ; 
On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 
After  summer  merrily. 
}»rorrily,mein-ily,  shall  I  live  now. 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 

Shakespeakb. 


SOXG. 

Hear,  sweet  spirit,  hear  the  spell, 
Lest  a  blacker  charm  compel ! 
So  shall  the  midnight  breezes  swell 
With  thy  deep,  long,  lingering  knell. 

And  at  evening  evermore. 

In  a  chapel  on  the  shore, 

Shall  the  chaunter,  sad  and  saintly, 

Yellow  tapers  burning  faintly. 

Doleful  masses  chaunt  for  thee — 

Miserere  Domine ! 


THE     WATER    FAY. 


553 


Hark !  the  cadence  dies  away 

On  tlie  quiet  moonlight  sea ; 

The  boatmen  rest  their  oars  and  say, 

Miserere  Domine ! 

Samuel  Tatloe  Coxeeidge. 


THE  LORELEI. 

I  KNOW  not  what  it  presages, 
This  heart  with  sadness  fraught : 

'T  is  a  tale  of  the  olden  ages, 
That  will  not  from  my  thought. 

The  air  grows  cool,  and  darkles; 

The  Ilhine  flows  calmly  on ; 
The  mountain  summit  sparkles 

In  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 

There  sits,  in  soft  reclining, 

A  maiden  wondrous  foir, 
"With  golden  raiment  shining. 

And  combing  her  golden  hair. 

With  a  comb  of  gold  she  combs  it ; 

And  combing,  low  singeth  she — 
A  song  of  a  strange,  sweet  sadness, 

A  wonderful  melody. 

The  sailor  shudders,  as  o'er  him. 
The  strain  comes  floating  by ; 

He  sees  not  the  clifls  before  him — 
He  only  looks  on  high. 

Ah!  round  him  tlie  dark  waves,  flinging 
Their  arms  draw  him  slowly  down — 

And  this,  with  her  wild,  sweet  smging. 
The  Lorelei  has  done. 

IIen-rt  Heine.    (German.) 
Translation  of  CnEiSTOpnER  Peap.se  Cbancu. 


THE  WATER  LADY. 

I. 
Alas,  that  moon  should  ever  beam 
To  show  what  man  should  never  see  !- 
I  saw  a  maiden  on  a  stream. 
And  fair  was  she  ! 

ir. 
I  staid  awhifc,  to  see  her  throw 
Her  tresses  back,  that  all  beset 
Tlie  foir  horizon  of  her  brow 
With  clouds  of  jet. 
74 


ra. 


I  staid  a  little  while  to  view 
Her  cheek,  that  wore,  in  place  of  red, 
The  bloom  of  water — tender  blue, 
Daintily  spread. 


IV. 


I  staid  to  watch,  a  little  space, 
Her  parted  lips,  if  she  would  sing ; 
The  waters  closed  above  her  face 
With  many  a  ring. 


V. 

And  still  I  staid  a  little  more — 
Alas !  she  never  comes  again ! 
I  throw  my  flowers  from  the  shore, 
And  watch  in  vain. 

VI. 

I  know  my  life  will  fade  away — 

I  know  that  I  must  vainly  pine  ; 

For  I  am  made  of  mortal  clay. 

But  she  's  divine  ! 

Thomas  Iiood. 


THE  WATER  FAY. 

The  night  comes  stealing  o'er  me, 

And  clouds  are  on  the  sea; 
While  the  wavelets  rustle  before  me 

With  a  mystical  melody. 

A  water-maid  rose  singing 

Before  me,  fair  and  pale  ; 
And  snow-white  breasts  were  springing, 

Like  fountains,  'neath  her  veil. 

She  kissed  me  and  she  pressed  me, 
Till  I  wished  her  arms  away : 

"  Why  hast  tliou  so  caressed  me, 
Thou  lovely  water  fay  ? " 

"  Oh,  thou  need'st  not  alarm  thee, 

That  tlius  tliy  form  I  hold  ; 
For  I  only  seek  to  warm  me. 

And  the  night  is  black  and  cold." 


551                                     rOEAIS     OF     TUE 

IMAGINATION. 

"The  wind  to  the  waves  is  calling, 

The  moonlight  is  fading  away  ; 

THE  LADY  OF  SHALOTT. 

And  tears  down  tliy  cheek  are  falling, 

« 

Thou  beautiful  water  fay!  " 

PART   I. 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 

"The  wind  to  the  waves  is  calling. 

Long  lields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 

And  tlie  moonlight  grows  dim  on  the 

That  clothe  the  wold  and  meet  the  sky , 

rocks  ; 

And  tlirough  the  held  the  road  runs  by 

But  no  tears  from  mine  eyes  are  falling, 

To  many-towered  Camelot ; 

'Tis  the  water   which  drips  from  my 

And  up  and  down  the  people  go, 

locks." 

Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 

Eound  an  island  there  below — 

The  island  of  Shalott. 

"The  ocean  is  heaving  and  sobbing, 

The  sea-mews  scream  in  the  spray ; 

"Willows  whiten ;  aspens  quiver ; 

And  thy  heart  is  wildly  tlirobbing. 

Little  breezes  dusk  and  shiver 

Thou  beautiful  water  fay !  " 

Through  tlie  wave  that  runs  for  ever 

By  the  island  in  the  river, 

"  My  heart  is  wildly  swelling. 

Flowing  down  to  Camelot. 

And  it  beats  in  burning  truth  ; 

Four  gray  walls,  and  four  gray  towers, 

For  I  love  thee,  past  all  telling — 

Overlook  a  space  of  flowers; 

Thou  beautiful  mortal  youth." 

And  the  silent  isle  imbowers 

IIekky  Heine.    (German.) 

The  lady  of  Shalott. 

Translation  of  Chaeles  G.  Leland. 

By  the  margin,  willow-veiled. 

Slide  the  heavy  barges,  trailed 

' 

By  slow  horses ;  and,  unbailed. 

SONG. 

The  shallop  flitteth,  silken-sailed — 

Skimming  down  to  Camelot ; 

I. 

But  who  hath  seen  her  wave  her  hand  ? 

A  LAKE  and  a  fairy  boat, 

Or  at  the  casement  seen  her  stand  ? 

To  sail  in  the  moonlight  clear — 

Or  is  she  known  in  all  the  land — 

And  merrily  we  would  float 

The  lady  of  Shalott? 

From  the  dragons  that  watch  us  here! 

Only  reapers,  reaping  early 

II. 

Li  among  the  bearded  barley, 

Thy  gown  should  be  snow-white  silk  ; 

Hear  a  song  that  echoes  cheerly 

And  strings  of  orient  pearls, 

From  the  river,  winding  clearly 

Like  gossamers  dipped  in  milk, 

Down  to  towered  Camelot ; 

Should  twine  with  thy  raven  curls  ! 

And  by  the  moon  the  reaper  weary, 

Piling  sheaves  in  uplands  airy, 

in. 

Listening,  whispers,  "  'T  is  the  fairy 

Red  rubies  should  deck  thy  hands. 

Lady  of  Shalott." 

And  diamonds  should  be  thy  dower — 

But  fairies  have  broke  their  wands, 

PART   II. 

And  wishing  has  lost  its  power ! 

There  she  weaves  by  night  and  day 

Thomas  Hood. 

A  magic  web  with  colors  gay. 

She  has  heard  a  whisper  say 
A  curse  is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 

THE    LADY    OF    SIIALOTT. 


555 


Slie  knows  not  what  tlie  curse  may  be ; 
And  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
And  little  other  care  hath  she — 
The  lady  of  Shalott. 

And,  moving  through  a  mirror  clear 
That  hangs  before  lier  all  the  year, 
Shadows  of  the  world  appear. 
There  she  sees  tlie  highway  near, 

"Winding  down  to  Cauielot ; 
There  the  river  eddy  whirls  ; 
And  there  the  surly  village-churls. 
And  the  red  cloaks  of  market-girls, 

Pass  onward  from  Shalott. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad, 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad — 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad. 
Or  long-haired  page,  in  crimson  clad. 

Goes  by  to  towered  Caraelot ; 
And  sometimes  through  the  mirror  blue 
The  knights  come  riding,  two  and  two  : 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true — 

The  lady  of  Shalott. 

But  in  her  web  she  still  delights 
To  weave  the  mirror's  magic  sights ; 
For  often,  through  the  silent  nights, 
A  funeral,  with  plumes  and  lights 

And  music,  went  to  Camelot ; 
Or,  when  the  moon  was  overhead. 
Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed  ; 
"I  am  half-sick  of  shadows,"  said 

The  lady  of  Shalott. 


PART   III. 

A  bow-shot  from  her  bower-eaves 
He  rode  between  the  barley  sheaves ; 
The  sun  came  dazzling  through  the  leaves, 
And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves 

Of  bold  Sir  Lancelot. 
A  red-cross  knight  for  ever  kneeled 
To  a  lady  in  his  shield. 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  field. 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

The  gemmy  bridle  glittered  free, 
Like  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 


Hung  in  the  golden  galaxy. 
The  bridle  bells  rang  merrily. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot ; 
And,  from  his  blazoned  baldric  slung, 
A  mighty  silver  bugle  hung ; 
And  as  he  rode  his  armor  rung. 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather 
Thick-jewelled  shone  the  saddle-leather ; 
The  helmet  and  the  helmet-feather 
Burned  like  one  burning  flame  together. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
As  often,  through  the  purple  night, 
Below  the  starry  clusters  bright, 
Some  bearded  meteor,  trailing  light, 

Moves  over  still  Shalott. 

His  broad  clear  brow  in  sunlight  glowed  ; 
On  burnished  hooves  his  war-horse  trode  ; 
From  underneath  his  helmet  flowed 
His  coal-black  curls  as  on  he  rode. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
From  the  bank  and  from  tlie  ri\-er 
He  flashed  into  the  crystal  mirror  : 
"  Tirra  lirra,"  by  the  river. 

Sang  Sir  Lancelot. 

She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom  ; 
She  made  three  paces  through  the  room ; 
She  saw  the  water-lily  bloom ; 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume ; 

She  looked  down  to  Camelot : 
Out  flew  the  web,  and  floated  wide  ; 
The  mirror  cracked  from  side  to  side ; 
"The  curse  is  come  upon  me,"  cried 

The  ladv  of  Shalott. 


PART   IV. 

In  the  stormy  east-wind  straining, 
The  pale  yellow  woods  were  waning — 
The  broad  stream  in  his  banks  complaining, 
Heavily  the  low  sky  raining 

Over  towered  Camelot ; 
Down  she  came,  and  found  a  boat, 
Beneatli  a  willow  left  afloat ; 
And  round  about  the  prow  she  Avrote 

The   lady  of  Shalott. 


556 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


And  down  the  river's  dim  expanse — 
Lilce  some  bold  seer  in  a  trance, 
Seeing  all  his  own  mischance — 
"With  a  glassy  countenance 

Did  she  look  to  Camelot. 
And  at  the  closing  of  the  day 
She  loosed  the  chain,  and  down  she  lay ; 
The  broad  stream  bore  her  far  away — 

The  lady  of  Shalott. 

Lying  robed  in  snowy  white, 
That  loosely  Hew  to  left  and  right — 
The  leaves  upon  her  falling  light — 
Through  the  noises  of  the  night 

She  floated  down  to  Camelot ; 
And  as  the  boat-head  wound  along, 
The  willowy  hills  and  fields  among, 
They  heard  her  singing  her  last  song — 

The  lady  of  Shalott — 

Heard  a  carol,  mournful,  holy, 
Chanted  loudly,  chanted  lowly — 
Till  her  blood  was  frozen  slowly. 
And  her  eyes  were  darkened  wholly, 

Turned  to  towei-ed  Camelot ; 
For  ere  she  reached,  upon  the  tide, 
The  first  house  by  the  water-side, 
Singing,  in  her  song  she  died — 

The  lady  of  Shalott. 

Under  tower  and  balcony, 

By  garden-wall  and  gallery, 

A  gleaming  shape,  she  floated  by — 

A  corse  between  the  houses  high — 

Silent,  into  Camelot. 
Out  upon  the  wharfs  they  came. 
Knight  and  burgher,  lord  and  dame  ; 
And  round  tlie  prow  they  read  her  name- 

The   lady  of  Shalott. 

"Who  is  this?  and  what  is  here? 

And  in  the  royal  palace  near 

Died  the  sound  of  royal  cheer ; 

And  they  crossed  themselves  for  fear — 

All  the  knights  at  Camelot ; 
But  Lancelot  mused  a  little  space  : 
lie  said,  "  She  has  a  lovely  face  ; 
God  in  his  mercy  lend  her  grace — 

The   lady  of  Shalott." 

Alfked  Tenntson, 


COMUS,  A  MASK. 

THE   PERSONS.  ' 

The  attendant  Spirit,  afterwards  in  the  hab!( 

of  TlIYKSIS. 

CoMiTS,  with  his  crew. 
The  Ladt. 
First  Bkotiiee. 
Second  Bkotiiee. 
Sabrina,  the  Nymph. 

TUB   FIRST    SCENE    DISCOVERS   A  WILD    MOOD. 

The  attendant  Spirit  descends  or  enters. 

Before  the  starry  threshold  of  Jove's  court 
My  mansion  is,  whera  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  live  insphered 
1\\  regions  mild  of  calm  and  serene  air, 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot, 
"Which  men  call  earth,  and,  with  low-thought- 

ed  care 
Confined,  and  pestered  in  this  pinfold  here. 
Strive  to  keep  up  a  frail  and  feverish  being, 
Unmindful  of  the  crown  that  virtue  gives, 
After  this  mortal  change,  to  her  true  ser- 
vants, 
Amongst  the  enthroned  gods  on  sainted  seats. 
Yet  some  there  be  that  by  due  steps  aspire 
To  lay  their  just  hands  on  that  golden  key 
That  opes  the  palace  of  eternity. 
To  such  my  errand  is ;  and,  but  for  such, 
I  would  not  soil  these  pure  ambrosial  weeds 
"With  the  rank  vapors  of  this  sin-worn  mould. 
But  to  my  task :     Neptune,   besides  the 
sway 
Of  every  salt  flood,  and  each  ebbing  stream. 
Took  in,  by  lot  'twixt  high  and  nether  Jove, 
Imperial  rule  of  all  the  sea-girt  isles, 
That  like  to  rich  and  various  gems  inlay 
The  unadorned  bosom  of  the  deep; 
"Which  he,  to  grace  his  tributary  gods. 
By  course  commits  to  several  government, 
And  gives  them  leave  to  wear  their  sapphire 

crowns. 
And  wield  their  little  tridents.     But  this  isle, 
The  greatest  and  the  best  of  all  the  main. 
He  quarters  to  his  blue-haired  deities ; 
And  all  this  tract,  that  fronts  the  falling  sun, 
A  noble  peer  of  mickle  trust  and  power 
Has  in  his  charge,  with  tempered  awe  to 

guide 
An  old  and  haughty  nation,  proud  in  arms; 


COjIUS. 


00  / 


Where  his  fair  offspring,  nursed  in  princely 

lore, 
Are  coming  to  attend  their  fixther's  state. 
And  new-intrusted  sceptre ;  but  their  way 
Lies  through  the  perplexed  paths  of  this  drear 

wood. 
The  nodding  horror  of  whose  shady  brows 
Threats  the  forlorn  and  wandering  passenger. 
And  here  their  tender  age  might  suffer  peril, 
But  that,  by  quick  command  from  sovereign 

Jove, 
I  was  despatched  for  their  defence  and  guard ; 
And  listen  why — for  I  will  tell  you  now 
What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song, 
From  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower. 
Bacchus,  that  first  from   out  the  purple 

grape 
Crushed  the  sweet  poison  of  misused  wine. 
After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transformed. 
Coasting  the  Tyrrhene  shore  as  the  winds 

listed, 
On  Circe's  island  fell.     "Who  knows  not  Circe, 
The  daughter  of  the  sun,  whose  charmed  cup 
Whoever  tasted  lost  his  upright  shape, 
And  downward  fell  into  a  grovelliug  swine  ? 
This  nymph,  that  gazed  upon  his  clustering 

locks 
With  ivy  berries  wreathed,  and  his  blithe 

youth. 
Had  by  him,  ere  he  parted  thence,  a  son 
Much  like  his  father,  but  his  mother  more ; 
Whom  therefore  she  bi'ought  up,  and  Comus 

named ; 
Who  ripe,  and  frolic  of  his  full  grown  age, 
Eoving  the  Celtic  and  Iberian  fields. 
At  last  betakes  him  to  this  ominous  wood. 
And,  in  thick  shelter  of  black  shades  imbow- 

ered. 
Excels  his  mother  at  her  mighty  art. 
Offering  to  every  weary  traveller 
His  orient  liquor  in  a  crystal  glass, 
To  quench  the  drouth  of  Phoebus;    which  as 

tliey  taste, 
(For  most  do  taste  through  fond  intemp'rate 

thirst) 
Soon  as  the  potion  works,  their  human  coun- 
tenance, 
Th'   express  resemblance    of   the    gods,    is 

changed 
Into  some  brutish  form,  of  wolf,  or  bear, 
Or  ounce,  or  tiger,  hog  or  bearded  goat — 


All  other  parts  remaining  as  they  were ; 
And  they,  so  perfect  is  their  misery, 
ISTot  once  perceive  their  foul  disfigurement. 
But  boast  themselves  more  comely  than  be- 
fore ; 
And  all  their  friends  and  native  home  forget. 
To  roll  with  pleasure  in  a  sensual  sty. 
Therefore,  when  any  favored  of  high  Jove 
Chances  to    pass  through  this  adventurous 

glade, 
Swift  as  the  sparkle  of  a  glancing  star 
I  shoot  from  heav'n,  to  give  him  safe  con- 
voy— 
As  now  I  do.     But  first  I  must  put  off 
These  my  sky  robes,  spun  out  of  Iris'  woof, 
And  take  the  weeds  and  likeness  of  a  swain, 
That  to  the  service  of  this  house  belongs, 
Who  with  his  soft  pipe,  and  smooth-dittied 

song, 
WeU  knows  to  still  the  wild  winds  when  they 

roar. 
And  hush  the  waving  woods;    nor  of  less 

faith. 
And,  in  this  office  of  his  mountain  watch, 
Likeliest,  and  nearest  to  the  present  aid. 
Of  this  occasion.     But  I  hear  the  tread 
Of  hateful  steps;  I  must  be  viewless  now. 

CoMus  enters^  with  a  charming  rod  in  one 
hand,  his  glass  in  the  other ;  tcith  him  a 
rout  of  monsters,  headed  like  sundry  sorts 
of  wild  beasts — but  otherwise  lilce  men  and 
women,  their  apparel  glistening  ;  tliey  come 
in  onaldng  a  riotous  and  unruly  noise,  with 
torches  in  their  hands. 

CoMTJS.  The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold 

ISTow  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold ; 

And  the  gilded  car  of  day 

His  glowing  axle  doth  allay 

In  the  steep  Atlantic  stream ; 

And  the  slope  sun  his  upward  beam 

Shoots  against  the  dusky  pole, 

Pacing  toward  the  other  goal 

Of  his  chamber  in  the  east. 

Meanwhile  welcome  Joy  and  Feast, 

Midnight  Shout  and  Revelry, 

Tipsy  Dance  and  Jollity. 

Braid  your  locks  with  rosy  twine, 

Dropping  odors,  dropping  wine. 

Rigor  now  is  gone  to  bed, 


558 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


And  Advice  with  scrupulous  head ; 

Strict  Age,  and  sour  Severity, 

"Witli  their  grave  saws  in  shiniber  lie. 

We  that  are  of  purer  fire 

Imitate  the  starry  quire, 

Who  in  their  nightly  watchful  spheres 

Lead  in  swift  round  the  months  and  years. 

The  sounds  and  seas,  with  all  their  finny 
drove, 

Now  to  the  moon  in  wavering  morrice  move ; 

And  on  the  tawny  sands  and  shelves 

Trip  the  pert  fairies  and  the  dapper  elves. 

By  dimpled  brook,  and  fountain  brim. 

The  wood-nymphs,  decked  with  daisies  trim, 

Their  merry  wakes  and  pastimes  keep ; 

Wliat  hath  night  to  do  with  sleep  ? 

Night  hath  better  sweets  to  prove ; 

Venus  now  wakes,  and  wakens  Love. 

Come !  let  us  our  rites  begin — 

'T  is  only  daylight  that  makes  us  sin, 

Wliich  these  dun  shades  will  ne'er  report. 

Hail,  goddess  of  nocturnal  sport, 

Dark-veiled  Cotytto  !  t'  whom  the  secret 
flame 

Of  midnight  torches  burns ;  mysterious  dame, 

That  ne'er  art  called  but  when  the  dragon 
womb 

Of  Stygian  darkness  spets  her  thickest  gloom. 

And  makes  one  blot  of  all  the  air ; 

Stay  thy  cloudy  ebon  chair, 

Wherein  thou  ridest  with  Hecate,  and  be- 
friend 

Us,  thy  vowed  priests,  till  utmost  end 

Of  all  thy  dues  be  done,  and  none  left  out, 

Ere  the  babbling  eastern  scout, 

The  nice  morn,  on  the  Indian  steep 

From  her  cabined  loophole  peep, 

And  to  tlie  tell-tale  sun  descry 

Our  concealed  solemnity. 

Come,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground 

In  a  light  fantastic  round ! 

THE    MEASUEE. 

Creak  off,  break  ofi"!  I  feel  the  difierent  pace 
Of  some  chaste  footing  near  about  this  ground. 
Run  to  your  shrouds,  witliin  these  brakes  and 

trees ; 
Our  number  may  afii'ight  some  virgin  sure, 
(For  so  I  can  distinguish  by  mine  art), 
Benighted  in    these   woods.      Now   to    my 

charms. 


And  to  my  wily  trains ;  I  shall  ere  long 
Be  well  stocked,  with  as  fair  a  herd  as  grazed 
About  my  mother  Circe.     Thus  I  hurl 
]\Iy  dazzling  spells  into  the  spungy  air, 
Of  power  to  cheat  the  eye  with  blear  illusion, 
And  give  it  false  presentments ;  lest  the  i)laco 
And  my  quaint  habits  breed  astonishment. 
And  put  the  damsel  to  suspicious  flight — 
Which  must  not  be,  for  that's  against  my 

course. 
I,  under  fair  pretence  of  friendly  ends, 
And  well  placed  words  of  glozing  courtesy, 
Baited  with  reasons  not  unplausible. 
Wind  me  into  the  easy-hearted  man, 
And  hug  him  into  snares.     When  once  her 

eye 
Ilath  met  the  virtue  of  this  magic  dust, 
I  shall  appear  some  harmless  villager, 
Whom  thrift  keeps  up,  about  his  country  gear. 
But  here  she  comes;  I  fairly  step  aside, 
And  hearken,  if  I  may,  her  business  here. 

THE    LADY   ENTERS. 

This  way  the  noise  was,  if  mine  ear  be  true — 
My  best  guide  now ;   methought  it  was  the 

sound 
Of  riot  and  ill-managed  merriment, 
Such  as  the  jocund  flute  or  gamesome  pipe 
Stirs  up  among  the  loose,  unlettered  hinds. 
When  for  their  teeming  flocks,  and  granges 

full, 
In  wanton  dance  they  praise  the  bounteous 

Pan, 
And  thank  the   gods    amiss.      I   should  he 

loath 
To  meet  the  rudeness  and  swilled  insolence 
Of  such  late  wassailers;  yet  oh  !  Avhere  else 
Shall  I  inform  my  unacquainted  feet 
In  the  blind  mazes  of  this  tangled  wood  ? 
My  brothers,  when  they  saw  me  wearied  out 
With  this  long  way,  resolving  here  to  lodge 
Under  the  spreading  favor  of  these  pines, 
Stepped,  as  they  said,  to  the  next  thicket  side 
To  bring  me  berries,  or  such  cooling  fruit 
As  the  kind  hospitable  woods  provide. 
They  left  me,  then,  when  the  gray-hooded 

even, 
Like  a  sad  votarist  in  palmer's  weed, 
Eose  from  the  hindmost  wheels  of  Phoebus' 

wain. 


C  0  M  U  S . 


559 


But  where  they  are,  and  why  they  came  not 
back. 

Is  now  the  labor  of  my  thoughts ;  't  is  like- 
liest 

They  had  engaged  their  wandering  steps  too 
far ; 

And  envious  darkness,  ere  they  could  return. 

Had  stole  them  from  me.  Else,  O  thievish 
night, 

"Why  shouldst  thou,  but  for  some  felonious 
end. 

In  thy  dark  lantern  thus  close  up  the  stars, 

That  nature  hung  in  heaven,  and  fiUed  their 
lamps 

With  everlasting  oil,  to  give  due  light 

To  the  misled  and  lonely  traveller  ? 

This  is  the  place,  as  well  as  I  may  guess, 

"Whence  even  now  the  tumult  of  loud  mirth 

"Was  rife,  and  perfect  in  my  listening  ear ; 

Yet  nought  but  single  darkness  do  I  find. 

"What  might  this  be  ?     A  thousand  fantasies 

Begin  to  throng  into  my  memory, 

Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows 
dire, 

And  airy  tongues,  that  syllable  men's  names 

On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses. 

These  thoughts  may  startle  well,  but  not  as- 
tound 

The  virtuous  mind,  that  ever  walks  attended 

By  a  strong-siding  champion,   conscience. 

0  Avelcome  pure-eyed    faith,  white-handed 

hope — 
Thou  hovering  angel,  girt  with  golden  wings — 
And  thou,  unblemished  form  of  chastity ! 

1  see  ye  visibly,  and  now  believe 

That   he,  the    supreme    good,  t'  whom  all 

things  ill 
Are  but  as  slavish  officers  of  vengeance, 
"Would  send  a  glistering  guardian,  if  need 

Avere, 
To  keep  my  life  and  honor  unassailed. 
Was  I  deceived,  or  did  a  sable  cloud 
Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night? 
I  did  not  err,  there  does  a  sable  cloud 
Turn  forth  her  silver  hnir.g  on  the  night. 
And  casts  a  gleam  over  tais  tufted  grove. 
I  cannot  halloo  to  my  brothers ;  but 
Such  noise  as  I  can  make,  to  be  heard  far- 
thest, 
I  '11  venture,  for  my  new-enlivened  si)irits 
Prompt  me;  and  they  perhaps  are  not  far  off 


SONG. 

SwEEt  Echo,   sweetest    nymph — that  livest 
unseen 
"Within  thy  airy  shell. 
By  slow  Meander's  margent  green. 
And  in  the  violet-embroidered  vale 

"Where  the  love-lorn  nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  mourneth  well- 
Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  pair 
That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are  i 
Oh,  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave, 
Tell  me  but  where. 
Sweet   queen  of   parly,   daughter   of  the 

sphere ! 
So  mayst  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies. 
And  give  resounding  grace  to  aU  heaven's 
harmonies. 

JSnter  Comus. 

Com.    Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's 

mould 
Breathe  such  divine,  enchanting  ravishment  ? 
Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast. 
And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence. 
How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 
Of  silence,  through  the  empty-vaulted  night — 
At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  down 
Of  darkness  till  it  smiled !  I  oft  have  heard 
My  motlier  Circe  with  the  sirens  three, 
Amidst  the  flowery-kirtlcd  Naiades 
Culling  their  potent  herbs  and  baleful  drugs, 
"Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prisoned 

soul. 
And  lap  it  in  Elysium ;  Scylla  wept. 
And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention. 
And  fell  Charybdis  murmured  soft  applause ; 
Yet  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lulled  the  sense, 
And  in  sweet  madness  robbed  it  of  itself. 
But  such  a  sacred  and  home-felt  delight, 
Such  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss, 
I  never  heard  till  now.     I  '11  speak  to  licr, 
And  she  shall  be  my  queen.     Hail,  foreign 

wonder ! 
"Whom,  certain,  these  rough  shades  did  never 

breed. 
Unless  the  goddess  that  in  rural  shrine 
Dwellest  here  with  Pan  or  Silvan,  by  blest 

song 


560 


POEMS    or    THE    IMAGINATION. 


Forbidt-ling  every  bleak  uukindly  fog 
To  touch  the  prosperous  growtli  of  tliis  tall 
wood! 
Lad.   Kay,  gentle   shepherd,  ill  is  lost  that 
praise 
That  is  addressed  to  unattending  ears ; 
Not  any  boast  of  skill,  but  extreme  shift 
IIow  to  regain  my  severed  company, 
Compelled  mo  to  awake  the  courteous  Echo, 
To  give  me  answer  from  her  mossy  couch. 
Com.    What  chance,  good  ^ady,  hath  bereft 

you  thus  ? 
Lad.   Dial  darkness,  and  this  leafy  laby- 
rinth. 
Com.  Could  that  divide  you  from  near  ush- 
ering guides  ? 
Lad.  They  left  me  weary  on  a  grassy  turf. 
Com.  By  falsehood,  or  discourtesy  ?  or  why  ? 
Lad.  To  seek  i'  th'  valley  some  cool  friendly 

spring. 
Com.  And  left  your  fair  side  all  unguarded, 

lady? 
Lad.    They  were  but  twain,  and  purposed 

quick  return. 
Com,  Perhaps  forestalling  night  prevented 

them. 
Lad.  How  easy  my  misfortune  is  to  hit ! 
Com.  Imports  their  loss,  beside  the  present 

need  ? 
Lad.  No  less  than  if  I  should  my  brothers 

lose. 
Com.  Wei-e  they  of  manly  prime,  or  youth- 
ful bloom  ? 
Lad.  As  smooth  as  Hebe's  their  unrazored 

lips. 
Com.    Two  such  I  saw,  what  time  the  la- 
bored ox 
In  Ms  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came. 
And  the  swinked  hedger  at  his  supper  sat ; 
I  saw  them,  under  a  green  mantling  vine 
That  crawls  along  the  side  of  yon  small  hill, 
Plucking  ripe  clusters  from  the  tender  shoots. 
Their  port  was  more  than  human,  as  they 

stood ; 
I  took  it  for  a  fairy  vision 
Of  some  gay  creatures  of  the  element. 
That  in  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  live. 
And  play  i'  tli'  plighted  clouds.     I  was  awe- 
struck ; 
And  as  I  passed,  I  worshipped.     If  those  you 
seek, 


It  were  a  journey  like  the  path  to  heaven 
To  help  you  find  them. 

Lad.  Gentle  villager, 
What  readiest  way  would  bring  me  to  that 
place  ? 

Com.  Due  west  it  rises  from  this  shrubby 
point. 

Lad.   To  find  that  out,  good  shepheixl,  I 
suppose, 
In  such  a  scant  allowance  of  star-light, 
Would  overtask  the  best  land-pilot's  art. 
Without  the  sure  guess  of  well-practised  feet. 

Com.    I  know  each  lane,  and  every  alley 
green, 
Dingle  or  bushy  dell,  of  this  wild  wood, 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side — 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighborhood ; 
And  if  your  stray-attendants  be  yet  lodged, 
Or  shroud  within  these  limits,  I  shall  know 
Ere  morrow  wake,  or  the  low-roosted  lark 
From  her  thatched  pallat  rouse ;  if  otherwise, 
I  can  conduct  you,  lady,  to  a  low 
But  loyal  cottage,  where  you  may  be  safe 
Till  further  quest. 

Lad.  Shepherd,  I  take  thy  word. 
And  trust  thy  honest-offered  courtesy, 
Which  oft  is  sooner  found  in  lowly  sheds 
With  smoky  rafters,  than  in  tap'stry  halls 
And   courts  of  princes,  where  it  first  was 

named, 
And  yet  is  most  pretended ;  in  a  place 
Less  warranted  than  this,  or  less  secure, 
I  cannot  be,  that  I  should  fear  to  change  it. 
Eye  me,  blest  Providence,  and  square  my 

trial 
To   my  proportioned  strength.      Shepherd, 
lead  on ! 

Enter  The  Two  Beothees. 

1  Be.  Unmuffle,  ye  faint  stars!    and  thou, 

fan*  moon. 
That  wont'st  to  love  the  traveller's  benison, 
Stoop   thy  pale   visage   through    an  amber 

cloud, 
And  disinherit  Chaos,  that  reigns  here 
In  double  night  of  darkness  and  of  shades ; 
Or  if  your  influence  be  quite  dammed  up 
With  black  usurping  mists,  some  gentle  taper, 
Though  a  rush  candle  from  the  wicker-hole 
Of  some  clay  habitation,  visit  us 


COMUS. 


06] 


"With  thy  long-levelled    rule    of   streaming 

light; 
And  thou  slialt  he  our  star  of  Arcady, 
Or  Tjrian  cynosure. 

2  Be.  Or  if  our  eyes 
Be  barred  that  happiness,  might  we  but  hear 
The  folded  flocks  penned  in  their  wattled 

cotes, 
Or  sound  of  pastoral  reed  with  oaten  stops, 
Or  whistle  from  the  lodge,  or  village  cock 
Count    the    night  watches    to  his  feathery 

dames, 
'T  would  be  some  solace  yet,  some  little  cheer- 
ing 
In  this  close  dungeon  of  innumerous  boughs. 
But  oh  that  hapless  virgin,  our  lost  sister! 
Where  may  she  wander  now,  Avhither  betake 

her 
From  the  chill  dew,  among  rude  burs  and 

thistles  ? 
Perhaps  some  cold  bank  is  her  bolster  now ; 
Or  'gainst  the  rugged  bark  of  some  broad  elm 
Leans  her  unpillowed  head,  fraught  with  sad 

fears ; 
What  if  in  wild  amazement  and  affright, 
Or,  while  we  speak,  within  the  direful  grasp 
Of  savage  hunger,  or  of  savage  heat? 

1  Be.  Peace,  brother!    be  not  over-exqui- 
site 
To  cast  the  fashioij  of  uncertain  evils ; 
For  grant  they  be  so — while  they  rest  un- 
known. 
What  need  a  man  forestall  his  date  of  grief. 
And  run  to  meet  what  he  would  most  avoid? 
Or  if  they  be  but  false  alarms  of  fear, 
IIow  bitter  is  such  self-delusion! 
I  do  not  think  my  sister  so  to  seek. 
Or  so  unprincipled  in  virtue's  book, 
And  the  sweet  peace  that  goodness  bosoms 

ever. 
As  that  the  single  want  of  liglit  and  noise 
(Not  being  in  danger,  as  I  trust  she  is  not) 
Could  stir  the  constant  mood  of  her  calm 

thoughts, 
And  put  them  into  misbecoming  plight. 
Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  virtue  would 
By  her  own  radiant  light,  though  sun  and 

moon 
Were  in  the  flat  sea  sunk.    And  wisdom's  self 
Oft  seeks  to  sweet  retired  solitude, 
Where,  witli  her  best  nurse,  contemplation, 

75 


She  plumes  her  feathers,  and  lets  grow  her 

wings, 
That  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort 
Were  all-to  ruffled,  and  sometimes  impaired. 
He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast 
May  sit  i'  th'  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  day ; 
But  he  that  hides  a    dark  soul,   and  foul 

thoughts, 
Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  sun ; 
Himself  is  his  own  dungeon. 

2  Br.  'T  is  most  true, 
That  musing  meditation  most  aflfects 
The  pensive  secrecy  of  desert  cell, 
Far  from  the  cheerful  haunt  of  men  and  herds, 
And  sits  as  safe  as  in  a  senate  house ; 
For  who  would  rob  a  hermit  of  his  weeds. 
His  few  books,  or  his  beads,  or  maple  dish. 
Or  do  his  gray  hairs  any  violence  ? 
But  beauty,  like  the  fair  Hesperian  tree 
Laden  with   blooming  gold,   had  need  the 

guard 
Of  di-agon  watch  Avith  unenchanted  eye, 
To  save  her  blossoms,  and  defend  her  fruit 
From  the  rash  hand  of  bold  incontinence. 
You  may  as  well  spread  out  the  unsunned 

heaps 
Of  miser's  treasure  by  an  outlaw's  den, 
And  tell  me  it  is  safe,  as  bid  me  hope 
Danger  will  wink  on  opportunity, 
And  let  a  single  helpless  maiden  pass 
Uninjured  in  this  wild  surrounding  waste. 
Of  night,  or  loneliness,  it  recks  me  not ; 
I  fear  the  dread  events  that  dog  them  both. 
Lest  some  ill-greeting  touch  attempt  the  per- 
son 
Of  our  unowned  sister. 

1  Be.  I  do  not,  brother. 

Infer  as  if  I  thought  my  sister's  state 
Secure  without  all  doubt,  or  controversy ; 
Yet  where  an  equal  poise  of  hope  and  fear 
Does  arbitrate  th'  event,  my  nature  is 
That  I  incline  to  hope,  rather  than  fear. 
And  gladly  banish  squint  suspicion. 
My  sister  is  not  so  defenceless  left 
As  you  imagine  ;  slio  has  hidden  strength. 
Which  you  remember  not. 

2  Be.  What  hidden  strength, 

Unless  the  strength  of  lieaven,  if  you  mean 
that  ? 
1  Be.  I  mean  that  too,  but  yet  a  hidden 
strength, 


562 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


Which,  if  heaven  gave  it,  may  be  termed  her 

own : 
'T  is  chastity,  my  brotlier,  chastity  : 
She  that  has  tliat  is  chid  in  complete  steel. 
And  like  a  quivered  nympli  with  arrows  keen 
May   trace    huge    forests,    and    unharbored 

heaths, 
Infamous  hills  and  sandy  perilous  wilds, 
Where,  through  the  sacred  rays  of  chastity, 
No  savage  fierce,  bandit,  or  mountaineer, 
Will  dare  to  soil  her  virgin  purity ; 
Tea  there,  where  very  desolation  dwells 
By  grots,  and  caverns  shagged  with  horrid 

shades, 
She  may  pass  on  with  unblenched  majesty. 
Be  it  not  done  in  pride,  or  in  presumption. 
Some  say  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night, 
In  fog,  or  fire,  by  lake,  or  moorish  fen. 
Blue,  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn,  unlaid  ghost, 
That  breaks  his  magic  chains  at  curfew  time, 
No  goblin,  or  swart  fairy  of  the  mine, 
Hath  hurtful  power  o'er  true  virginity. 
Do  ye  believe  me  yet,  or  shall  I  call 
Antiquity  from  the  old  schools  of  Greece 
To  testify  the  arms  of  Chastity  ? 
Hence  had  the  huntress  Dian  her  dread  bow. 
Fair  silver-shafted  queen,  forever  chaste, 
'Wherewith  she  tamed  the  brinded  lioness 
And  spotted  mountain  pard,  but  set  at  naught 
The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid ;  gods  and  men 
Feared  her  stern  frown,  and  she  was  queen  o' 

the  woods. 
"What  was  that  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield 
That  wise  Minerva  wore,  unconquered  vir- 
gin, 
"Wherewith  she  freezed  her  foes  to  congealed 

stone. 
But  rigid  looks  of  chaste  austerity. 
And  noble  grace  that  dashed  brute  violence 
"With  sudden  adoration,  anc?  blank  awe  ? 
So  dear  to  heaven  is  saintly  chastity. 
That  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so 
A  thousand  liveried  angels  lackey  her, 
Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt. 
And  in  clear  dream,  and  solemn  vision, 
Tell  lier  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear. 
Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 
Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  th'  outward  shape. 
The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind, 
And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence. 
Till  all  be  made  immortal ;  but  when  lust. 


By  unchaste  looks,  loose  gestures,  and  foul 

talk. 
But  most  by  lewd  and  lavish  act  of  sin. 
Lets  in  defilement  to  the  inward  parts. 
The  soul  grows  clotted  by  contagion, 
Imbodies  and  imbrutes,  till  she  quite  lose 
The  divine  property  of  her  first  being. 
Such  are  those  thick  and   gloomy  shadows 

damp. 
Oft  seen  in  chai'nel  vaults,  and  sepulchres. 
Lingering,  and  sitting  by  a  new-made  grave, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  body  that  it  loved. 
And  linked  itself  by  carnal  sensuality 
To  a  degenerate  and  degraded  state. 

2  Br.  How  charming  is  divine  philosophy ! 
Not  harsh,  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose, 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute, 
And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectared  sweets, 
"Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns. 

1  Br.  List!  list!  I  hear 

Some  far  oft*  halloo  break  the  silent  air. 

2  Br.  Methought  so,  too;  what  should  it 

be? 

1  Br.  For  certain 

Either  some  one  like  us,  night-foundered  here, 
Or  else    some   neighbor  wood-man ;    or,  at 

worst. 
Some  roving  robber  calling  to  his  fellows. 

2  Br.    Heaven    keep  my   sister.      Again, 

again,  and  near ; 
Best  draw,  and  stand  upon  our  guard. 

1  Be.  I  '11  halloo  ; 

If  he  be  friendly,  he  comes  well ;  if  not, 
Defence  is  a  good  cause,  and  heaven  be  for 
us. 

Tlie  attendant  Spirit,  Tialited  Wke  a  Shepherd. 

That  halloo  I  should  know,  what  are  you? 

speak ; 
Come  not  too  near,  you  fall  on  iron  stakes 

else. 
Spi.  W'hat  voice  is  that  ?  my  young  lord  ? 

speak  again. 

2  Br.  O  brother,  't  is  my  father's  shepherd, 

sure. 
1  Br.  Thyrsis?  whose  artful  strains  have 

oft  delayed 
The  huddling  brook  to  hear  his  madrigal. 
And  sweetened  every  musk-rose  of  the  dale. 
How  cam'st  thou  here,  good  swain?   hath 

any  ram 


COMUS. 


563 


Slipt  from  the  fold,  or  young  kid  lost  Ms 

dam, 
Or  straggling  wether  the  pent  flock  forsook  ? 
IIow  could'st  thou  find  this  dark  sequestered 

nook  ? 
Spi.  O  mj  loved  master's  heir,   and  his 

next  joy, 
I  came  not  here  on  such  a  trivial  toy 
As  a  strayed  ewe,  or  to  pursue  the  stealth 
Of  pilfering  wolf;  not  all  the  fleecy  wealth 
That  doth  enrich   these   downs  is  worth  a 

thought 
To  this  my  errand,  and  the  care  it  brought. 
But  oh,  my  virgin  lady,  where  is  she  ? 
How  chance  she  is  not  in  your  company  ? 
1  Br.  To  tell  thee  sadly,  shepherd,  without 

blame, 
Or  our  neglect  we  lost  her  as  we  came. 
Spi.  Aye  me  unhappy !  then  my  fears  are 

true. 
1  Br.  "What  fears,  good  Thyrsis  ?     Prithee 

briefly  shew. 
Spi.  I  '11  tell  ye ;  't  is  not  vain  or  fabulous 
(Though  so  esteemed  by  shallow  ignorance) 
"What  the  sage  poets,  taught  by  th'  heavenly 


muse, 


Storied  of  old  in  high  immortal  verse, 
Of  dire  chimeras  and  enchanted  isles. 
And  rifted   rocks  whose    entrance  leads  to 

hell; 
For  such  there  be,  but  unbelief  is  blind. 

"Within  the  navel  of  this  hideous  wood. 
Immured  in  cypress  shadas  a  sorcerer  dwells. 
Of  Bacclius  and  of  Circe  born,  great  Comus, 
Deep  skilled  in  all  his  mother's  witcheries; 
And  here  to  every  thirsty  wanderer 
By  sly  enticement  gives  liis  baneful  cup, 
With  many  murmurs  mixed,  whose  pleasing 

poison 
The   visage    quite   transforms  of    him   that 

drinks, 
And  the  inglorious  likeness  of  a  beast 
Fixes  instead,  unmoulding  reason's  mintage 
Charactered  in  the  face ;  this  have  I  learnt 
Tending  my  flocks  hard  by  i'  th'  hilly  crofts. 
That  brow  this  bottom  glade,  whence  night 

by  night 
He  and  his  monstrous  rout  are  heard  to  howl 
Like  stabled  wolves,  or  tigers  at  their  prey, 
Doing  abhorred  rites  to  Ilecate 
In  their  obscured  haunts  of  inmost  bowers. 


Yet  have  they  many  baits,  and  guileful  spells. 
To"  inveigle  and  invite  th'  unwary  sense 
Of  them  that  pass  unweeting  by  the  way. 
This  evening  late,  by  then  the  chewing  flocks 
Had  ta'en  their  supper  on  the  savory  herb 
Of  knot-grass  dew-besprint,  and  were  in  fold, 
I  sat  me  down  to  watch  upon  a  bank 
"With  ivy  canopied,  and  interwove 
"With  flaunting  honey-suckle,  and  began, 
"Wrapt  in  a  pleasing  fit  of  melancholy. 
To  meditate  my  rural  minstrelsy. 
Till  fancy  had  her  fill ;  but  ere  a  close, 
The  wonted  roar  was  up  amidst  the  woods. 
And  fiUed  the  air  with  barbarous  dissonance ; 
At  which  I  ceased,  and  listened  them  awhile, 
Till  an  unusual  stop  of  sudden  silence 
Gave  respite  to  the  drowsy  flighted  steeds 
That  draw  the  litter  of  close-curtained  sleep ; 
At  last  a  soft  and  solemn  breathing  sound 
Rose  like  a  steam  of  rich  distilled  perfames, 
And  stole  upon  .the  air,  that  even  silence 
"Was  took  ere  she  was  ware,  and  wished  she 

might 
Deny  her  nature,  and  be  never  more. 
Still  to  be  so  displaced.     I  was  all  ear. 
And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death  ;  but  oli,  ere  long. 
Too  well  I  did  perceive  it  was  the  voice 
Of  my  most  honored  lady,  your  dear  sister. 
Amazed  I  stood,  harrowed  with  grief  and 

fear ; 
And  0  poor  hapless  nightingale,  thought  I, 
How  sweet  thou  sing'st,  how  near  the  deadly 

snare ! 
Then  down  the  lawns  I  ran  with  headlong 

haste. 
Through  paths  and  turnings   often  trod  by 

Till  guided  by  mine  ear  I  found  the  place, 
"Where  that  damned  wizard,  hid  in  sly  dis- 
guise, 
(For  so  by  certain  signs  I  knew)  had  met 
Already,  ere  my  best  speed  could  prevent, 
The  aidless  innocent  lady,  his  wished  prey, 
Who  gently  asked  if  he  had  seen  such  two, 
Supposing  him  some  neighbor  villager. 
Longer  I  durst  not  stay,  but  soon  I  guessed 
Ye  were  the  two  she  meant;    with  that  I 

sprung 
Into  swift  flight,  till  I  had  found  you  here 
But  further  know  I  not. 


564 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


2  Bk.  O  niglit  ;iud  sliades, 
How  are  ye  joined  with  hell  in  triple  knot, 
Against  the  unarmed  weakness  of  one  virgin, 
Alone  and  helpless!     Is  this  the  confidence 
You  gave  me,  brother  ? 

1  Bi:.  Yes,  and  keep  it  still. 
Lean  on  it  safely ;  not  a  period 
^hall  be  unsaid  for  me ;  against  the  threats 
Of  malice  or  of  sorcery,  or  that  power 
"Which  erring  men  call    chance,  this  I  hold 

firm. 
Virtue  may  be  assailed,  but  never  hurt. 
Surprised  by  unjust  force,  but  not  enthralled; 
Yea,  even  that  which  mischief  meant  most 

harm. 
Shall  in  the  happy  trial  prove  most  glory; 
But  evil  on  itself  shall  back  recoil. 
And  mix  no  more  with  goodness,  when  at 

last. 
Gathered  like  scum,  and  settled  to  itself. 
It  shall  be  in  eternal,  restless  change 
Self-fed,  and  self-consumed  ;  if  this  fail. 
The  pillared  firmament  is  rottenness, 
And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble.     But  come, 

let's  on. 
Against  th'  opposing  will  and  arm  of  heaven 
May  never  this  just  sword  be  lifted  up ; 
But  for  that  damned  magician,  let  him  be 

girt 
With  all  the  grisly  legions  that  troop 
Under  the  sooty  flag  of  Acheron, 
Harpies  and  hydras,  or    all  the    monstrous 

forms 
'Twixt  Africa  and  Ind,  I  '11  find  him  out, 
And  force  him  to  restore  his  purchase  back. 
Or  drag  him  by  the  curls  to  a  foul  death. 
Cursed  as  his  life. 

Spi.  Alas !  good  venturous  youth, 
I  love  thy  courage  yet,  and  bold  emprise ; 
But  here  thy  sword  can  do  thee  little  stead. 
Far  other  arms  and  other  weapons  must 
Be  those  that  quell  the  might  of   hellish 

charms ; 
He  with  his  bare  wand  can  unthread  thy 

joints. 
And  crumble  all  thy  sinews. 

1  Bn.  Why,  prithee,  shepherd, 
llow  durst  thou    then  tliyself  approach  so 

near 
As  to  make  this  relation  ? 
Spi-  Care,  and  utmost  shifts 


How  to  secure  the  lady  from  surprisal, 
Brought  to  my  mind  a  certain  shepherd  lad, 
Of  small  regard  to  see  to,  yet  well  skilled 
In  every  virtuous  plant  and  healing  herb 
That  spreads  her  verdant  leaf  to  th'  morning 

ray  : 
He  loved  me  well,  and  oft  would  beg  mo 

sing, 
Which  when  I  did,  he  on  the  tender  grass 
Would  sit,  and  hearken  even  to  ecstasy, 
And  in  requital  ope  his  leathern  scrip. 
And  shew  me  simples  of  a  thousand  names. 
Telling  their  strange  and  vigorous  faculties. 
Among  the  rest  a  small  unsightly  root, 
But  of  divine  effect,  he  culled  me  out; 
The  leaf  was  darkish,  and  had  prickles  on  it, 
But  in  another  country,  as  he  said, 
Bore  a  bright  golden  flower,  but  not  in  this 

soil — 
Unknown,  and  like  esteemed,  and  the  dull 

swain 
Treads  on  it  daily  with  his  clouted  shoon; 
And  yet  more  medicinal  is  it  than  that  moly 
That  Hermes  once  to  wise  Ulysses  gave ; 
He  called  it  hsemony,  and  gave  it  me. 
And  bade  me  keep  it  as  of  sovereign  use 
'Gainst  all  enchantments,  mildew,  blast,  or 

damp. 
Or  ghastly  furies'  apparition. 
I  pursed  it  up;  but  little  reckoning  made. 
Till  now  that  this  extremity  compelled ;  • 
But  now  I  find  it  true ;  for  by  this  means 
I  knew  the  foul  enchanter,  though  disguised, 
Entered  the  very  lime-twigs  of  his  spells, 
And  yet  came  off;  if  you  have  this  about 

you 
(As  I  will  give  you  when  we  go),  you  may 
Boldly  assault  the  necromancer's  hall ; 
Where  if  he  be,  with  dauntless  hardihood 
And  brandished  blade,  rush  on  him,  break 

his  glass. 
And  shed  the  luscious  liquor  on  the  ground. 
But  seize  his  wand;  though  he  and  his  cursed 

crew 
Fierce  sign  of  battle  make,  and  menace  high, 
Or,  like  the  sons  of  Vulcan,  vomit  smoke, 
Y''et  will  they  soon  retire  if  he  but  shrink. 
1  Br.   Thyrsis,  lead  on  apace,  I  'II  follow 

thee. 
And  some  good  angel  bear  a  shield  before 

US. 


COMUS. 


565 


The  scene  changes  to  a  stately  palace,  set  oxit 
with  all  manner  of  dc-licionsness  ;  soft  mu- 
sic, tables  spread  icith  all  dainties.  Comcs 
appears  with  his  raljhle,  and  the  Lady  set  in 
an  enchanted  chair,  to  whom  he  offers  his 
glass,  which  she  p)uts  hy,  and  goes  about  to 
rise. 

Com.   Nay,  lady,  sit!   if  I  but  wave  this 

wand, 
Your  nerves  are  all  chained  up  in  alabaster, 
And  you  a  statue,  or  as  Daphne  was 
Root-bound,  that  fled  Apollo. 

Lad.  Fool,  do  not  boast ! 
Thou  canst  not  touch  the  freedom  of  my  mind 
With  all  thy  charms,  although  this  corporal 

rind 
Tliou  hast  immanacled,  while    heaven  sees 

good. 
Com.  Why  are  you  vexed,  lady  ?   why  do 

you  frown? 
Here  dwell  no  frowns,  nor  anger;  from  these 

gates 
Sorrow  flies  far ;  see,  here  be  all  the  pleasures 
That   fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts, 
When  the  fresh  blood  grows  lively,  and  returns 
Brisk  as  the  April  buds  in  primrose-season. 
And  first  behold  this  cordial  julep  here. 
That  flames  and  dances  in  his  crystal  bounds. 
With  spirits  of  balm   and  fragrant   syrups 

mixed ; 
Not  that  Nepenthes,  which  the  wife  of  Thone 
In  Egypt  gave  to  Jove-born  Helena, 
Is  of  such  power  to  stir  up  joy  as  this. 
To  life  so  friendly,  or  so  cool  to  thirst. 
Why  should  you  be  so  cruel  to  yourself, 
And  to  those  dainty  limbs  which  nature  lent 
For  gentle  usage,  and  soft  delicacy  ? 
But  you  invert  the  covenants  of  her  trust. 
And  harshly  deal,  like  an  ill  borrower, 
With  that  which  you  received  on  other  terms. 
Scorning  the  unexempt  condition 
By  which  all  mortal  frailty  must  'subsist. 
Refreshment  after  toil,  ease  after  pain. 
That  bave  been  tired  all  day  without  repast, 
And  timely  rest  have  wanted ;  but  fair  virgin. 
This  will  restore  all  soon. 

Lad.  'T  will  not,  false  traitor — 
'T  will  not  restore  the  truth  and  honesty 
That  tliou  hast  banished  from  tliy  tongue  with 

lies. 


Was  this  the  cottage,  and  the  safe  abode, 
Thou  told'st  me  of?     What  grim  aspects  arc 

these. 
These  ugly-headed  monsters?     Mercy  guard 

me! 
Hence  with  thy  brewed  enchantments,  foul 

deceiver ! 
Hast  thou  betrayed  my  credulous  innocence 
With  visored  falsehood  and  base  forgery  ? 
And  would'st  thou  seek  again  to  trap  me  here 
With  liquorish  baits,  fit  to  insnare  a  brute? 
Were  it  a  di;aft  for  Juno  when  she  banquets, 
I  would  not  taste  thy  treasonous  ofter;  none 
But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things, 
And  that  which  is  not  good  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-governed  and  wise  appetite. 

Com.  Oh  foolishness  of  men !  that  lend  their 
ears 
To  those  budge  doctors  of  the  Stoic  fur, 
xind  fetch  their  precepts  from  the  Cynic  tub, 
Praising  the  lean  and  sallow  abstinence. 
Wherefore  did  nature  pour  her  bounties  forth 
With  such  a  full  and  unwithdrawing  hand. 
Covering  the   earth  Avith  odoi-s,  fruits,  and 

flocks. 
Thronging  the  seas  with  spawn  innumerable. 
But  all  to  please,  and  sate  the  curious  taste  ? 
And  set  to  work  millions  of  spinning  worms. 
That  in  their  green  shops  weave  the  smooth- 
haired  silk 
To  deck  her  sons ;  and  that  no  corner  might 
Be  vacant  of  her  plenty,  in  her  own  loins 
She  hutcht  th'  all-worshipped  ore,  and  pre- 
cious gems 
To  store  her  children  with :  if  all  the  world 
Sliould  in  a  pet  of  tcmp'rance  feed  on  pulse, 
Drink  the  clear  stream,  and  nothing  wear  but 

frieze, 
Th'   all-giver  would  be  unthanked,  would  be 

unpraised. 
Not  half  his  riches  known,  and  yet  despised, 
And  we  should  serve  him  as  a  grudging  mas- 
ter. 
As  a  penurious  niggard  of  his  wealth, 
And  live  like  nature's  bastards,  not  her  sons. 
Who  would  be  quite  surcharged  wilh  lier  own 

weiglit. 
And  strangled  with  her  Avaste  fertility, 
Th'   earth    cumbered,    and   tlie   winged    air 

darked  with  plumes. 
The  herds  would  over-multitude  their  lords, 


5CC 


POEMS    or    THE    IMAGINATION. 


The  sen  o'erfrauglit  would  swell,  and  tli'  un- 

soiiglit  diamonds 
Would  so  iniblaze  the  forelioad  of  tho  deep, 
And  so  bestnd  with  stars,  that  they  below 
Would  grow  inured  to  light,  and  come  at  last 
To  gazo  upon  the  sun  with  shameless  brows. 
List,  lady,  be  not  coy,  and  be  not  cozened 
"With  that  same  vaunted  name,  virginity. 
Beauty  is  nature's  coin,  must  not  be  hoarded. 
But  must  be  current,  and  the  good  thereof 
Consists  in  mutual  and  partaken  bliss, 
Unsavory  in  th'  enjoyment  of  itself; 
If  you  let  slip  time,  like  a  neglected  rose 
It  withers  on  the  stalk  with  languished  head. 
Beauty  is  nature's  brag,  and  must  be  shewn 
In  courts",  at  feasts,  and  high  solemnities, 
"Where  most  may  wonder  at  the  Avorkman- 

ship; 
It  is  for  homely  features  to  keep  home, 
They  had  their  name  thence;    coarse  com- 
plexions 
And  cheeks  of  sorry  grain  will  serve  to  ply 
The  sampler,  and  to  tease  the  housewife's 

wool. 
What  need  a  vermeil-tinctured  lip  for  that, 
Love-darting  eyes,  or  tresses  like  the  morn? 
There  was  another  meaning  in  these  gifts; 
Think  what,  and  be   advised,  you   are  but 

young  yet. 
Lad.  I  had  not  thought  to  have  unlocked 

my  lips 
In  this  unhallowed  air,  but  that  this  juggler 
Would  think  to  charm  my  judgment,  as  mine 

eyes. 
Obtruding  false  rules  pranked  in    reason's 

garb. 
I  hate  when  vice  can  bolt  her  arguments. 
And  virtue  has  no  tongue  to  check  her  pride. 
Impostor,  do  not  charge  most  innocent  nature 
As  if  she  would  her  children  should  be  riotous 
AVith  her  abundance ;  she,  good  cateress, 
Means  her  provision  only  to  the  good. 
That  live  according  to  her  sober  laws, 
And  holy  dictate  of  spare  temperance ; 
If  every  just  man,  that  now  fjines  with  want. 
Had  but  a  moderate  and  beseeming  share 
Of  that  which  lewdly-pampered  luxury 
ISTow  heaps  upon  some  few  with  vast  excess, 
Nature's  full  blessings  would  be  well  dispensed 
In  unsuperfluous  even  proportion. 
And  she  no  whit  encumbered  with  her  store; 


And  then  the  giver  would  be  better  thanked. 
His  praise  due  paid ;  for  swinish  gluttony 
Ne'er  looks  to    heaven  amidst  his  gorgcoup 

feast, 
But  wilh  besotted  base  ingratitude 
Crams,  and  blasphemes  his  feeder.    Shall  I 

go  on? 
Or  have  I  said  enough  ?     To  him  that  dares 
Arm  his  profane  tongue  with  contemptuous 

Avords 
Against  the  sun-clad  power  of  chastity, 
Fain  would  I   something  say,  yet  to  Avhat 

end? 
Thou  hast  not  ear,  nor  soul,  to  apprehend 
The  sublime  notion  and  high  mystery 
That  must  be  uttered  to  unfold  the  sage 
And  serious  doctrine  of  vii-ginity ; 
And  thou  art  worthy  that  thou  should'st  not 

know 
More  happiness  than  this  thy  present  lot. 
Enjoy  your  dear  wit,  and  gay  rhetoric, 
That  hath  so  well  been  taught  her  dazzling 

fence, 
Thou  art  not  fit  to  hear  thyself  convinced ; 
Yet  should  I  try,  the  uncontrolled  worth 
Of  this  pure  cause  would  kindle   my  rapt 

spirits 
To  such  a  flame  of  sacred  vehemence 
That  dumb  things  would  be  moved  to  sym- 
pathize. 
And  the  brute  earth  would  lend  her  nerves, 

and  shake. 
Till  all  thy  magic. structures,  reared  so  high. 
Were  shattered  into  heaps  o'er  thy  false  head. 

Com.  She  fables  not;  I  feel  that  I  do  fear 
Her  words  set  ofi"  by  some  superior  power ; 
And  though  not  mortal,  yet  a  cold  shudder- 
ing dew 
Dips  me  all  o'er,  as  when  the  Avrath  of  Jove 
Speaks  thunder,  and  the  chains  of  Erebus, 
To  some  of  Saturn's  crew.     I  must  dissemble, 
And  ti-y  her  yet  more  strongly.     Come,  no 

more ; 
This  is  mere  moral  babble,  and  direct 
Against  the  canon  laws  of  our  foundation  ; 
I  must  not  suffer  this;  yet  't  is  but  the  lees 
And  settlings  of  a  melancholy  blood. 
But  this  will  cure  all  straight;  one  sip  of  this 
Will  bathe  the  drooping  spirits  in  delight 
Beyond  the  bliss  of  dreams.     Be  wise,  and 
taste — 


COMUS. 


56'J 


n 


Tlie  Brothers  rush  in  with  swords  draicn, 
wrest  his  glass  out  of  7ds  Jumd,  and  hreah 
it  against  the  ground  ;  Ms  rout  male  sign 
of  resistance,  hut  are  all  driven  in;  the 
attendant  Spirit  comes  in. 

Spi.  Wliat !  have  you  let  the  false  enchanter 
'scape  ? 
Oh  ye  mistook!  ye  should  have  snatched  his 

wand 
And  bound  him  fast:    without  his  rod  re- 
versed, 
And  backward  mutters  of  dissevering  power, 
We  cannot  free  the  lady  that  sits  here 
In  stony  fetters  fixed,  and  motionless. 
Yet  stay!  be  not  disturbed;   now  I  bethink 

me, 
Some  other  means  I  have  which  may  be  used, 
"Which  once  of  Meliboeus  old  I  learnt, 
The  soothest  shepherd  that  e'er  piped  on 
plains. 
There  is  a  gentle  nymph  not  far  from  hence, 
That  with  moist  curb  sways  the  smooth  Sev- 
ern stream; 
Sabrina  is  her  name,  a  virgin  pure ; 
Whilome  she  was  the  daughter  of  Locrine, 
That  had  the  sceptre  from  Lis  father  Brute. 
She,  guileless  damsel,  flying  the  mad  pursuit 
Of  her  enraged  stepdame,  Guendolen, 
Commended  her  fair  innocence  to  the  flood, 
That  stayed  her  flight  with  his  cross-flowing 

course. 
The  water-nymphs  that  in  the  bottom  played, 
Held  up  their  pearled  wrists  and  took  her  in, 
Bearing  her  straight  to  aged  Nereus'  hall, 
Who,  piteous  of  her  woes,  reared  her  lank 

head. 
And  gave  her  to  his  daughters  to  imbathe 
In  nectared'lavers  strowed  with  asphodil. 
And  through  the  porch   and  iidct  of  each 

sense 
Dropt  in  ambrosial  oils  till  she  revived. 
And  undei-Avent  a  quick  immortal  change. 
Made  goddess  of  the  river ;  still  she  retains 
Her  maiden  gentleness,  and  oft  at  eve 
Visits  the  herds  along  the  twiliglit  meadows. 
Helping  all  urchin  blasts,  and  ill-luck  signs 
That  the  shrewd  meddling  elf   delights    to 

make. 
Which  she  with  precious  vialed  liquors  heals ; 
For  Avhich  Lhe  shepherds,  at  their  festivals. 


Carol  her  goodness  loud  in  rustic  lays, 

And  throw  sweet  garland  wreaths  into  hex 

stream, 
Of  pansies,  pinks,  and  gaudy  daffodils. 
And,  as  the  old  swain  said,  she  can  unlock 
The  clasping  charm,  and  thaw  the  mumming 

spell. 
If  she  be  right  invoked  in  warbled  song; 
For  maidenhood  she  loves,  and  will  be  swift 
To  aid  a  virgin,  such  as  was  herself, 
In  hard  besetting  need;  this  will  I  try. 
And  add  the  power  of  some  adjuring  verse. 

SOXG. 

Sabrin'A  fair, 

Listen  where  thou  art  sitting 
Under  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave, 

In  twisted  braids  of  lilies  knitting 
The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair; 

Listen,  for  dear  honor's  sake. 

Goddess  of  the  silver  lake. 
Listen  and  save ! 
Listen,  and  appear  to  us 
In  name  of  great  Oceanus ; 
By  th'  earth-shaking  ISTeptune's  mace. 
And  Tethy's  grave  majestic  pace; 
By  hoary  Kerens'  wrinkled  look. 
And  the  Carpathian  Avizard's  hook ; 
By  scaly  Triton's  winding  shell. 
And  old  sooth-saying  Glaucus'  spell; 
By  Leucothea's  lovely  hands. 
And  her  son  that  rules  the  strands; 
By  Thetis'  tinsel-slippered  feet, 
And  the  songs  of  sirens  sweet ; 
By  dead  Parthenope's  dear  tomb, 
And  fair  Ligea's  golden  comb, 
Wherewith  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks, 
Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks; 
By  all  the  nymphs  that  nightly  dance 
Upon  thy  streams  with  wily  glance — 
Rise,  rise,  and  heave  tliy  rosy  head 
From  thy  coral-paven  bed. 
And  bridle  in  thy  headlong  wave. 
Till  thou  our  summons  answered  have. 
Listen  and  save ! 

Sabrina  rises,  attended  ly  icater  rty^i^lis,  and 
sings. 

By  the  rushy-fringed  bank. 
Where  grows  the  willow  and  the  osier  dank 


DCi8 


rOEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


My  sliding  cliariot  stays, 

Tliick  set  with  agate,  and  the  azure  sheen 
Of  turkois  hhie,  and  cmerakl  green. 

That  in  the  cliannel  strays ; 
Whilst  from  otf  the  waters  fleet 
Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet 
O'er  the  cowslip's  velvet  head, 

That  hcnds  not  as  I  tread ; 
Gentle  swain,  at  thy  request 
I  am  here. 
Spi.  Goddess  dear, 

We  implore  thy  powerful  hand 

To  undo  the  charmed  band 

Of  true  virgin  here  distressed. 

Through  the  force  and  through  the  wile 

Of  unhlest  enchanter  vile. 

Sab.  Shepherd,  't  is  my  office  host 

To  help  ensnared  chastity : 

Brightest  lady,  look  on  me ! 

Thus  I  sprinkle  on  thy  breast 

Drops  that  from  my  fountain  pure 

I  have  kept  of  precious  cure. 

Thrice  upon  thy  fingers'  tip, 

Thrice  upon  thy  rubied  lip ; 

Next  this  marble  venomed  seat, 

Smeared  with  gums  of  glutinous  heat, 

I  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold : 

Kow  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold ; 

And  I  must  haste  ere  morning  hour 

To  wait  in  Amphitrite's  bower. 

Sabeesta  descends^  and  the  Lady  rises  out  of 
lier  seat. 

Spi.  Virgin,  daughter  of  Locrine, 
Sprung  from  old  Anchises'  line. 
May  thy  brimmed  waves  for  this 
Their  full  tribute  never  miss 
From  a  thousand  petty  rills, 
That  tumble  down  the  snowy  hills; 
Summer  drought,  or  singed  air, 
Never  scorch  thy  tresses  fair, 
Xor  wet  October's  torrent  flood 
Thy  molten  crystal  fill  with  mud  ; 
May  thy  billows  roll  ashore 
The  beryl,  and  the  golden  ore ; 
May  thy  lofty  head  be  crowned 
With  niany  a  tower  and  terrace  round. 
And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 
With  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon. 


Come,  ladyl  while  heaven  lends  us  grace, 
Let  us  fly  this  cursed  place. 
Lest  the  sorcerer  us  entice 
AVitli  some  other  new  device. 
Not  a  waste  or  needless  sound. 
Till  we  come  to  holier  ground; 
I  shall  be  your  faithful  guide 
Through  this  gloomy  covert  wide ; 
And  not  many  furlongs  thence 
Is  your  father's  residence. 
Where  this  night  are  met  in  state 
Many  a  friend  to  gratulate 
His  wished  presence,  and  beside 
All  the  swains  that  near  abide, 
W^ith  jigs  and  rural  dance  resort, 
W"e  shall  catch  them  at  their  sport. 
And  our  sudden  coming  there 
Will  double  all  their  mirth  and  cheer ; 
Come,  let  us  haste,  the  stars  grow  high, 
But  night  sits  monarch  yet  in  the  mid  sky. 

Tltc  scene  clianges,  presenting  Ludlow  to^.cn 
and  the  presidenfs  castle;  then  come  in 
country  dancers;  after  them  the  attendant 
Spirit,  toith  the  two  Bp.othees  and  the 
Lady. 

SONG. 

Spi.  Back,  shepherds,  back !  enough  your 
play 
Till  nest  sun-shine  holiday ; 
Here  be  without  duck  or  nod 
Other  trippings  to  be  trod — 
Of  lighter  toes,  and  such  court  guise 
As  Mercury  did  first  devise 
With  the  mincing  Dryades 
On  the  lawns,  and  on  the  leas.* 

This  second  song  presents  them  to  their  fathei 
and  mother. 

Noble  lord,  and  lady  bright, 
I  have  brought  ye  new  delight ; 
Here  behold,  so  goodly  grown. 
Three  fair  branches  of  your  own  ; 
Heaven  hatli  timely  tried  their  youth, 
Their  faith,  their  patience,  and  their  truth 
And  sent  them  here  through  hard  assays, 
With  a  crown  of  deathless  praise, 
To  triumph  in  victorious  dance 
O'er  sensual  folly  and  intemperance. 


HYLAS. 


OOP 


The  dances  ended,  the  Spirit  epiloguizes. 

Spi.  To  the  ocean  now  I  fly, 
And  those  happy  dimes  that  lie 
Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 
Up  in  the  broad  fiehls  of  the  sky. 
There  I  suck  the  liquid  air 
All  amidst  the  gardens  foir 
Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three 
That  sing  about  the  golden  tree. 
Along  the  crisped  shades  and  boAvers 
Eevels  the  spruce  and  jocund  spring; 
The  Graces,  and  the  rosy-bosomed  Hours, 
Tliither  all  their  bounties  bring; 
There  eternal  summer  dwells. 
And  west-winds  with  musky  wing 
About  the  cedared  alleys  fling 
Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells. 
Iris  tliere  with  humid  bow 
"Waters  the  odorous  banks  that  blow 
Flowers  of  more  mingled  hue 
Than  her  purfled  scarf  can  shew. 
And  drenches  with  Elysian  dew 
(List,  mortals,  if  your  ears  be  true) 
Beds  of  hyacinth  and  roses, 
Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 
"Waxing  well  of  his  deep  wound 
In  slumber  soft,  and  on  the  ground 
Sadly  sits  th'  Assyrian  queen ; 
But  far  above,in  spangled  sheen, 
Celestial  Cupid,  her  famed  son,  advanced, 
Holds  his  dear  Psyche  sweet  entranced, 
After  her  wand'ring  labors  long. 
Till  free  consent  the  gods  among 
Make  her  his  eternal  bride, 
And  from  her  fair  unspotted  side 
Two  blissful  twins  are  to  be  born, 
Youth  and  Joy ;  so  Jove  hath  sworn. 

But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done; 
I  can  fly,  or  I  can  run, 
Quickly  to  the  green  earth's  end, 
Wiiere  th^e  bowed  welkin  low  doth  bend. 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  tJic  corners  of  the  moon. 

Mortals  tliat  would  follow  inc. 

Love  virtue ;  she  alone  is  free ; 

She  can  teach  ye  how  to  climb 

Higher  than  the  sphery  chime; 

Or,  if  virtue  feeble  were. 

Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  lier. 

.  „  JouN  Milton. 

16 


EYLAS. 

Stokm-weaeied  Argo  slept  upon  the  water. 

No  cloud  was  seen ;  on  blue  and  craggy  Ida 

The  hot  noon  lay,  and  on  the  plain's  enamel; 

Cool,  in  his  bed,  alone,  the  swift  Scamander. 

""Why  should  I  haste?"  said  young  and  rosy 
Hylas : 

"  The  seas  were  rough,  and  long  the  way  from 
Colchis. 

Beneath  the  snow-white  awning  slumbers  Ja- 
son, 

Pillowed  upon  his  tame  Thessalian  panther ; 

The  shields  are  piled,  the  listless  oars  sus- 
pended 

On  the  black  tliwarts,  and  all  the  hairy  bonds- 
men 

Doze  on  the  benches.  They  may  wait  for 
water. 

Till  I  liave  bathed  in  mountain-born  Scaman- 
der." 

So  said,  unfilleting  his  purple  chlamys, 

And  putting  down  his  urn,  he  stood  a  mo- 
ment, 

Breathing  the  faint,  warm  odor  of  the  blos- 
soms 

That  spangled  thick  the  lovely  Dardan  mead- 
ows. 

Then,  stooping  lightly,  loosened  he  his  bus- 
kins. 

And  felt  with  shrinking  feet  the  crispy  ver- 
dure ; 

Naked,  save  one  light  robe  that  from  his 
shoulder 

Hung  to  his  knee,  the  youthful  flush  reveal- 
ing 

Of  warm,  white  limbs,  half-nerved  with  com- 
ing manhood, 

Yet  fair  and  smooth  with  tenderness  of  beauty. 

Now  to  the  river's  sandy  marge  advancing. 

He  dro{)i)ed  the  robe,  and  raised  his  head  ex- 
ulting 

In  the  clear  sunshine,  that  with  beam  era- 
bracing 

Held  him  against  Apollo's  glowing  bosom. 

For  sacred  to  Latona's  son  is  beauty, 

Sacred  is  youtli,  the  joy  of  youtlifnl  feeling, 

A  joy  indeed,  a  living  joy,  was  Hylas, 


570 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


Whence  Jove-begotten  Heracles,  the  mighty, 
To  men  though  terrible,  to  him  was  gentle. 
Smoothing  liis  rugged  nature  into  laughter 
When  the  boy  stole  his  club,  or  from  his 

shoulders 
Dragged  the  huge  paws  of  the  Nemosan  lion. 

The  thick,  brown  locks,  tossed  backward  from 
his  forehead. 

Fell  soft  about  his  temples  ;  manhood's  blos- 
som 

Not  yet  had  sprouted  on  his  chin,  but  freshly 

Curved  the  fair  cheek,  and  full  the  red  lips' 
parting. 

Like  a  loose  bow,  that  just  has  launched  its 
arrow. 

His  large  blue  eyes,  with  joy  dilate  and 
beamy, 

Were  clear  as  the  unshadowed  Grecian  heav- 
en ; 

Dewy  and  sleek  his  dimpled  shoulders  rounded 

To  the  white  arms  and  whiter  breast  between 
them. 

Downward,  the  supple  lines  had  less  of  soft- 
ness: 

His  back  was  like  a  god's ;  his  loins  were 
moulded 

As  if  some  pulse  of  power  began  to  waken  ; 

The  springy  fulness  of  his  thighs,  outswerv- 

Sloped  to  his  knee,   and,  lightly   dropping 

downward, 
Drew  the  curved  lines  that  breathe,  in  rest, 

of  motion. 

lie  saw  his  glorious  limbs  reversely  mirrored 

1 

In  the  still  wave,  and  stretched  his  foot  to 
press  it 

On  the  smooth  sole  that  answered  at  the  sur- 
face : 

Alas !  the  shape  dissolved  in  glimmering 
fragments. 

Then,  timidly  at  first,  he  dipped,  and  catching 

Quick  breath,  with  tingling  slmdder,  as  the 
waters 

Swirled  round  his  thighs,  and  deeper,  slowly 
deeper, 

Till  on  his  breast  the  river's  cheek  was  pil- 
lowed, 

^.nd  deeper  still,  till  every  shoreward  ripple 

Talked  in  liis  ear,  and  like  a  cygnet's  bosom 


His  white,  round  shoulder  shed  the  dripping 

crystal. 
There,  as  he  floated,  with  a  rapturous  motion, 
The  lucid  coolness  folding  close  around  him, 
The  lily-cradling  ripples  murmured,  "  Ilylas ! " 
He  shook  from  off  his  ears  the  hyacinthine 
Curls,  that  had  lain  unwet  upon  the  water. 
And  still    the    ripples  murmured,   "ITylas! 

Ilylas ! " 
He  thought:  "The  voices  are  but  ear-born 

music. 
Pan  dwells  not  here,  and  Echo  still  is  calling 
From  some  higli  cliff  that  tops  a  Thracian 

valley ; 
So  long  mine  ears,  on  tumbling  Ilellespontus, 
Have  heard  the  sea  waves  hammer  Argo's 

forehead. 
That  I  misdeem  the  fluting  of  this  current 
For  some  lost  nymph — "    Again  the  murmur, 

"Hylas!" 
And  with  the   sound   a   cold,  smooth  arm 

around  him 
Slid  like  a  wave,  and  down  the  clear,  green 

darkness 
Glimmered  on  either  side  a  shining  bosom — 
Glimmered,  uprising  slow  ;  and  ever  closer 
Wound  the  cold  ai'ms,  till,  climbing  to  his 

shoulders. 
Their  cheeks  lay  nestled,  while  the  purjile 

tangles, 
Their  loose  hair  made,  in  silken  mesh  enwound 

him. 
Their  eyes  of  clear,  pale  emerald  then  uplift- 
ing, 
They  kissed  his  neck- with  lips  of  humid  coral, 
And  once  again  there  came  a  murmur,  "Ily- 
las! 
Oh,  come  with  us !     Oh,  follow  where  we 

wander 
Deep  down  beneath  the  green,  translucent 

ceiling — 
Where  on  the  sandy  bed  of  old  Scamander 
With  cool  white  buds  we  braid  our  purple 

tresses, 
Lulled  by   the   bubbling  waves  around  ua 

stealing ! 
Thou  fair  Greek  boy,  oh  come  with  us !    Oh, 

follow 
Where  thou  no  more  shalt  hear  Propontis 

riot, 
But  by  our  arms  be  lapped  in  endless  quiet, 


HYLAS. 


571 


Within  the  glimmering  caves  of  ocean  hol- 
low ! 

We  have  no  love  ;  alone,  of  all  the  immortals, 

We  have  no  love.  Oh,  love  us,  we  who  press 
thee 

With  faithful  arms,  thougli  cold, — whose  lips 
caress  thee, — 

Who  hold  thy  beauty  prisoned!  Love  us, 
Hylas!" 

The  sound  dissolved  in  liquid  murmurs,  call- 
ing 

Still  as  it  faded,  "Come  with  us!  Oh  follow!" 

The  boy  grew  chill  to  feel  their  twining  pres- 
sure 

Lock  round  his  limbs,  and  bear  him,  vainly 
striving, 

Down  from  the  noonday  brightness,  "  Leave 
me,  naiads ! 

Leave  me!"  he  cried;  "the  day  to  me  is 
dearer 

Than  all  your  caves  deep-sphered  in  ocean's 
quiet. 

I  am  but  mortal,  seek  but  mortal  pleasure  : 

I  would  not  change  this  flexile,  warm  exist- 
ence, 

Though  swept  by  storms,  and  shocked  by 
Jove's  dread  thunder. 

To  be  a  king  beneath  the  dark-green  waters." 

Still  moaned  the  humid  lips,  between  their 
kisses, 

"  We  have  no  love.  Oh,  love  us,  we  who  love 
thee ! " 

And  came  in  answer,  thus,  the  words  of  Ily- 
las : 

"My  love  is  mortal.  For  the  Argive  maid- 
ens 

r  keep  the  kisses  which  your  lips  would 
ravish. 

Unlock  your  cold  white  arms— take  froni  my 
shoulder 

The  tangled  swell  of  your  bewildering  tresses. 

Let  me  return :  the  wind  comes  down  from 
Ida, 

And  soon  tlie  galley,  stirring  from  her  slum- 
ber, 

Will  fret  to  ride  where  Pelion's  twilight 
shadow 

Falls  o'er  the  towers  of  Jason's  sea-girt  city. 

I  am  not  yours — I  cannot  braid  the  lilies 
ill  voiir  wet  hair  nor  on  your  argent  bosoms 


Close  my  drowsed  eyes  to  hear  your  rippling 
voices. 

Hateful  to  me  your  sM'eet,  cold,  crystal  be- 
in*^  — 

Your  world  of  watery  quiet.     Help,  Apollo  ! 

For  I  am  thine  :  thy  fire,  thy  beam,  thy  mu- 
,   sic. 

Dance  in  my  heart  and  flood  my  sense  with 
rapture ; 

The  joy,  the  warmth  and  passion  now  awa- 
ken. 

Promised  by  thee,  but  erewhile  calmly  sleep- 
ing. 

Oh,  leave  me,  naiads!  loose  your  chill  em- 
braces. 

Or  I  shall  die,  for  mortal  maidens  pining." 

But  still  with  unrelenting  arms  they  bound 
him, 

And  still,    accordant,   flowed    their   Avatery 
voices  : 

"We  have  thee  now — we  liold  thy  beauty 
prisoned ; 

Oh,  come  witli  us  beneath  the  emerald  waters! 

We  have  no  love  ;  we  love  thee,  rosy  Hylas. 

Oh,  love  us,  who  shall  never  more  release 
thee — 

Love  us,  whose  milky  arms  will  be  thy  cra- 
dle 

Far  down  on  the  untroubled  sands  of  ocean, 

Where  now  we  bear  thee,  clasped  in  our  cm- 
braces." 

And  slowly,  slowly  sank  the  amorous  naiads ; 

The  boy's  blue  eyes,  upturned,  looked  through 
the  water. 

Pleading  for  help;  but    heaven's  immortal 
archer 

Was  swathed  in  cloud.     The  ripples  hid  his 
forehead ; 

And  last,  the  thick,  bright  curls  a  moment 
floated. 

So  warm  and  silky  that  the  stream  upbore 

them, 
Closing  reluctant,  as  he  sank  for  ever. 

The  sunset  died  behind  the  crags  of  Imbros. 
Argo  was  tugging  at  her  chain  ;  for  freslily 
Blew  the  swift  breeze,  and  leaped  tlje  restless 

billows. 
The  voice  of  Jason  roused  the  dozing  sailors, 
And  up  the  mast  was  heaved    the    snowy 

canvas. 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION 


But  midity  Ileraoles,  the  Jove-bcgottcn, 
Uuiiuiulfal  stood,  beside  tlio  cool  Scamander, 
Leaning  upon  his  dub.     A  purple  chlaniys 
Tossed  o'er  an  urn  was  all  that  lay  before 

him  : 
And   when  he   called,   expectant,    "  Ilylas ! 

Ilylas ! " 
The  empty  echoes  made  him  answer — "Ily- 
las!" 

Bayaed  Tayloe. 


RIICEOUS. 

God  sends  his  teachers  unto  every  age, 
To  every  clime,  and  every  race  of  men. 
With  revelations  fitted  to  their  growth 
And  shape  of  mind,  nor  gives  the  realm  of 

truth 
Into  the  selfish  rule  of  one  sole  race. 
Therefore  each  form  of  worship  that  hath 

swayed 
The  life  of  man,  and  given  it  to  grasp 
The  master-key  of  knowledge,  reverence, 
Enfolds  some  germs  of  goodness  and  of  right ; 
Else  never  had  the  eager  soul,  which  loathes 
The  slothful  down  of  pampered  ignorance. 
Found  in  it  even  a  moment's  fitful  rest. 

There  is  an  instinct  in  the  human  heart 
Which  makes  that  all  the  fables    it  hath 

coined, 
To  justify  the  reign  of  its  belief 
And  strengthen  it  by  beauty's  right  divine. 
Veil  in  their  inner  cells  a  mystic  gift, 
Which,  like  the  hazel-twig,  in  faithful  hands, 
Points  surely  to  the  hidden  springs  of  truth. 
For,  as  in  nature  naught  is  made  in  vain, 
But  all  things  have  within  their  hull  of  use 
A  wisdom  and  a  meaning,  which  may  speak 
Of  spiritual  secrets  to  the  ear 
Of  spirit:  so,  in  wliatsoe'er  the  heart 
Ilath  fashioned  for  a  solace  to  itself. 
To  make  its  inspirations  suit  its  creed. 
And  from  the  niggard  hands  of    folsehood 

wring 
Its  needful  food  of  truth,  there  ever  is 
A  sympathy  v/ith  nature,  which  reveals, 
Not  less  than  her  own  works,  pure  gleams  of 

light 


And  earnest  parables  of  inward  lore. 
Hear  now  this  fairy  legend  of  old  Greece, 
As  full  of  freedom,  youth,  and  beauty  still 
As  the  immortal  freshness  of  that  grace 
Carved  for  all  ages  on  some  Attic  frieze. 

A  youth  named  Rhcecus,  wandering  in  the 

wood. 
Saw  an  old  oak  just  trembling  to  its  fall ; 
And,  feeling  pity  of  so  fair  a  tree, 
lie  propped  its  gray  trunk  with  admiring 

care. 
And  with  a  thoughtless  footstep  loitered  on. 
But,  as  he  turned,  he  heard  a  voice  behind 
That  murmured  "  Rhoecus !  " — 'T  was  as  if  the 

leaves. 
Stirred  by  a  passing  breath,  had  murmured 

it; 
And,  while  he  paused  bewUdered,  yet  again 
It    murmured    "  Rhoecus ! "    softer    than    a 

breeze. 
He  started  and  beheld  with  dizzy  eyes 
What  seemed  the  substance  of  a  happy  dream 
Stand  tliere  before  him,  spreading  a  warm 

glow 
Within  the  green  glooms  of  the  shadowy  oak. 
It  seemed  a  woman's  shape,  yet  all  too  fair 
To  be  a  woman,  and  with  eyes  too  meek 
For  any  that  were  Avont  to  mate  with  gods. 
All  naked  like  a  goddess  stood  she  there, 
And  like  a  goddess  all  too  beautiful 
To  feel  the  guilt-born  earthliness  of  shame. 
"  Rha^cus,  I  am  the  dryad  of  this  tree — " 
Thus   she  began,   dropping    her    low-toned 

words. 
Serene,  and  full,  and  clear,  as  drops  of  dew — 
"  And  with  it  I  am  doomed  to  live  and  die ; 
The  rain  and  sunshine  are  my  caterers. 
Nor  have  I  other  bliss  than  simple  life ; 
Now  ask  me  what  thou  wilt,  that  I  can  give, 
And  with  a  thankful  joy  it  shall  be  thine." 

Then  Rhoecus,  with  a  flutter  at  the  heart. 
Yet,  by  the  prompting  of  such  beauty,  bold, 
Answered  :  "  AVhat  is  there  that  can  satisfy 
The  endless  craving  of  the  soul  but  love  ? 
Give  me  thy  love,  or  but  the  hope  of  tliat 
Which  must  be  evermore  my  spirit's  goal." 
After  a  little  pause  she  said  again. 
But  with  a  glimpse  of  sadness  in  her  tone, 
"  I  give  it,  Rhoecus,  though  a  perilous  gift ; 


RIKECUS. 


573 


An  liour  before  the  sunset  meet  me  here." 
And  straightway  there  ■was  nothing  he  could 

see 
But  the  green  glooms  beneath  the  shadowy 

oak; 
And  not  a  sound  came  to  his  straining  ears 
But  the  low  trickling  rustle  of  the  leaves, 
And,  far  away  upon  an  emerald  slope, 
The  falter  of  an  idle  shepherd's  pipe. 

Now,  in  those  days  of  simpleness  and  faith. 
Men  did  not  think  that  happy  things  were 

dreams 
Because  they  overstepped  the  narrow  bourne 
Of  likelihood,  but  reverently  deemed 
Nothing  too  wondrous  or  too  beautiful 
To  be  the  guerdon  of  a  daring  heart. 
So  Rhoecus  made  no  doubt  that  he  was  blest ; 
And  a-11  along  unto  the  city's  gate 
Earth  seemed  to  spring  beneath  him  as  he 

walked ; 
The  clear,  broad  sky  looked  bluer  than  its 

wont. 
And  he   could   scarce   believe   he  had  not 

wings — 
Such  sunshine  seemed  to  glitter  through  his 

veins 
Instead  of  blood,  so  light  he  felt  and  strange. 

Young  Rhoecus  had  a  faithful  heart  enough, 
But  one  that  in  the  present  dwelt  too  much, 
And,  taking  ■with  blithe  welcome  whatsoe'er 
Chance  gave  of  joy,  was  ■wholly  bound  in 

that, 
Like  the  contented  peasant  of  a  vale. 
Deemed  it  the  world,  and  never  looked  be- 
yond. 
So,  haply  meeting  in  the  afternoon 
Some  comi-ades  who  were  playing  at  the  dice, 
He  joined  them  and  forgot  all  else  beside. 

Tlie  dice  were  rattling  at  the  merriest, 
And  Rlioecus,  who  had  met  but  sorry  luck, 
Just  laughed  in  triumph  at  a  happy  throw. 
When  through  the  room  there  hummed  a  yel- 
low bee 
That  buzzed  about  his  ear  with  down-dropped 

legs. 
As  if  to  light.     And  Rhoecus  laughed  and 
said. 


Feeling  how  red  and  flushed  he  was  with 

loss, 
"By  Venus!  does  he  take  me  for  a  rose? " 
And  brushed  him  oif  with  rough,  impatient 

hand. 
But  still  the  bee  came  back,  and  thrice  again, 
Rhoecus  did  beat  him  off  with  growing  wrath. 
Then  through  the  window  flew  the  wounded 

bee ; 
And  Rhoecus,  tracking  him  with  angry  eyes, 
Saw  a  sharp  mountain-peak  of  Thessaly 
Against  the  red  disc  of  the  setting  sun, — 
And  instantly  the  blood  sank  from  his  heart, 
As  if  its  very  Avails  had  caved  away. 
Without  a  word  he  turned,  and  rushing  forth, 
Ran  madly  through  the  city  and  the  gale. 
And  o'er  the  plain,  which  now  the  woods 

long  shade. 
By  the  low  sun  thrown  forward  broad  and 

dim, 
Darkened  well-nigh  unto  the  city's  wall. 

Quite  spent  and  out  of  breath,  he  reached 

the  tree ; 
And,  listening  fearfully,  he  heard  once  more 
The  low  voice  murmur  "  Rhoecus ! "  close  at 

hand — 
Whereat  he  looked  around  him,  but  could  see 
Nought  but  the  deepening  glooms  beneath 

tlie  oak. 
Then  sighed  the  voice,  "  O,  Rhoecus !  never 

more 
Shalt  thou  behold  me,  or  by  day  or  night — 
Me,  who  would  fain  have  blest  thee  with  a 

love 
More  ripe  and  bounteous  than  ever  yet 
Filled  up  with  nectar  any  mortal  heart; 
But  thou  didst  scorn  my  humble  messenger, 
And  sent'st  him  back  to  me  with  bruised 

wings. 
We  spirits  only  show  to  gentle  eyes — 
We  ever  ask  an  undivided  love ; 
And  he  who  scorns  the  least  of    nature's 

works 
Is  thenceforth  exiled  and  shut  out  from  all. 
Farewell!  for  thou  canst  never  see  mo  more." 

Then  Rhoecus  beat  his  breast,  and  groaned 

aloud. 
And  cried,  "Be  pitiful !  forgive  me  yet 
Tliis  once,  and  I  shall  never  need  it  more! " 


57-t                                       POEMSOFTHE 

IMAGINATION. 

"  Alas ! "  the  voice  returned,  "  't  is  thou  art 

And  at  midnight  from  his  grave 

blind. 

The  trumpeter  arose, 

Not  I  unmerciful ;  I  can  forgive. 

And,  mounted  on  his  horse, 

But  have  no  skill  to  heal  thy  spirit's  eyes ; 

A  loud,  shrill  blast  he  blows. 

Only  the  soul  hath  power  o'er  itself." 

"With  that  again  there  murmured  "Never- 

On airy  coursers  then 

more  ! " 

The  cavalry  are  seen — 

And  Rlia>cus  after  hoard  no  other  sound. 

Old  squadrons,  erst  renowned — - 

Except  the  rattling  of  the  oak's  crisp  leaves. 

Gory  and  gashed,  I  ween. 

Like  the.  long  surf  upon  a  distant  shore, 

Raking  the  sea-worn  pebbles  up  and  down. 

Beneath  the  casque  their  skulls 

The  night  had  gathered  round  him ;  o'er  the 

Smile  grim  ;  and  proud  their  air, 

plain 

As  in  their  bony  hands 

The  city  sparkled  with  its  thousand  lights, 

Their  long,  sharp  swords  they  bai-e. 

And  sounds  of  revel  fell  upon  his  ear 

Harshly  and  like  a  curse  ;  above,  the  sky, 

At  midnight  from  his  tomb 

With  all  its  bright  sublimity  of  stars, 

The  cliief  awoke  and  rose. 

Deepened,  and  on  his  forehead  smote  the 

And,  followed  by  his  staff. 

breeze ; 

With  slow  steps  on  he  goes. 

Beauty  was  all  around  him, and  delight; 

But  from  that  eve  he  was  alone  on  earth. 

A  little  hat  he  wears. 

James  Etosell  Lowell. 

A  coat  quite  plain  wears  he ; 

A  little  sword,  for  arms. 

At  his  left  side  hangs  free. 
O'er  the  vast  plain  the  moon 

TEE  MIDNIGHT  REVIEW. 

A  paly  lustre  threw  ; 

The  man  with  the  little  hat 

At  midnight  from  his  grave 

The  troops  goes  to  review. 

The  drummer  woke  and  rose, 

And  beating  loud  the  drum. 

The  ranks  pregent  their  arms — 

Forth  on  his  errand  goes. 

Deep  rolls  the  drum  the  while ; 

Recovering  then,  the  troops 

Stirred  by  his  fleshless  arms, 

Before  the  chief  defile. 

The  drumsticks  rise  and  fall ; 

He  beats  the  loud  retreat. 

Captains  and  generals  round. 

Reveille  and  roll-call. 

In  circles  formed,  appear ; 

The  chief  to  the  first  a  word 

So  strangely  rolls  that  drum. 

Now  whispers  in  his  ear. 

So  deep  it  echoes  round. 

Old  soldiers  in  their  graves 

The  word  goes  round  the  ranks, 

To  life  start  at  the  sound : 

Resounds  along  the  line ; 

Both  they  in  farthest  north, 
Stiff  in  the  ice  that  lay, 

That  word  they  give  is — France  ! 
The  answer— /S'^.  Helene  ! 

And  they  who  warm  repose 

Beneath  Italian  clay ; 

'T  is  there,  at  midnight  hour, 

The  grand  review,  they  say, 

Below  the  mud  of  Nile, 

Is  by  dead  Oa3sar  held 

And  'neath  Arabian  sand, 

In  the  Champs-Elysees ! 

Their  burial-place  they  quit. 

Joseph  Chkistian  ton  Zkdlitz.    (German.'; 

And  soon  to  arms  they  stand. 

Anonymous  Translation. 

KIME    OF    THE    ANCIENT    MARINER. 


070 


EIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MAE- 

INER. 

IN    SEVEN    PARTS. 
PART  I. 

An  an-     It  is  an  ancient  mariner, 
fner  iiieet-  And  he  stoppetli  one  of  three  : 
gaUantT   "  Bj  thy  long  gray  beard  and  glitter- 
bidden  to  iijo-  eve, 

a  wedding  o     .    j 

feast,  and  Now  wherefore  stopp  st  thou  me  ? 

detalneth 
one. 

The  bridegroom's  doors  are  opened 

■wide, 
And  I  am  next  of  kin ; 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set — 
May'st  hear  the  merry  din." 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand : 
"  There  was  a  ship,"  quoth  he. 
"Hold  off!  unhand  me,  gray-beard 

loon ! " — 
Eftsoons  his  ha-nd  dropt  he. 


The  wed 
ding- 
cucst  is 
spell- 
bound by 
the  eye  of 
the  old 
sea-faring 
man,  and 
constrain- 
ed to  hear 
bis  tale. 


The  bride  hath  paced  into  the  hall- 
Red  as  a  rose  is  she  ; 


The    wed- 
ding- 

gne«t 

Nodding  their  heads  before  her  goes  the  bridal 

music; 


The  merry  minstrelsy. 


but  the 
mariner 
.    continu- 
hlS  eth  his 
tale. 


He  holds  him  with  his    glittering 

eye— 
The  wedding-guest  stood  still; 
He  listens  like  a  three  years'  child : 
The  mariner  hath  his  will. 

The  wedding-guest  sat  on  a  stone — 
He  cannot  choose  but  hear ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  mariner. 

"  The  ship  was  cheered,  the  harbor 

cleared ; 
Merrily  did  we  drop 
Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill. 
Below  the  light-house  top. 


The  mari- 
ner tells 
how  the 
ship  sailed 
southward 
with  a 
good  wind 
and  fair 
weather, 
till  it 
reached 
the  line. 


The  sun  came  up  upon  the  left. 

Out  of  the  sea  came  he  ; 

And  he  shone   briglit,  and  on  the 

right 
Went  down  into  the  sea ; 

Higher  and  higher  every  day, 
Till  over  the  mast  at  noon — " 
Tue    wedding-guest    here  beat  his 

breast, 
i»«>r  be  heard  the  loud  bassoon. 


The     wedding-guest     he    beat 

breast. 

Yet  he  cannot  choose  but  hear ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  mariner : 

"  And  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  The  ship 

drawn  by 
he  astormto- 

Was  tyrannous  and  strong ;  ^outh 

He  struck  with  his  o'ertaking  wings,  P"'^- 
And  chased  us  south  along. 

With    sloping    masts    and    dipping 

prow — 
As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe. 
And  forward  bends  his  head — 
The  ship  drove  ftist ;  loud  roared  the 

blast. 
And  southward  aye  we  fled. 

And  now  there  came  both  mist  and 

snow. 
And  it  grew  wondrous  cold  ; 
And  ice,  mast-high,  came  floating  by, 
As  green  as  emerald. 

And  through  the  drifts  the  snowy  The  land 

of  ico,  an(! 
cliffs  offrnrful 

Did  send  a  dismal  sheen ;  where*  no 

Nor  shapes  of  men  nor  beasts  we  Ji^.^J'!^^.^^ 

J^gll^ to  bo  seeiL 

The  ice  was  all  between. 

The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there, 

The  ice  was  all  around  ; 

It  cracked  and  growled,  and  roared 

and  howled. 
Like  noises  in  a  swound ! 


At  lengtli  did  cross  an  albatross— 
Thorouglt  the  lug  it  came  ; 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul, 
Wg  hailed  it  in  God's  name. 


Till  a 
great  sea- 
bird,  call- 
ed 11)0  al- 
batro.ss, 
rainc 
through 
the  snow 
fog,  and  was  received  with  great  joy  and  hospitality. 


o7(> 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


Audio! 
tlio   alba- 
tross 

nroveth  a 
bini  of 
good 

omen,  and 
followoth 
the  ship  as 
it  rotiirn- 
ed  north- 
ward 
through 
fog  and 
floating 
ice. 


It  ate  the  food  it  ne'er  had  eat, 
And  round  and  roimd  it  fle\v. 
The  ice  did  split  -with  a  thunder-fit; 
The  hehnsman  steered  us  through ! 

And  a  good  south  wind  sprang  up 

hchind ; 
The   albatross  did  follow, 
And  every  day,  for  food  or  play. 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo ! 

In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud, 
It  perched  for  vespers  nine ; 
"Whiles  all  the  night,  through  fog- 
smoke  white. 
Glimmered  the  white  moon-shine." 


The  an-     "  God  save  thee,  ancient  mariner! 
iner  in^^ '  From  the  'fiends  that  plague  thee 

hospitably  .1        j 

killeth  the  ''"  "^  • 

pious  bird^yiiy  look'st  thou  so?"— "With  my 

of  good  •• 

oinen.  crOSS-how 

I  shot  the  albatross." 

PAKT   II. 

"  The  sun  now  rose  upon  the  right — 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he. 
Still  hid  in  mist,  and  on  the  left 
"Went  down  into  the  sea. 

And  the  good  south  wind  still  blew 

behind ; 
But  no  sweet  bird  did  follow, 
Nor  any  day  for  food  or  play 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo. 

His  ship-   And  I  had  done  a  hellish  thing, 

ZXl(lt65 

cry  out      And  it  would  work  'em  woe ; 
^fl'l     For  all  averred  I  had  kiUed  the  hird 
cient  mar-  That  made  the  breeze  to  blow : 

iner,  for 

killing  the  Ah  wretch !    said  they,  the  bird  to 

bird  of  , 

good  luck.  slay. 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow ! 


But  when 
the  fog 
cleared 
olf,  they 
justify 
the  same, 
and  thus 
make 
them- 
sslves  ac- 
romplices 
in  the 


Kor  dim  nor  red,  like  God's  own 

head 
The  glorious  sun  uprist ; 
Then  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird 
That  brought  the  fog  and  mist : 
'T  was  right,  said  they,  such  birds  to 

slay, 
That  bring  the  fog  and  mist. 


The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  The  fair 

'  breeze 


flew, 

The  furrow  followed  free ; 
"We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea. 

en  till  it  reached  the  line. 


continues 
the  ship 
enters  the 
raoifio 
Ocean, 
and  sails 
north- 
ward, ev- 


Down  dropt  the  breeze,    the  sails  The  ship 

-,        ,    ,  hath  been 

dropt  down —  suddenly 

'T  was  sad  as  sad  could  be  ;  becalmed 

And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea. 


All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky 
The  bloody  sun,  at  noon, 
Eight  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  moon. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day, 
"We  stuck — nor  breath  nor  motion ; 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 


"Water,  water  everywhere. 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink ; 
Water,  water  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

The  very  deep  did  rot ;  0  Christ ! 

That  ever  this  should  be ! 

Yea,   slimy  things  did   crawl  with 

legs 
Upon  the  slimy  se;i ! 

About,  about,  in  reel  and  rout. 
The  death-fires  danced  at  niglit ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils. 
Burnt  green,  and  blue  and  white. 


And  the 
albatross 
begins  to 
be  aveng- 
ed. 


And  some  in  dreams  assured  were 
Of  the  spirit  that  plagued  us  so ; 


From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 


A  spirit 
had  fol- 
lowed 

Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  followed  one™rfho 

invisible 
"''  inhabit- 

ants of  thi£ 
planet, 
neither 
departed 
souls  nor  angels ;  concerning  whom  the  learned  Jew,  Jo- 
sejihus,  and   the    Platonic    Constantinopolitni;,   Michael 
Psellus,  may  be  consulted.     They  are  very  numerous 
and  there  is  no  climate  or  element  without,  one  or  more. 


RIME    OF    THE    AXCIEXT    MARINER. 


577 


And   every   tongue,    through    utter 

drought, 
"Was  withered  at  the  root ; 
"We  could  not  speak,  no  more  than  if 
"We  had  been  choked  with  soot. 


The  ship- 
mates, in 
tlieir  sore 
distress, 
would  fain 
throw  the 
wliole 
guilt  on 
the  an- 
cient md- 
riner:  in 
sisn 

whereof 
they  hang 
the  (lead 
sea-bird 
round  his 
neck. 


Ah !  well  a-day !  what  evil  looks 
Had  I  from  old  and  young ! 
Instead  of  the  cross  the  albatross 
About  my  neck  was  hung. 


PAET  ni. 


The  an- 
cient ma- 
riner be- 
holdeth  a 
Bign  in  the 
clement 


At  its 
nearer  ap- 
proach it 
geeineth 
biiii  to  be 
a,  ship  ; 
and  at  a 
dear  ran- 
som he 
freeth  his 
Bjieech 
from  the 
bonds  of 
thirst. 


A  flash  of 
Joy. 


TnEKE  passed  a  weary  time.    Each 

throat 
"Was  parched,  and  glazed  each  eye — 
A  weary  time !  a  weary  time ! 
How  glazed  each  weary  eye ! — 
"When,  looking  westward,  I  beheld 
A  something  in  the  sky. 

At  first  it  seemed  a  little  speck. 

And  then  it  seemed  a  mist; 

It  moved  and  moved,  and  took  at 

last 
A  certain  shape,  I  wist — 

A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist ! 
And  still  it  neared  and  neai-ed ; 
As  if  it  dodged  a  water-sprite. 
It  plunged  and  tacked  and  veered. 

"With  throats  •  unslaked,  with  black 

lips  baked, 
"We  could  nor  laugh  nor  wail ; 
Through  utter  drought  all  dumb  we 

stood ! 
I  bit  ni}'  arm,  I  sucked  the  blood. 
And  cried,  A  sail !  a  sail ! 

"With  throats  unslaked,  with  black 

lips  baked. 
Agape  they  heard  me  call ; 
Gramercy !  they  for  joy  did  grin. 
And  all  at  once  their  breath  drew 

in. 
As  they  were  drinking  all. 
77 


See !     see  !     I  cried,   she  tacks  no  -"^^^  hor 

ror  tol- 

niore! 


lows.    For 
can  it  be  a 
sliip  that 
conies 
onward 
without 
wind  or 
tide  ? 


Hither  to  wor'k  us  weal — 
"Without  a  breeze,  without  a  tide, 
She  steadies  with  upright  keel ! 

The  western  wave  was  all  a-tiame ; 
The  day  was  well  nigh  done ; 
Almost  upon  the  western  Avave 
Rested  the  broad  bright  sun, 
"When  that  strange  shape  drove  sud- 
denly 
Betwixt  us  and  the  sun. 


And   straight  the  sun  was  flecked  it  secm- 

°  eth  hira 

with  bars,  but  the 

(Heaven's  mother  send  us  grace !)      of  a  ship. 
As  if  through  a  dungeon-grate  he 


peered 


"With  broad  and  burning  face. 


Alas !  thought  I — and  my  heart  beat 

loud — 
How  fast  she  nears  and  nears ! 
Are  those  her  sails  that  glance  in  the 

.sun. 
Like  restless  gossameres? 

Are  those  her  ribs  through  which  A"''  ''* 

°  ribs  are 

the  sun  s''>'n  as 

,  .  bars  on 

Did  peer,  as  through  a  grate  ?  the  face  oi 

And  is  that  woman  all  her  crew  ?       thrji^sun. 
Is  that  a  death  ?  and  are  there  two  ?  J^^^^^!"- 
Is  death -that  woman's  mate?  i"""  a'"! 

her  death- 
mate,  and 
no  other  on  board  the  skeleton  ship. 

Her  lips  were  rcJ,  her  looks  were 

free. 
Her  locks  were  yellow  as  gold ;  J^Mike^' 

Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy  :      crew  l 
The  night-mare,  Life-in-Death,  was 

she, 
"Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold. 


The  naked  hulk  alongside  came,         rx-ath  and 

.         ,.  J.ifc-ln- 

And  the  twain  were  casting  dice  :      Death 
'  The  game  is  done !  I  'vo  won !  I  'vc  ,1"^^.",  f„r 

^  ^^  ■  crew,  and 

Quoth  she,  and  whistles  thrice.  «h«  (tho 

'  latter) 

wiunctb 
tho  ancient  mariner. 


fiVS 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


The  sun's  rim  dips,  the  stars  rush 
out, 
No  twi-     At  one  stride  comes  the  dark ; 
in  tiio        With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea, 
thc'^suu.     Off  =^liot  ^I'G  spectre  hark. 

At  the  ris-  "^q  listened,  and  looked   siideways 
iiii:  01  the  '  "^ 

moon,  up  J 

Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup. 

My  life-hlood  seemed  to  sip ; 

The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the 

night — 
The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp 

gleamed  white ; 
From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip — 
Till  clomb  above  the  eastern  bar 
The  horned  moon,  with  one  bright 

star 
Within  the  nether  tip. 

Oue  after  One  after  one,  by  the  star-dogged 

another  '      "'  "" 

moon. 

Too  quick  for  groan  or  sigh. 

Each  turned  his  face  with  a  ghastly 

pang. 

And  cursed  me  with  his  eye. 

liis  ship-  Four  times  tifty  living  men, 
dropdown  (And  I  heard  nor  sigh  nor  groan !) 
dead.         "V^^ith  heavy  thump,  a  lifeless  lump, 
They  dropped  down  one  by  one. 


But  Life-  The  souls  did  from  their  bodies  fly, — 
begins  her  They  fled  to  bliss  or  woe ! 
the"^  an-'*    And  every  soul  it  passed  me  by, 
cient  mar-  Lij^e  the  wliizz  of  my  cross-bow !  " 

mer.  "^ 


PART  IV. 


The  wed-  "  I  FEAR  thee,  ancient  mariner  ! 
fiarlfh"'*!  fear  thy  skinny  hand ! 
^^**. »  .^    And  thou  art  long,  and  lank,  and 
talking  to  brown. 

As  is  the  ribbed  sea-sand. 


I  fear  thee  and  thy  glittering  eye, 
And  thy  skinny  hand  so  brown." — 
"Fear  not,  fear  not,  thou  wedding- 
guest  ! 


But  the 
ancient 
mariner 

Wm'nf  his  This  body  dropt  not  down. 

bodily  life, 

and  proceedeth  to  relate  his  horrible  penance. 


Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone. 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
ily  soul  in  agony. 

The  many  men,  so  beautiful ! 

And  they  all  dead  did  lie ; 

And    a    thousand    thousand    slimy 

things 
Lived  on — and  so  did  I. 


He  de- 
spise th 
the  crea- 
tures of 
the  calm. 


And  en- 
Tied  that 
they 
should 
live,  and 
so  many 
lie  dead. 


I  looked  upon  the  rotting  sea, 
And  drew  my  eyes  away ; 
I  looked  upon  the  rotting  deck, 
And  there  the  dead  men  lay. 

I  looked  to  heaven,  and  tried  to  pray; 
But  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gusht 
A  wicked  whisper  came,  and  made 

My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. 


I  closed  my  lids,  and  kept  them  close, 

And  the  balls  like  pulses  beat ; 

For  the  sky  and  the  sea  and  the  sea 

and  the  sky 
Lay  like  a  load  on  my  weary  eye, 
And  the  dead  were  at  my  feet. 

The  cold  sweat  melted  from  their  But  the 

T     1  curse  liv- 

hmbs—  eth  for 

ISTor  rot  nor  reek  did  they :  '^^ '"  ^^^s 

•'  '  eye  of  the 

The  look  with  which  they  looked  on  <iead  men. 

me 
Had  never  passed  away. 

An  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  hell 
A  spirit  from  on  high ; 
But  oh !  more  horrible  than  that 
Is  the  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye ! 
Seven  days,  seven  nights,  I  saw  that 

curse — 
And  yet  I  could  not  die. 


The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky,  in  his 

,     J  ,  T  1     1  •  1  loneliness 

And  nowhere  did  abide ;  and  fixed- 

Softly  she  was  going  up,  yefrnah 

And  a  star  or  two  beside —  towards 

the  .jour- 
neying 
moon,  and  the  stars  that  still  .sojourn,  yet  still  move  on- 
ward ;  and  every  where  the  blue  sky  belongs  to  them, 
and  is  their  ajipointed  rest,  and  their  native  country,  and 
their  own  natural  homes,  which  they  enter  unannounced, 
as  lords  that  are  certainly  expected;  and  yet  there  is  a 
silent  joy  at  their  arrival. 


RIME    OF    THE    ANCIENT    MARINER. 


579 


Her    beams    bemocked    the    sultry 

main, 
Like  April  hoar-frost  spread ; 
But  where  the  ship's  huge  shadow 

lay 
The  charmed  water  burnt  alway, 
A  still  and  awful  red. 

By  the      Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
light  of      ^    •'      ,     ,    ,  ,  '■ 

the  moon  i  watched  the  water-snakes ; 

eth  God's'  They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining 

creatures  ^.l^[^Q  ■ 

of  the  ' 

great        And  when  they    reared,  the   elfish 
caim,  ,.  , 

hght 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
I  watched  their  rich  attire — 
Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black, 
They  coiled  and  swam;    and  every 

track 
Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. 

Oh  happy  living  things !  no  tongue 

Their  beauty  might  declare ; 

A  spring  of  love  gushed  from  my 

heart, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware — 
Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware. 


Their 

beauty 
and  their 
happiness. 


He  bless- 
eth  them 
in  his 
heart. 


The  spell  The  Selfsame  moment  I  could  pray ; 

begins  to     ,      ,   „  i  i> 

break.       And  from  my  neck  so  tree 

The  albatross  fell  off,  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. 


PART   V. 

On  sleep  !  it  is  a  gentle  thing, 
Beloved  from  pole  to  pole ! 
To  Mary  Queen  the  praise  be  given ! 
She  sent  the  gentle  sleep  from  hea- 
ven 
That  slid  into  my  soul. 


By  prrace   The  silly  buckets  on  the  deck, 
Mother"    That  had,  SO  long  remained, 
c^c^nt'^mar.  I  dreamt  that  they  v,'cre  filled  witli 

Inerisre-  Jg^v . 

freshed  ' 

with  rain.  And  when  I  awoke,  it  rained. 


lie  hear- 
eth  sounds 
and  seeth 
strange 
sights  and 
commo- 
tions in 
the  sky 
and  the 
element. 


My  lips  were  wet,  my  throat  was 

cold, 
My  garments  all  were  dank ; 
Sure  I  had  drunken  in  my  dreams, 
And  still  my  body  drank. 

I  moved,  and  could  not  feel  my  limbs ; 
I  was  so  light — almost 
I  thought  that  I  had  died  in  sleep. 
And  was  a  blessed  ghost. 

And  soon  T  heard  a  roaring  wind — 
It  did  not  come  anear ; 
But  with  its  sound  it  shook  the  sails. 
That  were  so  thin  and  sere. 

The  upper  air  burst  into  life ; 
And  a  hundred  fire-flags  sheen. 
To  and  fro  they  were  hurried  about ; 
And  to  and  fro,  and  in  and  out, 
The  wan  stars  danced  between. 

And  the  coming  wind  did  roar  more 

loud. 
And  the  sails  did  sigh  like  sedge ; 
And  the  rain  poured  down  from  one 

black  cloud — 
The  moon  was  at  its  edge. 


The  thick  black  cloud  was  cleft,  and 

still 
The  moon  was  at  its  side ; 
Like  waters  shot  from  some  high 

crag, 
The  lightning  fell  with  never  a  jag — 
A  river  steep  and  wide.         , 


The  loud  wind  never  reached  thcThobod- 

,  .  Ics  of  tho 

ship,  ship's 

Yet  now  tho  sliip  moved  on !  fnspirK 

Beneath  the  lightning  and  the  moon  and  tho 
The  dead  men  gave  a  groan. 

They  groaned,  they  stirred,  they  all 

uprose — 
Xor  spake,  nor  moved  their  eyes; 
It  had  been  strange,  even  in  a  dream, 
To  have  seen  those  dead  men  rise. 


ship 
moves  on  • 


580 


rOEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION 


But  not 

by  the  _ 
souls  of 
the  meu, 
nor  by  de- 
mons of 
earth  or 
middle  air, 
but  by  a 
blessed 
troop  of 
angelic 
spirits, 
sent  down 
by  the  in- 
\  ocation 
of  the 
guardian 
saint. 


The    liolmsmau    steered,    tlie    ship 

moved  on ; 
Yet  never  a  breeze  up  blew ; 
The  mariners  all  'gan  work  the  ropes, 
AVhere  they  were  wont  to  do ; 
They  raised  their  limbs  like  lifeless 

tools — 
We  were  a  ghastly  crew. 

The  body  of  ray  brother's  son 
Stood  by  me,  knee  to  knee ; 
The  body  and  I  pulled  at  one  rope, 
But  he  said  naught  to  me." 

"  I  fear  thee,  ancient  mariner ! " 
"Be  calm,  thou  wedding-guest! 
'Twas  not  those  souls  that  fled  in 

pain, 
Which  to  their  corses  came  again, 
But  a  troop  of  spirits  blest ; 
For  when  it  dawned  they  dropped 

their  arms, 
And  clustered  round  the  mast ; 
Sweet  sounds  rose  slowly  through 

their  mouths, 
And  from  their  bodies  passed. 

Around,   around    flew    each    sweet 

sound. 
Then  darted  to  the  sun; 
Slowly  the  sounds  carne  back  again — 
Now  mixed,  now  one  by  one. 

Sometimes,  a-dropping  from  the  sky, 
I  heard  the  sky-lark  sing ; 
Sometimes  all  little  birds  that  are — 
How  they  seemed  to  fill  the  sea  and 

air 
With  their  sweet  jargoning ! 

And  now  't  was  like  all  instruments, 
Now  like  a  lonely  flute ; 
And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song, 
That  makes  the  heavens  be  mute. 

It  ceased ;  yet  still  the  sails  made  on 
A  pleasant  noise  till  noon — 
A  noise  like  of  a  hidden  brook 
In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 
That  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 
Singeth  a  quiet  tune. 


Till  noon  we  quietly  sailed  on, 
Yet  never  a  breeze  did  breathe ; 
Slowly  and  smoothly  went  the  ship, 
Moved  onward  from  beneath , 

Under  the  keel,  nine  fathom  deej:), 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow 
The  spirit  slid ;  and  it  was  he 
That  made  the  ship  to  go. 
The  sails  at  noon  left  otf  their  tune. 
And  the  ship  stood  still  also. 

Tiie  sun,  right  up  above  the  mast. 
Had  fixed  her  to  the  ocean ; 
But  in  a  minute  she  'gan  stir. 
With  a  short  uneasy  motion — 
Backwards  and  forwards  half  her 

length. 
With  a  short  uneasy  motion. 

Then  like  a  pawing  horse  let  go, 
She  made  a  sudden  bound — 
It  flung  the  blood  into  my  head. 
And  I  fell  down  in  a  swound. 


The  lonb- 
sonic  spi- 
rit fro'M 
the  south- 
pole  car- 
ries on  the 
shij)  as  far 
as  the  lino 
in  obedi- 
ence to 
the  angel- 
ic troop; 
but  still 
requireth 
vengeance 


How  long  in  that  same  fit  I  lay 
I  have  not  to  declare ; 
But  ere  my  living  life  returned 
I  heard,  and  in  my  soul  discerned. 
Two  voices  in  the  air : 

'Is  it  he?'  quoth  one,  'Is  this  the 

man? 
By  him  who  died  on  cross. 
With  his  cruel  bow  he  laid  full  low 
The  harmless   albatross ! 

The  spirit  who  bideth  by  himself 

In  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 

lie  loved  the  bird  that  loved  the 

man 
Who  shot  him  with  his  bow.' 

The  other  was  a  softer  voice, 

As  soft  as  honey-dew : 

Quoth  he,  'The  man  hath  penance 

done. 
And  penance  more  will  do.' 


The  polar 
spirit's 
fellow  de 
mons,  the 
invisible 
inhabi- 
tants of 
the  ele- 
ment, take 
part  in  his 
wrong; 
and  two  of 
them  re- 
late, one 
to  the 
other,  that 
penanre, 
long  and 
heavy  for 
the  an- 
cient mar- 
iner, liath 
been  ac- 
corded to 
the  polar 
spirit,  who 
returneth 
southward 


RIME    OF    THE    ANCIENT    MARINER. 


581 


The  mari- 
ner hath 
been  cast 
into  a 
trance;  for 
the  an- 
geUc  pow- 
er causcth 
the  vessel 
to  drive 
northward 
faster  tlian 
human 
life  could 
endure. 


PART    TI. 
FIEST   VOICE. 

'  But  tell  me,  tell  me  !  speak  again, 
Thy  soft  response  renewing — 
What  makes  that  ship  drive  on  so 

fast? 
What  is  the  ocean  doing  ? ' 

SECOND   VOICE. 

'Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord. 
The  ocean  hath  no  blast ; 
His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 
Up  to  the  moon  is  cast — 

If  he  may  know  which  way  to  go ; 
For  she  guides  him  smooth  or  grim. 
See,  brother,  see !  how  graciously 
She  looketh  down  on  him.' 

FIRST   VOICE. 

■ '  But  why  drives  on  that  ship  so  fast, 
Without  or  wave  or  wind?' 

SECOND    VOICE. 

'  The   air  is  cut  away  before, 
And  closes  from  behind. 

Fly,  brother,  fly !    more  high,  more 

high ! 

Or  we  shall  be  belated; 
For  slow  and  slow  that  ship'  will  go. 
When  the  mariner's  trance  is  abated.' 


The  su-     I  woke,  and  we  were  sailing  on 

neriiatural    ,      .  .,  ,, 

motion  is  As  m  a  gentle  weather; 

'T  was  night,  calm  night — the  moon 


rotardeil ; 

the  uiar- 

iner 

awakes, 

and  his 

j-enance 

begins 


'a* 
was  high  ; 

The  dead  men  stood  together. 

All  stood  together  on  the  deck. 
For  a  charnel-dungeon  fitter; 
All  fixed  on  me  tlieir  stony  eyes. 
That  in  the  moon  did  glitter 

The  pang,  the  curse,  with  which  they 

died, 
Had  never  passed  away ; 
I  could  not  draw  my  eyes  from  theirs, 
Nor  turn  them  up  to  pray. 


And  now  this  spell  was  snapt ;  once  J'^^  curpo 

^  ^     '  IS  finally 

more  expiated. 

I  viewed  the  ocean  green. 

And  looked  far  forth,  yet  little  saw 

Of  what  had  else  been  seen — 

Like  one  that  on  a  lonesome  road 

Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread. 

And,    having,   once    turned    round, 

walks  on, 
And  turns  no  more  his  head; 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 
Doth  close  behind  him  tread. 


But  soon  there  breathed  a  wind  on 

me, 
Xor  sound  nor  motion  made ; 
Its  path  was  not  upon  the  sea, 
In  ripple  or  in  shade. 

It  raised  my  hair,  it  fanned  my  cheek, 
Like  a  meadow-gale  of  spring — 
It  mingled  strangely  with  my  fears. 
Yet  it  felt  like  a  welcoming. 


Swiftly,  swiftly  flew  the  ship. 
Yet  she  sailed  softly  too ; 
Sweetly,  sweetly  blew  the  breeze- 
On  me  alone  it  blew. 

Oh!  dream  of  joy!  is  this  indeed 
The  liglit-liouse  top  I  see? 
Is  this  the  hill  ?  is  this  the  kirk  ? 
Is  this  miue  own  couutree  ? 

We  drifted  o'er  the  harbor-bar. 
And  I  with  sobs  did  ])ray — 
Oh  le'u  me  be  awake,  my  God  ! 
Or  let  me  sleep  alway. 

The  harbor-bay  was  clear  as  glass, 
So  smoothly  it  was  strewn ! 
And  on  the  bay  tlie  moonlight  lay, 
And  the  shadow  of  the  moon. 

Tlic  rock  shone  briglit,  tlic  kirk  no 

less 
That  stands  above  the  rock ; 
The  moonlight  steeped  in  silcntness 
The  steady  weathercock. 


And  the 
ancient 

mariner 
heholdetb 
his  native 
country. 


682 


POEMS   OF   THE   IMAGINATION. 


And  the  bay  was  white  with  silent 

light 
Till,  rising  from  the  same, 
ThoRDsrel-rull    many    shapes,    that    shadows 

ic  spirits 

leave  tlie  AVere, 

dead  bod-  j^  crimson  colors  came. 

And  np-    A  little  distance  from  the  prow 
theiVown  Those  crimson  shadows  were ; 
[viT  ^^    ^  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  deck — 

0  Christ !  what  saw  I  there ! 

Each  corse  lay  flat,  lifeless  and  fiat; 
And,  by  the  holy  rood ! 
A  man  all  light,  a  seraph-man, 
On  every  corse  there  stood. 

This  seraph-band,    each  waved  his 

hand — 
It  was  a  heavenly  sight ! 
They  stood  as  signals  to  the  land, 
Each  one  a  lovely  light ; 

This  seraj)h-band,  each  waved  his 

hand ; 
No  voice  did  they  impart — 
No  voice ;  but  oh !  the  silence  sank 
Like  music  on  my  heart. 

But  soon  I  heard  the  dash  of  oars, 

1  heard  the  pilot's  cheer ; 

My  head  was  turned  perforce  away. 
And  I  saw  a  boat  appear. 

The  pilot  and  the  pilot's  boy, 
I  heard  them  coming  fast ; 
Dear  Lord  in  heaven !  it  was  a  joy 
The  dead  men  could  not  blast. 

I  saw  a  third — I  lieard  his  voice ; 

It  is  the  hermit  good ! 

lie  singeth  loud  his  godly  hymns 

That  he  makes  in  the  wood ; 

He'll  shrieve  my  soul — he'll  wash 

away 
The  albatross's  blood. 

PART  vii. 

The  her-  Tiiis  hermit  good  lives  in  that  wood 

mit  of  the  ..^,  .   ,      ,  ,  x     xi 

wood        Which  slopes  down  to  the  sea. 

How  loudly  his  sweet  voice  he  rears ! 
He  loves  to  talk  with  marineres 
That  come  from  a  far  countree. 


He  kneels  at  morn,  and  noon,  and 

eve — 
He  hath  a  cushion  iilunip ; 
It  is  the  moss  that  wholly  hides 
The  rotted  old  oak-stump. 

The  skiff-boat  neared — ^I  heard  them 

talk: 
'  "Why,  this  is  strange,  I  trow ! 
Where  are  those  lights,  so  many  and 

fair, 
That  signal  made  but  now  ? ' 

'  Strange,  by  my  faith ! '  the  hermit  Approach 

°  I  eth  the 

said —  ship  with 

'And  they  answered  not  our  cheer  !  ^"°  "^' 
The  planks  looked  warped !  and  see 

those  sails. 
How  thin  they  are  and  sere ! 
I  never  saw  aught  like  to  them. 
Unless  perchance  it  were 

•  ' 

Brown  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag 

My  forest-brook  along. 

When  the   ivy-tod    is  heavy  with 

snow. 
And  the  owlet  whoops  to  the  wolf 

below, 
Tliat  eats  the  she-wolf's  young.' 

'  Dear  Lord !  it  hath  a  fiendish  look,' 
The  pilot  made  reply — 
'  I  am  a-feared '— '  Push  on,  push  on ! ' 
Said  the  hermit  cheerily. 

The  boat  came  closer  to  the  ship, 
But  I  nor  spake  nor  stirred ; 
The  boat  came  close  beneath  the  ship, 
And  straight  a  sound  was  heard : 


The  ship 
suddenly 
sinketh. 


Under  the  water  it  rumbled  on, 
Still  louder  and  more  dread ; 
It  reached  the  ship,  it  split  the  bay— 
The  ship  went  down  like  lead. 

Stunned  by  that  loud  and  dreadful  The  an- 

•'  cient  mar- 

sound,  iner  is 

_„,  .-.IT  i.  saved  in 

Which  sky  and  ocean  smote,  the  piiofe 

Like  one  that  hath  been  seven  days  ^"''*- 

drowned 
My  body  lay  afloat ; 
But,  swift  as  dreams,  myself  I  found 
Within  the  pilot's  boat. 


RIME    OF    THE    ANCIENT    MARINER. 


583 


Upon  the  wliirl  where  sank  the  ship 
The  boat  span  round  and  round ; 
And  all  was  still,  save  that  the  hill 
Was  telling  of  the  sound. 

1  moved  my  lips — the  pilot  shrieked 
And  fell  down  in  a  fit ; 
The  holy  hermit  raised  his  eyes, 
And  prayed  where  he  did  sit. 

I  took  tLe  oars ;  the  pilot's  boy, 

"Who  now  doth  crazy  go, 

Laughed  loud  and  long ;    and  all  the 

while 
His  eyes  went  to  and  fro : 
'Hal  ha!'   quoth  he,   'full  plain  I 

see, 
The  devil  knows  how  to  row.' 

And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree, 

I  stood  on  the  firm  land ! 

The  hermit  stepped  forth  from  the 

boat. 
And  scarcely  he  could  stand. 


The  an-     '  Qh  shrieve  me,  shrieve  me,   holy 

cieiit  mar-  ,  , 

iuer  ear-  man  !  — 

tv.'lu'tT'  The  hermit  crossed  his  brow 

the  her-     ( 

mit  to 

shrieve 

liim ;  and  „  ,   ,-,        n  i 

the  pin-    What  manner  of  man  art  thou  i 

jmci!  ot'life 

falls  on 

him.  ^  . 

Forthwith  this  frame  of  mine  was 


'  Say  quick,'  quoth  he,  '  I  bid  thee 
say— 


Avrenched 
With  a  woful  agony, 
Which  forced  me  to  begin  my  tale— 
And  then  it  left  me  free. 


And  ever  Sincc  then,  at  an  uncertain  hour, 
throli"""    That  agony  returns ; 
lurVii^'fe'''"  And  till  my  ghastly  tale  is  told 
an  a-ony   q-j  jg  iieart  witluu  me  burns. 

ccnutraia- 
eth  III  in 
to  travel 

to'l'aaT"*  I  pass,  like  night,  from  land  to  land; 
I  have  strange  power  of  speech; 
That  moment  that  his  face  I  see 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me — 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 


What  loud  uproar  bursts  from  that 

door! 
The  wedding-guests  are  there ; 
But  in  the  garden-bower  the  bride 
And  bride-maids  singing  are ; 
And  hark  the  little  vesper  bell, 
Which  biddeth  me  to  prayer ! 

0    wedding-guest!     this   soul  hath 

been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea — 
So  lonely  't  was,  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be. 

Oh  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast, 
'T  is  sweeter  far  to  me. 
To  Avalk  together  to  the  kirk 
With  a  goodly  company ! — 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 

And  all  together  pray, 

AVhile    each    to    his    great    Father 

bends — 
Old    men,   and    babes,   and    loving 

friends,     • 
And  youths  and  maidens  gay  1 

Farewell !  farewell  I  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  wedding-guest ! 
He  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

The  mariner,  whose  eye  is  bright, 
Whose  beard  with  age  is  hoar. 
Is  gone.     And  now  the   wedding- 
guest 
Turned  from  the  bridegroom's  door. 


He  went  like  one  that  hath  been 

stunned. 
And  is  of  sense  forlorn; 
A  sadder  and  a  wiser  man 
He  rose  the  morrow  morn. 

Samitel  Tatlob  Colemdqk. 


And  to 
teacli  by 
his  own 
example, 
love,  and 
roverenee 
to  all 
thing;s, 
that  God 
made  and 
loveth. 


684 


POEMS    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 


KUBLA  KUA-S. 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree 
Where  Alpb,  the  sacred  river,  ran, 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man, 
Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round  ; 
And  there  vrere  gardens,  bright  with  sinuous 

rills, 
Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing 

tree ; 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 
Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

But  oh !  that  deep  romantic  cliasm,  which 

slanted 
Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedar n  cover ! 
A  savage  place !  as  holy  and  enchanted 
As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 
By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover  ! 
And  from  this  chasm,  with  ceaseless  turmoil 

seething, 
As  if  this  earth   in  fast  thick  pants  were 

breathing, 
A  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced, 
Amid  whose  swift,  half-intermitted  burst 
Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail. 
Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  threshei-'s  flail ; 
And  'mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once  and 

ever 
It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river. 
Five  miles,  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 
Through  wood  and  dale,  the   sacred  river 

ran — 
Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless  to  man. 
And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean ; 
And  'raid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 
Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war. 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 
Floated  midway  on  the  waves, 
Where  was  heard  the  mingled  measure 
From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 
It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device — 
A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of  ice ! 
A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 
In  a  vision  once  I  saw ; 


I  was  an  Abyssinian  maid. 
And  on  her  dulcimer  she  played, 
Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 
Could  I  revive  within  me 
Her  symphony  and  song. 
To  such  a  deep  delight 't  would  win  me 
That,  with  music  loud  and  long, 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air — 
That  sunny  dome !  those  caves  of  ice ! 
And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there, 
And  all  should  cry.  Beware !  beware 
Ilis  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair ! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice. 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed. 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

Samcel  Tatlok  Coleeibge. 


THE  EAVEN. 

Once,  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pon- 
dered, Aveak  and  weary. 

Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of 
forgotten  lore — 

While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly 
there  came  a  tapping, 

As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at 
my  chamber  door : 

"  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at 
my  chamber  door — 

Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember !    it  was  in  the 

bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its 

ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow ;  vainly  I  had 

tried  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow 

for  the  lost  Lenore — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the 

angels  name  Lenore — 

Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken,   sad,  uncertain  rustling  of 

each  purple  curtain 
ThrUled  me — filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors 

never  felt  before ; 


THE    RAVEN. 


583 


So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  |  Not  the  least  oheisance  made  he ;  not  an  in- 


I  stood  repeating, 
"  'T  is  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my 

chamber  door — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my 

chamber  door ; — 

This  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger;  hesitating 
then  no  longer, 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  or  madam,  truly  your  forgive- 
ness I  implore ; 

But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently 
you  came  rapping. 

And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at 
my  charuber  door. 

That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you," — ^here 
I  opened  wide  the  door : 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more ! 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood 
there  wondering,  fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever 
dared  to  dream  before ; 

But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  dark- 
ness gave  no  token. 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the 
whispered  word,  "Lenore!  " 

This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured 
back  the  word  "  Lenore  !  " 

Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Tlien  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul 
within  me  burning. 

Soon  I  heard  again  a  tapping,   somewhat 
louder  than  before : 

" Surely,"  said  I,  "surely  that  is  something 
at  my  window  lattice ; 

Let  me  sec,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this 
mystery  explore — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and  this  mys- 
tery explore  ;  — 

'T  is  the  wind,  and  nothing  more  !  " 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  witli 

many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly 

days  of  yore ; 

78 


stant  stopped  or  stayed  he ; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above 

my  chamber  door — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my 

chamber  door — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy 
into  smiling, 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  coun- 
tenance it  wore ; 

"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn   and  shaven, 
thou,"  I  said,  "art  sure  no  craven — 

Ghastly,  grim,  and  ancient  raven,  wandering 
from  the  nightly  shore — 

Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  night's 
Plutonian  shore !  " 

Quoth  the  raven  "Nevermore." 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear 
discourse  so  plainly — 

Though  its  answer  little  meaning,  little  rele- 
vancy bore ; 

For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living 
human  being 

Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above 
his  chamber  door — 

Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above 
his  chamber  door, 

"With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 

But  the  raven,  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid 

bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  liis  soul  in  that  one  word 

he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  farther    then    he    uttered— not   a 

feather  then  he  fluttered — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "  Other 

friends  have  flown  before — 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes 

have  flown  before." 

Then  the  bird  said  "Nevermore." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so 

aptly  spoken, 
"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters  is  its 

only  stock  and  store — 


586 


POEMS    OF    THE    OI  AG  IN  AT  I  ON. 


Caught  from  some  unhappy  master,  whom 

uumerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till  his 

songs  one  hurdeu  hore — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  the  melancholy 

hurden  bore 

Of  '  N"ever — Nevermore.' " 


But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul 
into  smiling, 

Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front 
of  bu'd,  and  bust  and  door ; 

Then  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  my- 
self to  Hnking 

Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous 
bird  of  yore — 

What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt  and 
ominous  bird  of  yore 

ileant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore." 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  sylla- 
ble expressing 

To  the  fowl,  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned 
into  my  bosom's  core ; 

This,  and  more,  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head 
at  ease  reclining 

On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp- 
light gloated  o'er ; 

But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,    with   the 
lamplight  gloating  o'er. 

She  shall  press — ah,  never  more ! 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  per- 
famed  from  an  unseen  censer 

Swung  by  angels,  whose  faint  foot-falls  tinkled 
on  the  tufted  floor. 

"Wretch !  "  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee, 
by  these  angels  he  hath  sent  thee. 

Respite — respite    and    nepenthe    from    thy 
memoi'ies  of  Lenore ! 

Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  for- 
get this  lost  Lenore !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

"  Propliet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil ! — prophet 

still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest 

tossed  thee  here  ashore — 


Desolate,  yet  aU  undaunted,  on  this  desert 

land  enchanted. 
On  this  home  by  horror  haunted — tell  me 

truly,  I  implore — 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ?  tell  me — 

tell  me,  I  implore!  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 


"  Prophet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil! — prophet 
still,  if  bird  or  devil  I 

By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that 
God  we  both  adore — 

Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the 
distant  Aidenn, 

It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  an- 
gels name  Lenore — 

Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the 
angels  name  Lenore." 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore." 


"  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  oi 

fiend !  "  I  shrieked,  upstarting — 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the 

night's  Plutonian  shore ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie 

thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 
Leave  my  loneliness    imbroken  ! — quit  the 

bust  above  my  door ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take 

thy  form  from  off  my  door !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevennore." 


And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting, 
still  is  sitting 

On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my 
chamber  door ; 

And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  de- 
mon's that  is  dreaming. 

And  the  lamplight,  o'er  him  streaming,  throws 
his  shadow  on  the  floor ; 

And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies 
floating  on  the  floor 

Shall  be  lifted — nevermore  I 

Edgab  Allan  Fob. 


THE     FAIRY     THORN. 


587 


THE     FAIRY    THORIT. 

AST   TJLSTEE  BALLAD. 

"Get  up,  our  Auaa  dear,  from  tlie  weary 
spinning  wheel ; 
For  your  father 's  on  the  hill,  and  your 
mother  is  asleep  ; 
Come  up  above  the  crags,  and  we  '11  dance  a 
highland  reel 
Around  the  fairy  thorn  on  the  steep." 

At  Anna  Grace's  door  't  was  thus  the  maidens 
cried, 
Three  merry  maidens  fair,  in  kirtles  of  the 
green ; 
.ind  Anna  laid  the  sock  and  the  weary  wheel 
aside, 
The  fairest  of  the  four,  I  ween. 

"Tliey  're  glancing  through  the  glimmer  of  the 
quiet  eve, 
Away  in  milky  wavings  of  neck  and. ankle 
bare ; 
t  tie  heavy-sliding  stream  in  its  sleepy  song 
they  leave, 
And  the  crags  in  the  ghostly  air  ; 

md  linking  hand  in  hand,  and  singing  as 
they  go. 
The  maids  along  the  hill-side  have  ta'en 
their  fearless  way, 
rill  they  come  to  wliere  the  rowan  trees  in 
lovely  beauty  grow 
Beside  the  Fairy  Hawthorn  gray. 

The  hawthorn  stands  between  the  ashes  tall 
and  slim. 
Like  matron  with  her  twin  grand-daughters 
at  her  knee ; 
Tlie  rowan  berries  clnster  o'er  her  low  head 
gray  and  dim 
In  ruddy  kisses  sweet  to  see. 

The  merry  maidens  four  have  ranged  them 


m  a  row. 


Between  each  lovely  couple  a  stately  rowan 

stem. 
And  away  in  mazes  wavy  like  skimming  birds 

they  go. 
Oh,  never  caroll'd  bird  like  them  ! 


But  solemn  is  the  silence  of  the  silvery  haze 
That  drinks  away  their  voices  in  echoless 
repose. 
And   dreamily  the   evening  has  stilk-d  the 
haunted  braes. 
And  dreamier  the  gloaming  grows. 

And  sinking  one  by  one,  like  lark-notes  from 
the  sky 
When  the  falcon's  shadow  saileth  across 
the  open  shaw. 
Are  hush'd  the  maidens'  voices,  as  cowei-ing 
down  they  lie 
In  the  flutter  of  their  sudden  awe. 

For,    from  the   air   above,    and    the  grassy 
ground  beneath. 
And  from  the  mountain-ashes  and  the  old 
white  thorn  between, 
A  power  of  faint  enchantment  doth  through 
their  beings  breathe, 
And  they  sink  down  together  on  the  green. 

They  sink  together,  silent,  and  stealing  side 
by  side, 
They  fling  tlieir  lovely  arms  o'er  theii' 
drooping  necks  so  fair. 
Then  vainly  strive  again  their  naked  arms  to 
hide, 
For  their  shrinking  necks  again  are  bare. 

Thus  clasp \1  and  prostrate   all,  witli  their 
heads  together  bow'd. 
Soft  o'er  their  bosoms  beating — the  only 
human  sound — 
They  hear  the  silky  footsteps  of  the  silent 
fairy  crowd. 
Like  a  river  in  the  air,  gliding  round. 

Nor  scream  can  any  raise,  nor  prayer  can 
any  say. 
But  wild,  wild,  tlic  terror  of  the  speechless 
three. 
For  they  feel  fair  Anna  Grace  drawn  silently 
away. 
By  whom  they  dare  not  look  tc  see. 

They  feel  their  tresses  twine  with  her  parting 
locks  of  gold. 
And  tlic  curls  elastic  foiling,  as  her  licad 
withdraws; 


68S 


POEMS     OF    THE     IMAGINATION. 


They  feel  her  sliding  arms  from  their  tranced 
arms  unfold, 
But  they  dare  not  look  to  see  the  cause: 

For  heavy  on  their  senses  the  faint  enchant- 
ment lies 
Through   all  that  night  of  anguish   and 
perilous  amaze ; 
And  neither  fear  nor  wonder  can  ope  their 
quivering  eyes 
Or  their  limhs  from  the  cold  ground  raise. 

Till  out  of  night  the  earth  has  rolled  her 
dewy  side, 
With  every  haunted  mountain  and  streamy 
vale  below ; 
When,  as  the  mist  dissolves  in  the  yellow 
morning-tide, 
The  maidens'  trance  dissolveth  so. 

Then  fly  the  ghastly  three  as  swiftly  as  they 
may, 
And  tell  their  tale  of  sorrow  to  anxious 
friends  in  vain — 
They  pined  away  and  died  within  the  year 
and  day, 
And  ne'er  was  Anna  Grace  seen  again. 

Samuel  Fekguson. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  STEPMOTHER. 

I. 

As  I  lay  asleep,  as  I  lay  asleep, 

Under  the  grass  as  I  lay  so  deep, 

As  I  lay  asleep  in  my  cotton  serk 

Under  the  sliado  of  Our  Lady's  kirk, 

I  wakened  up  in  the  dead  of  night, 

I  wakened  up  in  my  death-serk  white, 

And  I  heard  a  cry  from  far  away. 

And  I  knew  tlie  voice  of  my  daughter  May : 

"  Mother,  mother,  come  hither  to  me! 

Mother,  mother,  come  hither  and  see ! 

Mother,  mother,  mother  dear. 

Another  mother  is  sitting  here  : 

My  body  is  bruised,  and  in  pain  I  cry. 

On  straw  in  the  darkness  afraid  I  lie  ; 

I  thirst  and  hunger  for  drink  and  meat, 

And  motlicr,  mother,  to  sleep  were  sweet !  " 

I  heard  the  cry,  though  my  grave  was  deep, 

And  awoke  from  sleep,  and  awoke  from  sleep. 


II. 
I  awoke  from  sleep,  I  awoke  from  sleep. 
Up  I  rose  from  my  grave  so  deep ; 
The  earth  was  black,  but  overhead 
The  stars  were  yellow,  the  moon  was  red  ; 
And  I  walked  along  all  white  and  thin. 
And  lifted  the  latch  and  entered  in. 
And  reached  the  chamber  as  dark  as  night, 
And  thougli  it  was  dark  my  foce  was  wliite. 
"  Mother,  mother,  I  look  on  thee  I 
Mother,  mother,  you  frighten  me ! 
For  your  cheeks  are  thin,  and  your  hair  ia 

gray!" 
But  I  smiled,  and  kissed  her  fears  away, 
I  smoothed  her  hair  and  I  sang  a  song. 
And  on  my  knee  I  rocked  her  long : 
"  0  mother,  mother,  sing  low  to  me ; 
I  am  sleepy  now,  and  I  cannot  see !  " 
I  kissed  her,  but  I  could  not  weep. 
And  she  went  to  sleep,  she  went  to  aleep. 

III. 
As  we  lay  asleep,  as  we  lay  asleep. 
My  May  and  I,  in  our  gi*ave  so  deep, 
As  we  lay  asleep  in  our  midnight  mirk. 
Under  the  shade  of  Our  Lady's  kirk, 
I  wakened  up  in  the  dead  of  night, 
Though  May  my   daughter  lay  warm   and 

white, 
And  I  heard  the  cry  of  a  little  one, 
And  I  knew  't  was  the  voice  of  Hugh  ray  son : 
"Mother,  mother,  come  hither  to  me  ! 
Mother,  mother,  come  hither  and  see ! 
Mother,  mother,  mother  dear. 
Another  mother  is  sitting  here : 
My  body  is  bruised  and  my  heart  is  sad, 
But  I  speak  my  mind  and  call  them  bad ; 
T  thirst  and  hunger  night  and  day. 
And  were  I  strong  I  would  fly  away!  " 
I  heard  the  cry,  though  my  grave  was  deep. 
And  awoke  from  sleep,  and  awoke  from  sleep. 

IV. 

I  awoke  from  sleep,  I  awoke  from  sleep, 
Up  I  rose  from  my  grave  so  deep  ; 
The  earth  was  black,  but  overhead 
The  stars  were  yellow,  the  moon  was  red ; 
And  I  walked  along  all  white  and  thin. 
And  lifted  the  latcli  and  entered  in. 
"  Mother,  mother,  and  art  thou  here  ? 
I  know  your  face,  and  I  feel  no  fear ; 


THE     DJIXXS. 


6S9 


Raise  me,  mother,  and  kiss  my  clieelc, 
For  oh  I  am  weary  and  sore  and  weak." 
I  smoothed  his  hair  with  a  mother's  joy, 
And  he  lauglied  aloud,  mv  own  l)rave  hoy ; 
I  raised  and  held  him  on  my  breast, 
Sang  liim  a  song,  and  hade  him  rest. 
"  Mother,  mother,  sing  low  to  me ; 
I  am  sleepy  now  and  I  cannot  see !  " 
I  kissed  him  and  I  could  not  weep. 
As  he  went  to  sleep,  as  lie  went  to  sleep. 

T. 

As  I  lay  asleep,  as  I  lay  asleep, 

"With  my  girl  and  hoy  in  my  grave  so  deep, 

As  I  lay  asleep,  I  woke  in  fear, 

Awoke,  but  awoke  not  my  children  dear. 

And  heard  a  cry  so  low  and  weak 

From  a  tiny  voice  that  conld  not  speak; 

I  heard  the  cry  of  a  little  one, 

My  bairn  that  could  neither  talk  nor  run, 

My  little,  little  one,  un  caressed 

Starving  for  lack  of  the  milk  of  the  breast ; 

And  I  rose  from  sleep  and  entered  in, 

And  found  my  little  one  pinched  and  thin, 

And  crooned  a  song  and  hushed  its  moan, 

And  put  its  lips  to  my  white  breastbone ; 

And  the  red,  red  moon  that  lit  tlie  place 

Went  white  to  look  at  the  little  face, 

And  I  kissed  and  kissed,  and  I  could  not 

weep, 
As  it  went  to  sleep,  as  it  went  to  sleep. 

VI. 

As  it  lay  asleep,  as  it  lay  asleep, 
I  set  it  down  in  the  darkness  deep. 
Smoothed  its  limbs  and  laid  it  out, 
And  drew  the  curtains  around  about ; 
Then  into  the  dark,  dark  room  I  hied 
Where  he  lay  awake  at  tlie  woman's  side, 
And  though  the  chamber  was  black  as  night. 
He  saw  my  face,  for  it  was  so  white ; 
T  gazed  in  his  eyes,  and  he  shrieked  in  pain, 
And  I  knew  he  would  never  sleep  again. 
And  back  to  my  grave  went  silently, 
And  soon  my  baby  was  brought  to  me ; 
!My  son  and  daughter  beside  me  rest, 
^My  little  baby  is  on  my  breast ; 
Our  bed  is  warm,  and  our  grave  is  deep, 
Cat  he  cannot  sleep,  he  cannot  sleep. 

BoBEKT  Buchanan. 


THE  DJIXNS. 

Towx,  tower, 
Shore,  deep, 
Where  lower 
Clouds  steep ; 
Waves  gray 
Where  play 
Winds  gay — 
All  asleep. 

Hark !  a  sound, 
Far  and  slight, 
Breathes  around 
On  the  night — 
High  and  higher. 
Nigh  and  nigher, 
Like  a  fire 
Roaring  bright. 

Xow  on  it  is  sweeping 
With  rattling  beat, 
Like  dwarf  imp  leaping 
In  gallop  fleet ; 
He  flies,  he  prances, 
In  frolic  fancies — 
On  wave-crest  dances 
AVith  pattering  feet. 

Hark,  the  rising  swell. 
With  each  nearer  burst ! 
Like  the  toll  of  bell 
Of  a  convent  cursed  ; 
Like  the  billowy  roar 
On  a  storm-lashed  shore — 
Now  hushed,  now  once  moi-e 
Maddening  to  its  worst. 

0  God !  the  deadly  sound 
Of  the  djinns'  fearful  cry ! 
Quick,  'neath  the  spiral  round 
Of  the  deep  staircase,  fly  ! 
See,  see  our  lamplight  fade  ! 
And  of  the  balustrade 
Mounts,  mounts  the  circling  shade 
Up  to  the  ceiling  high  ! 

'Tis  the  djinns'  wild-streaming  swarm 
Whistling  in  their  tempest-flight ; 
Snap  the  tall  yews  'neat]\  the  storm, 
Like  a  pine-flame  crackling  bright ; 


590 


POEMS    OF    THE     IMAGINATION. 


Swift  aud  heavy,  low,  their  cro\Yd 
Through  the  heavens  rushing  loud ! — 
Like  a  lurid  thunder-cloud 
With  its  bolt  of  fiery  night! 

ITa !  they  are  on  us,  close  without ! 
Shut  tight  the  shelter  where  we  lie ! 
With  hideous  din  the  monster  rout, 
Dragon  and  vampire,  fdl  the  sky ! 
The  loosened  rafter  overhead 
Trembles  and  bends  lilce  quivering  reed ; 
Shakes  the  old  door  with  shuddering  dread, 
As  from  it's  rusty  hinge  'twould  fly  ! 

Wild  cries  of  hell!    voices  that  howl  and 

shriek ! 
The  horrid  swarm  before  the  tempest  tossed — 
O    heaven !  —  descends    my  lowly  roof  to 

seek; 
Bends  the  strong  wall  beneath  the  furious 

host ; 
Totters  the  house,  as  though — like  dry  leaf 

shorn 
From  autunm  bough  and  on  the  mad  blast 

borne — 
Up  from  its  deep  foundations  it  were  torn 
To  join  the  stormy  whirl.     Ah  !  all  is  lost ! 

0  jrrophet!  if  thy  hand  but  now 

Save  from  these  foul  and  hellish  things, 

A  pilgrim  at  thy  shrine  I  '11  bow. 

Laden  with  pious  offerings. 

Bid  their  hot  breath  its  fiery  rain 

Stream  on  my  faithful  door  in  vain, 

Vainly  upon  my  blackened  pane 

Grate  the  fierce  claws  of  their  dark  wings! 

They  have  passed !— and  their  wild  legion 
Cease  to  thunder  at  my  door  ; 
Fleeting  through  niglit's  rayless  region, 
Hither  they  return  no  more. 
Clanking  chains  and  sounds  of  woe 
Fill  the  forests  as  they  go ; 
And  the  tall  oaks  cower  low, 
Bent  their  flaming  flight  before. 


On !  on !  the  storm  of  wings 
Bears  far  the  fiery  fear, 
Till  scarce  the  breeze  now  brings 
Dim  murmurings  to  the  ear ; 
Like  locusts'  humming  hail. 
Or  thrash  of  tiny  flail 
Plied  by  the  pattering  hail 
On  some  old  roof-tree  near. 

Fainter  now  are  borne 
Fitful  murmurings  still; 
As,  when  Arab  horn 
Swells  its  magic  peal. 
Shoreward  o'er  the  deep 
Fairy  voices  sweep, 
And  the  infant's  sleep 
Golden  visions  fill. 

Each  deadly  djinn, 
Dark  child  of  fright, 
Of  death  and  sin, 
Speeds  the  wild  flight. 
Hark,  the  dull  moan ! 
Like  the  de«p  tone 
Of  ocean's  groan, 
Afar,  by  night ! 

More  and  more 
Fades  it  now, 
As  on  shore 
Eipples  flow — 
As  the  plaint, 
Far  and  faint. 
Of  a  saint, 
Murmured  low. 

Hark!  hist! 

Around 

I  list ! 

The  bounds 

Of  space 

All  trace 

Efface 

Of  sound. 

Victor  Hugo.    (French.) 
Translation  of  John  L.  O'Sullivan. 


PART    IX. 
POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AIsTD  REFLECTION. 


The  snow-drop,  and  then  the  violet, 
Arose  from  the  ground  with  warm  rain  wet ; 
And  their  breath  was  mixed  with  fresh  odor,  sent 
From  the  turf,  like  the  voice  and  the  instrument. 

Then  the  pied  wind-flowers,  and  the  tulip  tall, 
And  narcissi,  the  fairest  among  them  all. 
Who  gaze  on  their  eyes  in  the  stream's  recess 
Till  they  die  of  their  own  dear  loveliness  ; 

And  the  naiad-like  lily  of  the  vale. 
Whom  youth  makes  so  fair  and  passion  so  pale, 
That  the  light  of  its  tremulous  bells  is  seen 
Through  their  pavilions  of  tender  green  ; 

And  the  hyacinth  purple,  and  white,  and  blue, 
Which  flung  from  its  bells  a  sweet  peal  anew 
Of  music  so  delicate,  soft,  and  intense. 
It  was  felt  like  an  odor  within  the  sense ; 

And  the  rose  like  a  nymph  to  the  bath  addrest. 
Which  unveiled  the  depth  of  her  glowing  breast, 
Till,  fold  after  fold,  to  the  fainting  air 
The  soul  of  her  beauty  and  love  lay  bare ; 

And  the  wand-like  lily  which  lifted  up, 
As  a  mccnad,  its  moonlight-colored  cup, 
Till  the  fiery  star,  which  is  its  eye. 
Gazed  through  clear  dew  on  the  tender  sky ; 

And  the  jessamine  faint,and  the  sweet  tuberose, 
The  sweetest  flower  for  scent  that  blows  ; 
And  all  rare  blossoms  from  everj'  clime 
Grew  in  that  garden  in  perfect  prime. 

Shglixt. 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT   AND   EEFLECTION 


"ALL  EARTHLY  JOY  RETUENS  IX 
PADf." 

Of  Lentren  in  the  first  morning, 
Early  as  did  the  day  up-spring, 
Thus  sang  ane  hird  with  voice  up-plain  : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 

O  man  !  have  mind  that  thou  maun  pass ; 
Remember  that  thou  ai'e  but  ass,  [ashes,] 
And  sail  in  ass  return  again  : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 

Have  mind  that  eild  aye  follows  youth ; 
Death  follows  life  with  gaping  mouth. 
Devouring  fruit  and  flouring  grain  : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 

"Wealth,  worldly  gloir,  and  rich  array, 
Are  all  but  thorns  laid  in  thy  way, 
Covered  with  flowers  laid  in  ane  train : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 

Come  never  yet  May  so  fresh  and  green, 
But  Januar  come  as  wud  and  keen  ; 
"Was  never  sic  drouth  hut  anis  come  rain : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 

Evermair  unto  this  warld's  joy, 
As  nearest  heir  succeeds  noy, 
Therefore  when  joy  may  not  remain. 
His  very  heir  succedis  pain. 

Here  health  returns  in  seikness ; 
And  mirth  returns  in  heaviness  ; 
Toun  in  desert,  forest  in  plain: 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 
79 


Freedom  returns  in  wretchedness, 
And  truth  returns  in  doubleness, 
"With  fenyeit  words  to  mak  men  fain : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain.  , 

Vu-tue  returnis  into  vice. 
And  honor  into  avarice ; 
With  covetice  is  conscience  slain  : 
All  eartlily  joy  returns  in  pain. 

Sen  earthly  joy  abidis  never, 
"Work  for  the  joy  tliat  lasts  forever; 
For  other  joy  is  all  but  vain : 
All  earthly  joy  returns  in  pain. 

WlLLTAJl  BCNBAR. 


THE  LORDS  OF  TEULE. 

The  lords  of  Thulc  it  did  not  please 

That  "Willegis  their  bishop  was  ; 

For  he  Avas  a  wagoner's  son. 

And  they  drew,  to  do  him  scorn, 

"Wheels  of  chalk  ui)on  the  wall ; 

He  found  them  in  chamber,  found  them  in 
hall. 

But  the  pious  "Willegis 

Could  not  be  moved  to  bitterness; 

Seeing  the  wheels  upon  the  wall. 

He  bade  his  servants  a  painter  call ; 

And  said,—''  My  friend,  paint  now  for  mo, 

On  every  wall,  that  I  may  see, 

A  wheel  of  white  in  a  field  of  red ; 

Underneath,  in  letters  plain  to  be  read— 
'"Willegis,  bishop  noAV  by  name, 
Forget  not  whence  you  came ! '  " 


694 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    KEFLECTION, 


The  lords  of  Tlmle  were  full  of  sliame — 

They  wiped  away  their  words  of  blame ; 

For  they  saw  tluit  scorn,  and  jeer 

Cannot  wonnd  the  wise  man's  ear. 

And  all  the  bishops  that  after  him  came 

Quartered  the  wheel  with  their  arms  of  fame. 

Thus  camo  to  pious  Willegis 

Glory  out  of  bitterness. 

Anonymous.    (German.) 
Anonymous  Translation. 


BARCLAY  OF  UEY. 

Up  the  streets  of  Aberdeen, 
By  the  kirk  and  college  green, 

Eode  the  laird  of  Ury ; 
Close  behind  him,  close  beside. 
Foul  of  mouth  and  evU-eyed, 

Fressed  the  mob  in  fury. 

Flouted  him  the  drunken  churl, 
Jeered  at  him  the  serving  girl, 

Prompt  to  please  her  master ; 
And  the  begging  carlin,  late 
Fed  and  clothed  at  Ury's  gate. 

Cursed  him  as  he  passed  her. 

Yet  with  calm  and  stately  mien 
Up  the  streets  of  Aberdeen 

Came  he  slowly  riding ; 
And,  to  all  he  saw  and  heard. 
Answering  not  with  bitter  word. 

Turning  not  for  cliiding. 

Came  a  troop  with  broadswords  swinging. 
Bits  and  bridles  sharply  ringing, 

Loose,  and  free,  and  froward : 
Quoth  the  foremost,  "  Ride  him  down ! 
Push  him!   prick  him!      Through  the 

town 
Drive  the  Quaker  coward !  " 

But  from  out  the  thickening  crowd 
Cried  a  sudden  voice  and  loud : 

"  Barclay  !   IIo!  a  Barclay!  " 
And  the  old  man  at  his  side 
Saw  a  comrade,  battle-tried, 

Scarred  and  sun-burned  darkly  ; 

Who,  with  ready  weapon  bare, 
Fronting  to  the  troopers  there. 


Cried  aloud :  "  God  save  us ! 
Call  ye  cojvard  him  who  stood 
Ankle-deep  in  Lutzen's  blood. 

With  the  brave  Gustavus  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  need  thy  sword. 
Comrade  mine,"  said  Ury's  lord; 

"Put  it  up,  I  pray  thee; 
Passive  to  His  holy  wUl, 
Trust  I  in  my  Master  still. 

Even  though  He  slay  me. 

"  Pledges  of  thy  love  and  faith. 
Proved  on  many  a  field  of  death. 

Not  by  me  are  needed." 
Marvelled  much  that  henchman  bold, 
That  his  laird,  so  stout  of  old. 

Now  so  meekly  pleaded. 

"  Woe  's  the  day,"  he  sadly  said, 
Witli  a  slowly-shaking  head. 

And  a  look  of  pity ; 
"  Ury's  honest  lord  reviled. 
Mock  of  knave  and  sport  of  child. 

In  his  own  good  city  ! 

"Speak  the  word,  and,  master  mine, 
As  we  charged  on  Tilly's  line. 

And  his  Walloon  lancers. 
Smiting  through  their  midst,  we  '11  teach 
Civil  look  and  decent  speech 

To  these  boyish  prancers!  " 

"  Marvel  not  mine  ancient  friend-  ■ 
Like  beginning,  like  the  end !  " 

Quoth  the  laird  of  Ury ; 
"  Is  the  sinful  servant  more 
Than  his  gracious  Lord  who  bore 

Bonds  and  stripes  in  Jewry  ? 

"  Give  me  joy  that  in  His  name 
I  can  bear,  with  patient  frame, 

All  these  vain  ones  offer  ; 
While  for  them  He  suffered  long. 
Shall  I  answer  wrong  with  wrong. 

Scoffing  with  the  scoffer? 

"  Happier  I,  with  loss  of  all — 
Hunted,  outlawed,  held  in  thrall. 

With  few  friends  to  greet  me — 
Than  when  reeve  and  squire  were  seen 
Riding  out  from  Aberdeen 

With  bared  heads  to  meet  me ; 


HARMOSAX 


595 


"  When  each  good  wife,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Blessed  me  as  I  passed  her  door; 

And  the  snooded  daughter, 
Through  her  casement  glancing  down, 
Smiled  on  him  who  bore  renown 

From  red  fields  of  slaughter. 

"  Hard  to  feel  the  stranger's  scoif, 
Hard  the  old  friends'  falling  ofi^, 

Hard  to  learn  forgiving ; 
But  the  Lord  his  own  rewards, 
And  his  love  with  theirs  accords 

Warm,  and  fresh,  and  living. 

"  Throngh  this  dark  and  stormy  night 
Faith  beholds  a  feeble  light 

Up  the  blackness  streaking ; 
Knowing  God's  own  time  is  best. 
In  a  patient  hope  I  rest 

For  the  full  day-breaking !  " 

So  the  laird  of  Ury  said. 
Turning  slow  his  horse's  head 

Towards  the  Tolbooth  prison. 
Where,  through  iron  gates,  he  heard 
Poor  disciples  of  the  Word 

Preach  of  Christ  arisen ! 

Not  in  vain,  confessor  old. 
Unto  us  the  tale  is  told 

Of  thy  day  of  trial  I 
Every  age  on  him,  who  strays 
From  its  broad  and  beaten  ways. 

Pours  its  seven-fold  vial. 

Happy  he  whose  inward  ear 
Angel  corafortings  can  hear. 

O'er  the  rabble's  laughter ; 
And,  while  hatred's  fagots  burn. 
Glimpses  through  the  smoke  discern 

Of  the  good  hereafter. 

Knowing  this — that  never  yet 
Share  of  truth  was  vainly  set 

In  the  world's  wide  fallow; 
After  hands  shall  sow  the  seed, 
After  hands  from  hill  and  mead 

Eeap  tlie  harvests  yellow. 
Thus,  with  somewhat  of  the  seer. 
Must  the  moral  pioneer 

From  the  future  borrow — 
Clothe  the  waste  with  dreams  of  grain, 
And,  on  midnight's  sky  of  rain, 

Paint  the  golden  morrow  I 

John  Gkeeni.eaf  'WHiTTrEE. 


H^VEMOSAX. 

Now  the  third  and  fatal  conflict  for  the  Per- 
sian throne  was  done. 

And  the  Moslem's  fiery  valor  had  the  crown- 
ing victory  won. 

Harmosan,  the  last  and  boldest  the  invader 

to  defy, 
Captive,  overborne  by  numbers,  they  were 

bringing  forth  to  die. 

Then  exclaimed  that  noble  captive:  "Lo,  I 

perish  in  my  thirst ; 
Give  me  but  one  drink  of  water,  and  let  then 

arrive  the  worst !  " 

In  his  hand  he  took  the  goblet :  but  a  while 
the  draught  forbore, 

Seeming  doubtfully  the  purpose  of  the  foe- 
man  to  explore. 

Well  might  then  have  paused  the  bravest — 
for,  around  him,  angry  foes 

With  a  hedge  of  naked  weapons  did  that 
lonely  man  enclose. 

"But  what  fearest  thou?  "  cried  the  caliph 
"  is  it,  friend,  a  secret  blow  ? 

Fear  it  not !  our  gallant  Moslems  no  "such 
treacherous  dealing  kuow. 

"  Thou  may'st  quench  thy  thirst  securely,  for 
thou  shalt  not  die  before 

Thou  hast  drunk  that  cup  of  water — this  re- 
prieve is  tliine — no  more !  " 

Quick  the  satrap  dashed  the  goblet  down  to 

earth  wnth  ready  hand, 
And  the  liquid  sank  for  ever,  lost  amid  tlio 

burning  sand. 

"Thou  hast  said  that  mine  my  life  is,  till  tlio 

Avater  of  that  cup 
I  have  drained;  then  bid  thy  servants  that 

spilled  water  gather  up !  " 

For  a  moment  stood  the  caliph  as  by  doubt- 
ful passions  stirred — 

Then  exclaimed,  "For  ever  sacred  must  re- 
main a  monarch's  word. 


— i 


596 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


'*  Bring  another  cup,  and  straightway  to  the 

noble  Persian  give : 
Drink,  I  said  before,  and  perish — now  I  bid 

thee  .drink  and  live! " 

ElCHARD    ChENEVIX  TkENCII. 


BALDER. 

Balder,  the  white  sun-god,  has  departed ! 

Beautiful  as  summer  dawn  was  he ; 
Loved  of  gods  and  men — the  royal-hearted 
Balder,  the  white  sun-god,  has  departed — 

lias  gone  home  where  all  the  brave  ones  be. 

For  the  tears  of  the  imperial  mother. 

For  a  universe  that  weeps  and  prays. 
Rides  Hennoder  forth  to  seek  his  brother — 
Rides  for  love  of  that  distressful  mother. 
Through  lead-colored  glens  and  cross-blue 
ways. 

"With  the  howling  wind  and  raving  torrent, 

Nine  days  rode  he,  deep  and  deeper  down — 
Reached  the  vast  death-kingdom,  rough  and 

horrent. 
Reached  the  lonely  bridge  that  spans  the  tor- 
rent 
Of  the  moaning  river  by  Hell-town. 

There  he  found  the  ancient  portress  stand- 
ing— 

Vexer  of  the  mind  and  of  the  heart : 
"Balder  came  this  way,"  to  his  demanding 
Cried  aloud  that  ancient  portress,  standing — 

"Balder  came,  but  Balder  did  depart; 

'  Here  he  could  not  dwell.     He  is  down  yon- 
der— 
iSTorthward,  further,  in  the  death-realm  he." 
Rode  Hermoder  on  in  silent  wonder — 
Mane  of  Gold  fled  fast  and  rushed  down  yon- 
der! 
Brave  and  good  mu&S  young  Hermoder  be. 

For  he  leaps  sheer  over  Hela's  portal, 

Drops  into  the  huge  abyss  below. 
There  he  saw  the  beautiful  immortal — 
Saw  him.  Balder,  under  Hela's  portal — 
Saw  him,  and  forgot  his  nain  and  woe. 


"  O,  my  Balder  I  have  I,  have  I  found  thee— 

Balder,  beautiful  as  summer  morn  ? 
0,  my  sun-god !    hearts  of  heroes  crowned 

thee 
For  their  king ;  they  lost,  but  now  have  found 
thee; 
Gods  and  men  shall  not  be  left  forlorn. 


"Balder!  brother!  the  Divine  has  vanished — 

The  eternal  splendors  all  have  fled ; 
Truth  and  love  and  nobleness  are  banished 
The  heroic  and  divine  have  vanished ; 
Nature  has  no  god,  and  earth  lies  dead. 

"  Come   thou  back,   my  Balder — king  and 
brother ! 
Teach  the  hearts  of  men  to  love  the  gods ! 
Come  thou  back,   and    comfort  our    great 

mother — 
Come  with  truth  and  bravery.  Balder,  bro- 
ther— 
Bring  the  godlike  back  to  men's  abodes ! " 

But  the  Nomas  let  him  pray  unheeded — 

Balder  never  was  to  come  again. 
Vainly,  vainly  young  Hermoder  pleaded — 
Balder  never  was  to  come.     Unheeded, 
Young  Hermoder  wept  and  prayed  in  vain. 

Oh,  the  trueness  of  this  ancient  story ! 

Even  now  it  is,  as  it  was  then. 
Earth  hath  lost  a  portion  of  her  glory ; 
And  like  Balder,  in  the  ancient  story, 

Never  comes  the  beautiful  again. 

Still  the  young  Hermoder  journeys  bravely, 
Through  lead-colored  glens  and  cross-blue 
ways ; 
Still  he  calls  his  brother,  pleading  gravely — 
Still  to  the  death-kingdom  ventures  bravely— 
Calmly  to  the  eternal  terror  prays. 

But  the  fates  relent  not ;  strong  endeavor. 
Courage,  noble  feeling,  are  in  vain ; 

For  beautiful  has  gone  for  ever. 

Vain  are  courage,  genius,  strong  endeavor — 
Never  comes  the  beautiful  again. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    MUMMY    AT    BELZONI'S    EXHIBITIOX. 


597 


Do  you  think  I  counsel  weak  despairing? 

No !  like  young  Hermoder  I  would  ride ; 
With  an  humble,  yet  a  gallant  daring, 
I  would  leap  unquailing,  undespairing. 

Over  the  huge  precipice's  side. 

Dead  and  gone  is  the  old  world's  ideal, 
The  old  arts  and  old  religion  fled ; 

But  I  gladly  live  amid  the  real. 

And  I  seek  a  worthier  ideal. 

Courage,  brothers,  God  is  overhead ! 

Anonymous. 


ADDRESS  TO   THE  MUMMY  AT   BEL- 
ZONI'S EXHIBITION. 

And  thou  hast  walked  about,  (how  strange  a 
story !) 

In  Thebes'  streets  three  thousand  years  ago, 
When  the  Memnonium  was  in  all  its  glory, 

And  time  had  not  begun  to  overthrow 
Those  temples,  palaces,  and  piles  stupendous, 
Of  which  the  very  ruins  are  tremendous. 

Speak!    for   thou  long  enough    hast  acted 
dummy ; 
Thou  hast  a  tongue — come — ^let  us  hear  its 
tune; 

Thou  'rt  standing  on  thy  legs,  above  ground, 
iimmray ! 
Revisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon — 

Not  like  thin  ghosts   or   disembodied  crea- 
tures, 

But  with  thy  bones,  and  flesh,  and  limbs,  and 
features. 

Tell  us — for  doubtless  thou  canst  recollect — 
To  whom  should  we  assign  the  Sphinx's 
fame  ? 
Was  Cheops  or  Cephrenes  architect 

Of  either  pyramid  that  bears  his  name  ? 
Is  Pompey's  Pillar  really  a  misnomer  ? 
Had  Thebes  a  hundred  gates,  as  sung  by  Ho- 
mer? 

Perhaps  thou  wert  a  Mason,  and  forbidden 
By  oath  to  tell  tlie  secrets  of  thy  trade — 

Then  say  what  secret  melody  Avas  hidden 
In    Mcmnon's    statue,    which    at    sunrise 
played? 


Perhaps  thou  wert  a  priest — ^if  so,  my  strug- 
gles 

Are  vain,  for  priestcraft  never  owns  its  jug- 
gles. 

Perhaps  that  very  hand,  now  pinioned  flat, 
Has  hob-0-nobbed  with  Pharaoh,  glass  to 
glass ; 

Or  dropped  a  half-penny  in  Homer's  hat ; 
Or  doffed  thine  own  to  let  Queen  Dido  pass; 

Or  held,  by  Solomon's  own  invitation, 

A  torch  at  the  great  temple's  dedication. 

I  need  not  ask  thee  if  that  hand,  when  armed, 
Has  any  Roman  soldier  mauled  and  knuck- 
led; 
For  thou  wert  dead,  and  buried,  and  em- 
balmed. 
Ere  Romulus  and  Remus  had  been  suckled : 
Antiquity  appears  to  have  begun 
Long  after  thy  primeval  race  was  run. 

Thou    could'st    develop — if   that    withered 
tongue         » 
Might  tell  us  what  those  sightless  orbs  have 
seen — 
How  the  world  looked  when  it  was  fresh  and 
young, 
A..nd  the  great  deluge  still  had  left  it  green ; 
Or  was  it  then  so  old  that  history's  pages 
Contained  no  record  of  its  early  ages  ? 

Still  silent!  incommunicative  elf! 

Art  sworn  to  secrecy  ?  then  keep  thy  vows ; 
But  prythee  tell  us  something  of  thyself— 
Reveal  the  secrets  of  thy  prison-house  ; 
Since  in  the  world  of  spirits  thou  hast  slum- 
bered— 
What  hast  thou  seen — what  strange  adven- 
tures numbered  ? 

Since  first  thy  form  was  in  this  box  extended 
We  have,  above  ground,  seen  some  strange 
mutations ; 

The  Roman  empire  has  begun  and  ended— 
New  worlds  have  risen— we  have  lost  old 
nations ; 

And  countless  kings  have   into  dust  bceii 
humbled. 

While  not  a  fragment  of  thy  flesh  has  crum- 
bled. 


COS 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Didst  thou  not  hear  the  pother  o'er  thy  head, 
AVhen  the  great  Persian  couqueror,  Cam- 
byses, 
Marched  armies  o'er  thy  tomb  with  thunder- 
ing tread — 
O'erthrew  Osiris,  Orus,  Apis,  Isis ; 
And  bhook  the  pyramids  with  fear  and  won- 
der, 
"When  the  gigantic  Memnon  fell  asunder? 

If  the  tomb's  secrets  may  not  be  confessed, 

The  nature  of  thy  private  life  unfold  : 
A  heart  has  throbbed  beneath  that  leathern 

breast, 
And  tears  adown  that  dusty  cheek  have 

rolled ; 
Have  children  climbed  those  knees,  and  kissed 

that  face  ? 
What  was  thy  name   and  station,  age   and 

race? 

Statue  cf  flesh — Immortal  of  the  dead ! 
Imperishable  type  of  evanescence  ! 

Posthumous  man — who  quitt'et  tliy  narrow 
bed, 
And  standest  undecayed  within  our  pres- 
ence! 

Thou  wilt  hear  nothing  till  the   judgment 
morning, 

"When  the  great  trump  shall  thrill  thee  with 
its  warning. 

Why  should  this  Avorthless  tegument  endure, 
If  its  undying  guest  be  lost  for  ever  ? 

Oh !  let  ns  keep  the  soul  embalmed  and  pure 
In  living  virtue — that  when  both  must  sever, 

Although  corruption  may  our  frame  consume. 

The  immortal  spirit  in  the  skies  may  bloom ! 

noEACB  Smith. 


THE  TWO  OCEANS. 

Two  seas,  amid  the  night. 

In  the  moonshine  roll  and  sparkle — 
Now  spread  in  the  silver  light, 

Now  sadden,  and  wail,  and  darkle ; 
The  one  has  a  billowy  motion. 

And  from  land  to  land  it  gleams ; 
The  other  is  sleep's  wide  ocean. 

And  its  glimmering  waves  are  dreams ; 


The  one,  with  murmur  and  roar, 
Bears  fleets  around  coast  and  islet ; 

The  other,  witliout  a  shore, 

Ne'er  knew  the  track  of  a  pilot. 

John  SisBLiNa. 


THE  FISHER'S  COTTAGE. 

We  sat  by  the  fisher's  cottage, 
And  looked  at  the  stormy  tide  ; 

The  evening  mist  came  rising, 
And  floating  far  and  wide. 

One  by  one  in  the  light-house 
The  lamps  shone  out  on  high  ; 

And  far  on  the  dim  horizon 
A  ship  went  sailing  by. 

We  spoke  of  storm  and  shipwreck — 
Of  sailors,  and  how  they  live ; 

Of  journeys  'twixt  sky  and  water. 
And  the  sorrows  and  joys  they  give. 

We  spoke  of  distant  countries, 

In  regions  strange  and  fair ; 
And  of  the  wondrous  beings 

And  curious  customs  there : 

Of  perfumed  lamps  on  the  Ganges, 
Which  are  launched  in  the  twilight  hour ; 

And  the  dark  and  silent  Brahmins, 
Who  worsliip  the  lotus  flower. 

Of  the  wretched  dwarfs  of  Lapland — 
Bi'oad-headed,  wide-mouthed  and  small— 

Who  crouch  round  their  oil-fires,  cooking, 
And  chatter  and  scream  and  bawl. 

And  the  maidens  earnestly  listened, 
Till  at  last  we  spoke  no  more  ; 

The  ship  like  a  shadow  had  vanished, 

And  darkness  fell  deep  on  the  shore. 

Heney  Heine  (Gorman). 
Translation  of  Cha'eles  G.  Leland. 


i 


ABOU    BEX    ADEEM. 


599 


A'EESES 

61JPP0SED  TO  BE  WRITTEN  BY  ALEXANDER  SEL- 
KIRK, DL'RIXG  niS  SOLITARY  ABODE^  IN  THE 
ISLAND    OF   JUAN   FERNANDEZ. 

I  AM  monjircii  of  all  I  survey^ 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute  ; 

From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea, 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  Solitude !  Avhere  are  the  charms 

■    That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 

Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms 

Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach ; 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone, 
JiJ'ever  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech — 

I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 
The  beasts  that  roam  over  the  plain 

My  form  with  indifference  see  ; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 

Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  mc. 

Society,  friendship,  and  love, 

Divinely  bestowed  upon  man ! 
Oh,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove. 

How  soon  would  I  taste  yon  again ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  Avays  of  religion  and  truth — 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age. 

And  be  cheered  by  the  sallies  of  youth. 


Religion 


"What  treasure  untold 

Besides  in  that  heavenly  word  ! — 
More  precious  than  silver  and  gold, 

Or  all  that  this  earth  can  afford ; 
But  the  sound  of  the  church-going  bell 

These  valleys  and  rocks  never  heard, 
Never  sighed  at  the  sound  of  a  knell. 

Or  smiled  when  a  sabbath  appeared. 

Ye  winds  that  have  made  me  your  sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more ! 
My  friends — do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me  ? 
Oh  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend, 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see. 


How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind ! 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight, 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift-winged  arrows  of  light. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land, 

In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there  ; 
But,  alas !  recollection  at  hand 

Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

But  the  sea-fowl  is  gone  to  her  nest. 

The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair ; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 

And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There 's  mercy  in  every  place. 

And  mercy — encouraging  thought! — 
Gives  even  afHlction  a  grace, 

And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 

■William  Cowpees. 


ABOU  BEJ?-  .iDHEM. 

Abou  B-en  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase !) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace. 
And  saw  witliin  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold : 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adliem  bold. 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"What  writest  thou?" — The  vision  raised  its 

head, 
And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord. 
Answered — "The  names  of  those  who  love 

the  Lord." 
"And  is  mine  one?"  saidAbou;  "Nay,  not 

so," 
Replied  the  angel. — Abou  spoke  more  low, 
But  cheerly  still ;  and  said,  "  1  pray  thee,  then, 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The    angol  wrote,  and  vanislicd.     The  next 

night 
It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light. 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God 

had  blessed — 
And,  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest! 

Leigh  Hunt. 


600 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


THE  STEAMBOAT. 

S"EE  liow  yon  flaming  herald  treads 

The  ridged  and  rolling  waves, 
As,  crashing  o'er  their  crested  heads, 

She  bows  her  snrly  slaves ! 
"With  foam  before  and  fire  behind, 

She  rends  the  clinging  sea, 
That  flies  before  the  roaring  wind, 

Beneath  her  hissing  lee. 

The  morning  spray,  like  sea-born  flowers 

"With  heaped  and  glistening  bells. 
Falls  round  her  fast  in  ringing  showers, 

"With  every  wave  that  swells ; 
And,  flaming  o'er  the  midnight  deep, 

In  lurid  fringes  thrown. 
The  living  gems  of  ocean  sweep 

Along  her  flashing  zone. 

"With  clashing  wheel,  and  lifting  keel, 

And  smoking  torch  on  high, 
"When  winds  are  loud,  and  billows  reel. 

She  thunders,  foaming,  by ! 
When  seas  are  silent  and  serene 

"With  even  beam  she  glides. 
The  sunshine  glimmering  through  the  green 

Tliat  skirts  her  gleaming  sides, 

ISTow,  like  a  wild  nymph,  far  apart 

She  veils  her  shadowy  form. 
The  beating  of  her  restless  heart 

Still  sounding  through  the  storm  ; 
Now  answers,  like  a  courtly  dame. 

The  reddening  surges  o'er, 
"With  flying  scarf  of  spangled  flame, 

The  pharos  of  the  shore. 

To-night  yon  pilot  shall  not  sleep, 

"Who  trims  his  narrowed  sail ; 
To-night  yon  frigate  scarce  shall  keep 

Her  broad  breast  to  the  gale ; 
And  many  a  foresail,  scooped  and  strained, 

Shall  break  from  yard  and  stay. 
Before  this  smoky  wreath  hath  stained 

The  rising  mist  of  day. 

Ilark !  hark !  I  hear  yon  whistling  shroud, 

I  see  yon  quivering  mast — 
The  black  throat  of  the  hunted  cloud 

Is  panting  forth  the  blast ! 


An  hour,  and,  whirled  like  winnowing  chafj' 

The  giant  surge  shall  fling 
His  tresses  o'er  yon  pennon-stafl', 

"White  as  the  sea-bird's  wing ! 

Yet  rest,  ye  wanderers  of  the  deep ! 

Nor  wind  nor  wave  shall  tire 
Those  fleshless  arms,  whose  pulses  leap 

"With  floods  of  living  fire ; 
Sleep  on — and  when  the  morning  light 

Streams  o'er  the  shining  bay. 
Oh,  think  of  those  for  whom  the  night 

Shall  never  wake  in  day ! 

Oliveb  "Wendell  Holmeq. 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

Undee  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 

The  village  smithy  stands  : 
The  smith — a  mighty  man  is  he. 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long ; 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat — 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can  ; 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow — 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children,  coming  home  from  school, 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
Tliey  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar. 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks,  that  fly 

Like  chaff"  from  a  threshing  floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 
And  sits  among  his  boys ; 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    FORGE. 


60] 


He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach — 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in  Paradise ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies ; 
And  -with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling,  rejoicing,  sorrowing — 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 
Each  evening  sees  it  close — 

Something  attempted,  something  done, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend. 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrouglit — 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought ! 

IIexry  Wadswokth  Longfello'w. 


THE  SOI^Q  OF  THE  FOEGE. 

Claxg,  clang !  the  massive  anvils  ring ; 

Clang,  clang !  a  hundred  hammers  swiag — 

Like  the  thunder-rattle  of  a  tropic  sky. 

The  mighty  blows  still  multij^ly — 

Clang,  clang ! 

Say,  brothers  of  the  dusky  brow. 

What  are  your  strong  arms  forging  now  ? 

Clang,  clang ! — we  forge  the  coulter  now — 
The  coulter  of  the  kindly  plough. 
Sweet  Mary  mother,  bless  our  toil ! 
May  its  broad  furrow  still  unbind 
To  genial  rains,  to  sun  and  wind. 
The  most  benignant  soil ! 

Clang,  clang ! — our  coulter's  course  shall  be 
On  many  a  sweet  and  sheltered  lea. 
By  many  a  streamlet's  silver  tide — 
Amidst  the  song  of  morning  birds. 
Amidst  the  low  of  sauntering  herds — 
80 


Amidst  soft  breezes,  which  do  stray 
Through  woodbine  hedges  and  sweet  May, 
Along  the  green  hill's  side. 

When  regal  autumn's  bounteous  hand 
With  wide-spread  glory  clothes  the  land — 
When  to  the  valleys,  from  the  brow 
Of  each  resplendent  slope,  is  rolled 
A  ruddy  sea  of  living  gold — 
We  bless,  we  bless  the  plough. 

Clang,  clang ! — again,  my  mates,  what  giows 
Beneath  the  hammer's  potent  blows  ? 
Clink,  clank! — we  forge  the  giant  chain. 
Which  bears  the  gallant  vessel's  strain 
'Midst  stormy  winds  and  adverse  tides ; 
Secured  by  this,  the  good  ship  braves 
The  rocky  roadstead,  and  the  waves 
Which  thunder  on  her  sides. 

Anxious  no  more,  the  merchant  sees 
The  mist  drive  dark  before  the  breeze, 
The  storm-cloud  on  the  hill ; 
Calmly  he  rests — though  far  away, 
In  boisteroias  climes,  his  vessel  lay — 
Keliant  on  our  skill. 

Say  on  what  sands  these  links  shall  sleep. 
Fathoms  beneath  the  solemn  deep  ? 
By  Afric's  pestilential  shore  ; 
By  many  an  iceberg,  lone  and  hoar ; 
By  many  a  palmy  western  isle. 
Basking  in  spring's  perpetual  smile  ; 
By  stormy  Labrador. 

Say,  shall  they  feel  the  vessel  reel. 

When  to  the  battery's  deadly  peal 

The  crashing  broadside  makes  rci»ly  ; 

Or  else,  as  ut  the  glorious  Nile, 

Hold  grappling  ships,  that  strive  the  while 

For  death  or  victory  ? 

Hurrah  ! — cling,   clang  ! — once  more,    what 

glows. 
Dark  brothers  of  the  forge,  beneath 
The  iron  tempest  of  your  blows. 
The  furnace's  red  breath  ? 

Clang,  clang ! — a  burning  torrent,  clear 
And  brilliant  of  briglit  sparks,  is  poured 


C02 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Around,  and  up  in  the  dusky  nir, 
As  our  hammers  forge  the  sowrd. 

The  bword  I — a  name  of  dread  ;  yet  when 
Upon  the  freeman's  thigh  't  is  bound — 
"While  for  his  altar  and  his  hearth, 
"While  for  the  land  that  gave  him  birth, 
Tlie  war-drums  roll,  the  trumpets  sound — 
How  sacred  is  it  then  ! 

Whenever  for  the  truth  and  right 
It  flashes  in  the  van  of  fight — 
"Whether  in  some  wild  mountain  pass, 
As  that  where  fell  Leonidas  ; 
Or  on  some  sterile  plain  and  stern, 
A  Marston,  or  a  Bannockburn ; 
Or  amidst  crags  and  bursting  rills, 
The  Switzer's  Alps,  gray  Tyrol's  hills  ; 
Or,  as  when  sunk  the  Armada's  pride, 
It  gleams  above  the  stormy  tide — 
Still,  still,  Avhene'er  the  battle  word 
Is   liberty,  when  men  do  stand 
For  justice  and  their  native  land — 
Then  heaven  bless  the  sword  ! 

Anontmous. 


THE  FORGING  OF  THE  AXCHOR. 

Come,  see  the  Dolphin's  anchor  forged !  't  is 

at  a  white  heat  now — 
The  bellows   ceased,  the  flames  decreased; 

though,  on  the  foi'ge's  brow. 
The  little  flames  still  fitfully  play  through  the 

sable  mound ; 
And  fitfully  you  still  may  see  the  grim  smiths 

ranking  round ; 
All  clad  in  leathern  panoply,  their  broad 

hands  only  bare. 
Some  rest  upon  their  sledges  here,  some  work 

the  windlass  there. 

The  windlass  strains  the  tackle-chains — the 
black  mould  heaves  below  ; 

And  red  and  deep,  a  hundred  veins  burst  out 
at  every  throe. 

It  rises,  roars,  rends  all  outright — 0,  Vulcan, 
what  a  glow ! 


'T  is  blinding  white,  't  is  blasting  bright — tlie 

high  sun  shines  not  so  ! 
Tlie  high  sun  sees  not,  on  the  earth,  sucli  fiery 

fearful  show ! 
The  roof-ribs  swarth,  the  candent  hearth,  the 

ruddy  Inrid  row 
Of  smiths — that  stand,  an  ardent  band,  like 

men  before  the  foe ! 
As,  quivering  through  his  fleece  of  flame,  the 

sailing  monster  slow 
Sinks  on  the  anvil — all  about,  the  faces  fiery 

grow : 
"  Hurrah !  "  they  shout,  "leap  out,  leap  out! " 

bang,  bang!  the  sledges  go  ; 
Hurrah  !  the  jetted  lightnings  are  hissing  high 

and  low ; 
A  hailing  fount  of  fire  is  struck  at  every 

squashing  blow ; 
The  leathern  mail  rebounds  the  hail ;  the  rat- 
tling cinders  strew 
The  ground  around ;    at  every  bound   the 

sweltering  fountains  flow ; 
And,  thick  and  loud,  the  swinking  crowd  at 

every  stroke  pant  "  ho !  " 
Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters !  leap  out,  and 

lay  on  load ! 
Let 's  forge  a  goodly  anchor — a  bower  thick 

and  broad ; 
For  a  heart  of  oak  is  hanging  on  every  blow, 

I  bode ; 
And  I  see  the  good  ship  riding,  all  in  a  peril- 
ous road — 
The  low  reef  roaring  on  her  lea ;  the  roll  of 

ocean  poured 
From  stem  to  stern,  sea  after  sea ;  the  main- 
mast by  the  board ; 
The  bulwarks  down ;  the  rudder  gone ;  the 

boats  stove  at  the  chains ; 
But  courage  still,  brave  mariners — the  bower 

yet  remains ! 
And  not  an  inch  to  flinch  he  deigns — save 

when  ye  pitch  sky  high  ; 
Then  moves  his  head,  as  though  he  said, 

"Fear  nothing — here  am  I!  " 

Swing  in  your  strokes  in  order !  let  foot  and 

hand  keep  time ; 
Your  blows  make  music  sweeter  far   than 

any  steeple's  chime. 
But  while  ye  swing  your  sledges,  sing ;  and 

let  the  burthen  be. 


THE  FORGING  OF  THE  ANCHOR. 


603 


The  anchor  is  the  anvil  king,  and  royal  crafts- 
men we ! 

Strike  in,  strike  in  I — the  sparks  begin  to  dull 
their  rustling  red ; 

Our  hammers  ring  with  sharper  din — our 
work  will  soon  he  sped ; 

Our  anchor  soon  must  change  his  bed  of  fiery 
rich  array 

For  a  hammock  at  the  roaring  bows,  or  an 
oozy  couch  of  clay .; 

Our  anchor  soon  must  change  the  lay  of  mer- 
ry craftsmen  here 

For  the  yeo-heave-o,  and  the  heave-away, 
and  the  sighing  seamen's  cheer — 

When,  weighing  slow,  at  eve  they  go,  far,  far 
from  love  and  home  ; 

And  sobbing  sweethearts,  in  a  row,  wail  o'er 
the  ocean  foam. 

In  livid  and  obdurate  gloom,  he  darkens  down 
at  last ; 

A  shapely  one  he  is,  and  strong,  as  e'er  from 
cat  was  cast. 

O  trusted  and  trustworthy  guard!  if  thou 
hadst  life  like  me, 

"What  pleasures  would  thy  toils  reward  be- 
neath the  deep  green  sea ! 

0  deep  sea-diver,  who  might  then  behold 
such  sights  as  thou  ? — 

The  hoary  monstei-'s  palaces! — Me  thinks 
what  joy  't  were  now 

To  go  plumb-plunging  down,  amid  the  assem- 
bly of  the  whales. 

And  feeJ  the  churned  sea  round  me  boil  be- 
neath theii  scourging  tails ! 

Then  deep  in  tangle-woods  to  fight  the  fierce 
sea-unicorn. 

And  send  him  foiled  and  bellowing  back,  for 
all  his  ivory  horn  ; 

To  leave  the  subtle  sworder-fish  of  bony  blade 
forlorn ; 

And  for  the  ghastly-grinning  shark,  to  laugh 
his  jaws  to  scorn  ; 

To  leap  down  on  the  kraken's  back,  whore 
'raid  Norwegian  isles 

lie  lies,  a  lubber  anchorage  for  sudden  shal- 
lowed miles- 
Till,  snorting  like  an  under-sea  volcano,  off' 
he  rolls ; 

Meanwhile  to  swing,  a-buffeting  the  far 
astonished  shoals 


Of  his  back-browsing  ocean-calves;  or,  hap- 
ly, in  a  cove 

Shell-strown,  and  consecrate  of  old  to  some 
Undine's  love. 

To  find  the  long-haired  mermaidens ;  or,  hard 
by  icy  lands. 

To  wrestle  with  the  sea-serpent,  upon  ceru- 
lean sands. 

O  broad-armed  fisher  of  the  deep !    whose 

sports  can  equal  thine  ? 
The  dolphin  weighs  a  thousand  tons,  that 

tugs  thy  cable  line  ; 
And  night  by  night  't  is  thy  delight,  thy  glory 

day  by  day. 
Through  sable  sea  and  breaker  white  the  giant 

game  to  play. 
But,  shamer  of  our  little  sports !  forgive  the 

name  I  gave : 
A  fisher's  joy  is  to  destrey — thine  office  is  to 

save. 
0  lodger  in  the  sea-kings'  halls  !  couldst  thou 

but  understand 
Whose  be  the  white  bones  by  thy  side — or 

who  that  dripping  band, 
Slow   swaying  in    the  heaving  wave,   that 

round  about  thee  bend, 
With  sounds  like  breakers  in  a  dream  bless- 
ing their  ancient  friend — 
Oh,  oouldst  thou  know  what  heroes  glide  with 

larger  steps  round  thee,     ■ 
Thine  iron  side  would  swell  with  pride— 

thou  'dst  leap  witliin  the  sea ! 

Give  honor  to  their  memories  who  left  the 

pleasant  strand 
To  shed  their  blood  so  freely  for  the  love  of 

father-land — 
Who  left  their  chance  of  quiet  age  and  grassy 

churchyard  grave 
So  freely,  for  a  restless  bed  amid  the  tossing 

wave ! 
Oh,  though  our  anclior  may  not  be  all  1  have 

fondly  sung, 
Honor  him  for  their  memory  whose  bones  he 


goes  among ! 


Samukl  Ferguson. 


604 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DREAM. 

OuE  bugles  sang  truce ;   foi-  the  niglit-cloud 
had  lowered, 
And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in 
the  sky ; 
And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  over- 
powered— 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to 
die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of 
straw, 
By  the  wolf-scaring  fagot  that  guarded  the 
slain, 
At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  vision  I  saw, 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it 
again. 

Methought  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful 
array 
Far,  far  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate  track : 
'Twas  autumn — and  sunshine  arose  on  the 
way 
To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed 
me  back. 

1  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields,  traversed  so  oft 
In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom 
was  young ; 
I  heard  my   own  mountain-goats    bleating 
aloft, 
And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn- 
reapers  sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I 
swore 
From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends 
never  to  part ; 
Mj  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand  times  o'er, 
And  my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her  fulness 
of  heart. 

Stay,  stay  with  us ! — rest ;  thou  art  weary  and 

worn! — 

And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to 

stay; 

But  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning  of 

morn, 

And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted 

away. 

Thomas  Caxipbelu 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BLENHEIM. 


It  was  a  summer  evening — 
Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 

And  he  before  his  cottage  door 
Was  sitting  in  the  sun ; 

And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 

His  little  grandcliild  Wilhelmine. 


II. 
She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 

Roll  something  large  and  round. 
Which  he  beside  the  rivulet, 

In  playing  there,  had  found ; 
He  came  to  ask  what  ho  had  found, 
That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

III. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy. 

Who  stood  expectant  by ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 

And,  with  a  natural  sigh — 
"  'T  is  some  poor  fellow's  skuU,"  said  he, 
"  Who  fell  in  the  great  victory. 

IV. 

"I  find  them  in  the  garden. 
For  there 's  many  here  about ; 

And  often  when  I  go  to  plough, 
The  ploughshare  turns  them  out ; 

For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 

"AVere  slain  in  the  great  victory." 


"Now  tell  us  what 't  was  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin  he  cries ; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes — 
"Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war. 
And  what  they  fought  each  other  for." 

TI. 

"It  was  the  English,"  Kaspar  cried, 
"  Who  put  the  French  to  rout; 

But  what  they  fought  each  other  for 
I  could  not  well  make  out ; 

But  every  body  said,"  quoth  he, 

"  That 't  was  a  famous  victory. 


THE    ARSENAL    AT    SPRINGFIELD. 


605 


YII. 

*'  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then, 

Yon  little  stream  hard  by ; 
They  bm-nt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 

And  he  was  forced  to  fly ; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 
!N"or  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

Tin. 
"  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

"Was  wasted  far  and  wide ; 
And  many  a  childing  mother  there, 

And  new-born  baby  died; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 

IX. 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

After  the  field  was  won — 
For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun ; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 


"Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlbro'  won, 
And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 

"  Why,  'fc  was  a  very  wicked  thing ! " 
Said  little  Wilhelmine. 

"  Xay — nay — my  little  girl !  "  quoth  he, 

"  It  was  a  famous  victory. 

XI. 

"  And  every  body  praised  the   duke, 
Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 

"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last? " 
Quoth  little  Peterkin. 

"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he ; 

"But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 

EOBBRT  SOUTHEY. 


VICTORIOUS  MEN  OF  EAPwTII. 

Victorious  men  of  earth,  no  more 
Proclaim  how  wide  your  empires  are ; 

Though  you  bind  in  every  shore, 
And  your  triumphs  reach  as  far 


As  night  or  day, 
Yet  you  proud  monarchs  must  obey. 
And  mingle  with  forgotten  ashes,  when 
Death  calls  ye  to  the  crowd  of  common 
men. 

Devouring  famine,  plague,  and  Avar, 

Each  able  to  undo  mankind. 
Death's  servile  emissaries  are ; 
Nor  to  these  alone  confined — 
He  hath  at  will 
More  quaint  and  subtle  ways  to  kill : 
A  smile  or  kiss,  as  he  wiU  use  the  art. 
Shall  have  the  cunning  skiU  to  break  a 


heart. 


James  SraKLKT. 


THE  AESENAL  AT  SPPvINGFIELD. 

This  is  the  arsenal.     From  floor  to  ceiling, 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnished  arras; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villages  with  strange  alarms. 

Ah !  what  a  sound  will  rise — how  wild  and 
dreary — 
When  the  death-angel  touches  those  swift 
keys! 
Wliat  loud  lament  and  dismal  miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies! 

I  hear  even  now  the  infinite  fierce  chorus— 
The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan, 

Which,  tlirough  the  ages  that  have  gone  be- 
fore us, 
In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  ham- 
mer; 
Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norse- 
man's song ; 
And  loud,  amid  the  universal  clamor, 

O'er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

I  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 
Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful 
din ; 
And  Aztec  priests  upon  their  tcocallis 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpents' 
skin; 


C.06 


POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND  REFLECTION. 


The  tiiniult  of  each  sacked  and  burning  vil- 


lage ; 
Tlie   shout  that  every  prayer  for  mercy 

drowns ; 
The  soldiers'  revels  in  the  midst  of  pi-Ilage ; 
The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns ; 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched 
asunder, 

The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade — 
And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder. 

The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

Is  it,  0  man,  with  such  discordant  noises, 
With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 

Thou  drownest    nature's  sweet  and  kindly 
voices. 
And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies? 

Were  half  the  power  that  fills  the  w^orld  with 
terror, 
Were  half  the  weakh  bestowed  on  camps 
and  courts. 
Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  ejror, 
There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  nor  forts ; 

The  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  ab- 
horred ; 
And  every  nation  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a  brother,  on  its  forehead 
Would  wear    forevermore    the    curse    of 
Cain! 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  genera- 
tions, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then 
cease ; 
And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 
I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say, 
"Peace!" 

Peace ! — and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 
The  blast  of  Avar's  great  organ  shakes  the 
skies ; 
But,  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals, 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise. 

IIbnet  Wadswcrth  Longfellow. 


THE  BUCKET. 

IIow  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  mj 

childhood, 
When    fond   recollection   presents   them  to 

view ! — 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled 

wildwood, 
And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew ! 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  that 

stood  by  it ; 
The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the   cata- 
ract fell ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-hon&«  nigh  it; 
And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  that  hung  in  the 

well— 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket  which  hung  in  the 

well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hailed  as  a  treas- 
ure ; 

For  often  at  noon,  when  returned  from  the  field, 

I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure — 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield. 

How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were 
glowing, 

And  quick  to  the  Avhite-pebbled  bottom  it  fell ! 

Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  over- 
flowing, 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from 
the  well — 

The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 

The  moss-covered  bucket,  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green,  mossy  brim  to  re- 
ceive it, 

As,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips! 

Not  a  full,  blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to 
leave  it, 

The  brightest  that  beauty  or  revelry  sips. 

And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  habi- 
tation. 

The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell, 

As  fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation. 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  that  hangs  in  the 
well — 

The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 

The  moss-covered  bucket  that  hangs  in  the 


well ! 


Samuel  WooD-woETn. 


ox    THE    RECEIPT    OF    MY    MOTHER'S   PICTURE. 


607- 


O'S  THE  EECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER'S 
PICTURE 

OUT   OF   NOEFOLK,    TUE    GIFT    OF   MY   COrSIJf, 
ANX   BODIIAM. 

Oil  that  those  lips  liad  language !     Life  has 

passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 
Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I 

see, 
The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me ; 
Voice  only  fails — else  how  distinct  they  say 
"Grieve  not,  my  child — chase  all  thy  fears 

away ! " 
The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes 
(Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize, 
The  art  that  baffles  time's  tyrannic  claim 
To  quench  it!)  here  shines  on  me  still  the 

same. 
Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear ! 

0  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here ! 
Who  bidst  me  honor  with  an  artless  song:. 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long. 

1  will  obey — not  willingly  alone. 

But  gladly,  as  the  ]yrecept  were  her  own  ; 

And,  while  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief. 

Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief — 

Shall  steep  me  in  Elysian  reverie, 

A  momentary  dream  that  thou  art  she. 
My  mother !  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast 
dead, 

Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 

Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son — 

Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun? 

Perhaps  thou  gavest  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss ; 

Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss — • 

Ah,  that  matei-nal  smile !  it  answers — Yes. 

I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day ; 

I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away; 

And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 

A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu  ! 

But  was  it  such  ? — It  was. — Where  thou  art 
gone 

Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown  ; 

May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore. 

The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more. 

Thy  maidens,  grieved  themselves  at  my  con- 
cern. 

Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return ; 


What  ardently  I  wished  I  long  believed. 
And,  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived — 
By  expectation  every  day  beguiled. 
Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a  child. 
Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  aud  went, 
Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrows  spent, 
I  learned  at  last  submission  to  my  lot ; 
But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  for- 
got. 
Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  is  heard 

no  more — 
Children  not  thine  have  trod  my  nursery 

floor; 
And  where  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day. 
Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way — 
Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapped 
In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet  cap — 
'T  is  now  become  a  history  little  known. 
That  once  we  called  the  pastoral  house  our 

own. 
Short-lived  possession !  but  the  record  fair. 
That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there, 
StiU  outlives  many  a  storm  that  has  effaced 
A  thousand  other  themes,  less  deeply  traced : 
Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made, 
That  thou  might'st  know  me  safe  and  warm- 
ly laid ; 
Thy  morning  bounties  ere  I  left  my  home — 
The  biscuit,  or  confectionary  plum  ; 
The  fragrant  waters  on  my  cheeks  bestowed 
By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  shone  aud 

glowed : 
All  this,  and,  more  endearing  still  than  all, 
Thy  constant  flow  of  love,  that  knew  no  fall — • 
ISTe'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks 
That  humor  interposed  too  often  makes  ; 
All  this,  still  legible  in  memory's  page. 
And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 
Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 
Such  honors  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may — 
Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  but  sincere — 
Not  scorned  in  heaven,  though  little  noticed 

here. 
Could  time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the 

hours 
When,   playing  with   thy  vesture's    tissued 

flowers — 
The  violet,  the  pink,  the  jessamine — 
I  pricked  them  into  paper  with  a  pin, 
(And  thou  wast  liappicr  tlian   myself  the 

while — 


60S 


POEMS     OF    SENTIMENT    AND    TvEELECTION. 


Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and 

smile) — 
Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear, 
Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish 

them  here  ? 
I  would  not  trust  my  heai't — the  dear  delight 
Seems  so  to  he  desired,  perhaps  I  might. 
But  no — what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such. 
So  little  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much, 
That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 
Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou— as  a  gallant  bark,  from  Albion's 
coast, 
(The  storms  all  weathered  and  the  ocean 

crossed,) 
Shoots  into  port  at  some  well-havened  isle. 
Where  spices  breathe  and  bi-ighter  seasons 

smile. 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods,  that  show 
Her  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below, 
"While  airs  impregnated  with  incense  play 
Around  her,  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay— 
So  thou,  with  sails  how  swift !  hast  reached 

the  shore 
''Where  tempests  never    beat  nor  billows 

roar ;  " 
And  thy  loved  consort  on  the  dangerous  tide 
Of  life  long  since  has  anchored  by  thy  side. 
But  me,  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest. 
Always  from    port    withheld,    always    dis- 
tressed— 
Me  howling  blasts  drive  devious,  tempest- 
tossed, 
Sails  ripped,  seams  opening  wide,  and  com- 
pass lost ; 
And  day  by  day  some  current's  thwarting 

force 
Sets  me  more    distant  from   a    prosperous 

course. 
Yet  oh,  the  thought  that  thou  art  safe,  and  he! 
That  thought  is  joy,  arrive  what  may  to  me. 
My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From   loins    enthroned,   and  rulers  of   the 

earth ; 
But  higlier  far  ray  proud  pretensions  rise — 
The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies. 
And  now,  farewell ! — Time,  unrevoked,  has 

run 
His  wonted  course;  yet  what  I  wished  is 
done. 


By  contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  to    have  lived    my  childhood  o'er 

again — 
To  have  renewed  the  joys  that  once  were 

mine, 
Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine  ;  ' 
And,  while  the  wings  of  fancy  still  are  free. 
And  I  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee. 
Time  has  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theft — 
Thyself  removed,  thy  power  to  soothe  me 

left. 

WlLLIAil  COWPEK. 


THE  TRAVELLER; 

OR,    A   PROSPECT   OP   SOOIETT. 

Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow. 
Or  by  the  lazy  Scheldt,  or  wandering  Po, 
Or  onward,  where  the  rude  Carinthian  boor 
Against  the  houseless  stranger  shuts  the  door. 
Or  where  Campania's  plain  forsaken  lies, 
A  weary  waste  expanding  to  the  skies : 
Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see, 
My  heart  untravelled  fondly  turns  to  thee ; 
Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And   drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening 
chain. 

Eternal  blessings  crown  my  earliest  friend, 
And  round  his  dwelling  guardian  saints  at- 
tend! 
Blest  be  that  spot,  where  cheerful  guests  re- 
tire 
To  pause  from  toil,  and  time  their  evening 

fire! 
Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  re- 
pair, 
And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair ! 
Blest  be    those  feasts  with    simple  plenty 

crowned, 
Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 
Laugh  at  the  jests  or  pranks  that  never  fiiil. 
Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale; 
Or  press  the  bashfid  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good ! 

But  me,   not    destined  such    delights  to 
share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent,  and 
care ; 


THE    TRAVELLER. 


609 


Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pm-siie 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  ^vith  the 

view, 
That  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies ; 
Mr  future  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own. 
E'en  now,  v/here  Alpine  solitudes  ascend, 
I  sit  me  down  a  pensive  hour  to  spend ; 
And,  placed  on  high  above  the  storm's  career. 
Look  downward   where   a  hundred  realms 

appear : 
Lakes,  forests,  cities,  plains  extending  wide. 
The  pomp  of  kings,  the  shepherd's  humbler 

pride. 

"When  thus  creation's  charms  around  com- 
bine. 

Amidst  the  store  should  thankless  pride  re- 
pine ? 

Say,  should  the  philosophic  mind  disdain 

That  good  which  makes  each  humbler  bosom 
vain? 

Let  school-taught  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 

These  little  things  are  great  to  little  man  ; 

And  wiser  he  whose  sympathetic  mind 

Exults  in  all  the  good  of  all  mankind. 

Ye  glittering  towns,  with  wealth  and  splendor 
crowned ; 

Ye  fields,  where  summer  spreads  profusion 
round  ; 

Ye  lakes,  whose  vessels  catch  the  busy  gale ; 

Ye  bending  swains,  that  dress  the  flowery  vale ; 

For  me  your  tributary  stores  combine. 

Creation's  heir,  the  world — the  world  is  mine ! 

As  some  lone  miser  visiting  his  store, 
Bends  at  his  treasure,  counts,  recounts  it  o'er, 
Hoards  after  hoards  his  rising  raptures  fill. 
Yet  still  he  sighs,  for  hoards  are  wanting  still. 
Thus  to  my  breast  alternate  passions  rise, 
Pleased  with  each  good  that  heaven  to  man 

supplies ; 
Yet  oft  a  sigh  prevails,  and  sorrows  fall, 
To  see  the  sum  of  human  bliss  so  small : 
And  oft  I  wish,  amidst  the  scene  to  find 
Some  spot  to  real  happiness  consigned. 
Where  my  worn  soul,  each  wandering  hope 

at  rest, 
May  gather  bliss  to  see  my  fellows  blest. 
81 


But  where  to  find  that  happiest  spot  below 
Who  can  direct,  when  all  pretend  to  know  ? 
The  shuddering  tenant  of  the  frigid  zone 
Boldly  proclaims  that  happiest  spot  his  own  ; 
Extols  the  treasures  of  his  stormy  seas, 
And  his  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease ; 
The  naked  negro,  planting  at  the  line. 
Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine, 
Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 
And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  goods  they 

gave. 
Such  IS  the  patriot's  boast  where'er  we  roam, 
His  first,  best  country,  ever  is  at  home. 
And  yet  perhaps,  if  coimtries  we  compare. 
And  estimate  the  blessings  which  they  share. 
Though   patriots  flatter,   still  shall  wisdom 

find 
An  equal  portion  dealt  to  all  mankind; 
As  different  good,  by  art  or  nature  given, 
To  different  nations,  makes  their  blessings 

even. 

Nature,  a  mother  kind  alike  lo  all. 
Still  grants  her  bliss  at  labor's  earnest  call ; 
With  food  as  well  the  peasant  is  supplied 
On  Idra's  cliffs  as  Arno's  shelvj'  side ; 
And    though    the    rocky-crested     summits 

frown, 
These  rocks  by  custom  turn  to  beds  of  down. 
From   art  more  various   are    the  blessings 

sent, — 
Wealth,  commerce,  honor,  liberty,  content. 
Yet  these  each  other's  power  so  strong  con- 
test, 
TJiat  either  seems  desti-uctive  of  the  rest. 
AV'liere  wealth   and  freedom  reign,  content- 

■  ment  fails. 
And  honor  sinks  where  commerce  long  pre- 
vails. 
Hence  every  state,  to  our  loved  blessing  prone, 
Conforms  and  models  life  to  that  alone. 
Each  to  the  favorite  happiness  attends, 
And  spurns  the  plan  that  aims  at  other  ends, 
Till,  carried  to  excess  in  eacli  domain. 
This  favorite  good  begets  peculiar  pam. 

But  lot  us  try  these  truths  witli  closer  eyes, 
And  trace  them  through  the  prospect  as  it  lies; 
Here,  for  a  while,  my  proper  cares  resigned, 
Here  let  me  sit  in  sorrow  for  mankind ; 


610 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Like  yon  neglected  shrub  at  random  cast, 
That  shades  the  steep,  and  sighs  at  every 
blast. 

Far  to  tlie  right,  where  Apennine  ascends, 
Bright  as  the  summer,  Italy  extends ; 
Its  upk^nds  sloping  deck  the  mountain's  side, 
"Woods  over  woods,  in  gay  theatric  pride, 
AVhile   oft  some   temple's   mouldering  tops 

between 
"With  venerable  grandeur  mai-k  the  scene. 

Could  nature's  bounty  satisfy  the  breast. 
The  sons  of  Italy  were  surely  blest: 
"Whatever  fruits  in  different  climes  are  found, 
That    proudly    rise,    or    humbly  court    the 

ground ; 
"Whatever  blooms  in  torrid  tracts  appear. 
Whose  bright  succession  decks   the  varied 

year ; 
"W'hatever  sweets  salute  tlj^3  northern  sky 
"With  vernal  lives,  that  blossom  but  to  die; 
These  here  disporting  own  the  kindred  soil, 
Nor  ask  luxuriance  from  the  planter's  toil ; 
"While  sea-born   gales  their  gelid  wings  ex- 
pand, 
To  winnow  fragrance  round  the  smiling  land. 

But  small  the  bliss  that  sense  alone  bestows. 
And  sensual  bliss  is  all  this  nation  knows. 
In  florid  beauty  groves  and  fields  appear, 
Man  seems  the  only  growth  that  dwindles  here. 
Contrasted  faults  through   all  his  manners 

reign : 
Though  poor,  luxurious  ;  though  submissive, 

vain; 
Though  grave,  yet  trifling;  zealous,  yet  un- 
true! 
And  e'en  in  penance  planning  sins  anew. 
All  evils  here  contaminate  the  mind. 
That  opulence  departed  leaves  behind ; 
For  wealth  was  theirs  ;  not  far  removed  the 

date 
"When  commerce  proudly  flourished  through 

the  state. 
At  her  command  the  palace  learned  to  rise. 
Again  the  long-fallen  column  sought  the  skies. 
The  canvas  glowed,  beyond  e'en  nature  warm. 
The  pregnant  quarry  teamed  with  human 
form ; 


Till,  more  unsteady  than  the  southern  gale. 
Commerce  on  other  shores  displayed  her  sail ; 
"While  naught  remained,  of  all   that  riches 

gave. 
But  towns  unmanned,  and  loi*ds  without  a 

slave ; 
And  late  the  nation  found,  with   fruitless 

skill. 
Its  former  strength  was  but  plethoric  ill. 

Yet  still  the  loss  of  wealth  is  here  supplied 
By  arts,  the  splendid  wrecks  of  former  pride ; 
From  these  the  feeble  heart  and  long-fallen 

mind 
An  easy  compensation  seem  to  find. 
Here  may  be  seen,  in  bloodless  pomp  ar- 
rayed, 
The  pasteboard  triumph  and  the  cavalcade ; 
Processions  formed  for  piety  and  love, 
A  mistress  or  a  saint  in  every  grove. 
By  sports  like  these  are  all  their  cares  be- 
guiled ; 
The  sports  of  children  satisfy  the  child: 
Each  nobler  aim,  repressed  by  long  control, 
Now  sinks  at  last,  or  feebly  mans  the  soul ; 
"While  low  delights  succeeding  fast  behind, 
In  happier  meanness  occupy  the  mind. 
As  in  those  domes  where  Caesars  once  bore 

sway, 
Defaced  by  time,  and  tottering  in  decay. 
There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead, 
The  shelter-seeking  peasant  builds  his  shed  ; 
And,  wondering  man  could  Avant  the  larger 

pile, 
Exults,  and  owns  his  cottage  with  a  smile. 

My  soul,  turn  from  them !  turn  me  to  sur- 
vey 
"Where  rougher  climes  a  nobler  race  display. 
Where  the  bleak  Swiss  their  stormy  mansion 

tread. 
And  force  a  churlish  soil  for  scanty  bread : 
No  product  here  the  barren  hills  afford 
But  man  and  steel,  the  soldier  and  his  sword; 
No  vernal  blooms  their  torpid  rocks  array. 
But  winter  lingering  chills  the  lap  of  May  ; 
No  zephyr  fondly  sues  the  mountain's  breast. 
But  meteors  glare,  and  stormy   glooms  in- 
vest. 


THE     TRAVELLER. 


611 


Yet  still,  even  licre,  content  can  spread  a 

charm, 
Redress  the  clime,  and  all  its  rage  disarm. 
Though    poor  the  peasant's  hut,   his  feast 

though  small. 
He  sees  his  little  lot  the  lot  of  all ; 
Sees  no  contiguous  palace  rear  its  head, 
To  shame  the  meanness  of  his  humble  shed ; 
No  costly  lord  the  sumptuous  banquet  deal 
To  make  him  loathe  his  vegetable  meal ; 
But  calm,  and  bred  in  ignorance  and  toil, 
Each  wish  contracting,  fits  him  to  the  soil. 
Cheerful  at  morn  he  wakes  from  short  repose. 
Breathes  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes ; 
With  patient  angle  trolls  the  finny  deep. 
Or  drives  his  ventm-ous  ploughshare  to  the 

steep ; 
Or  seeks  the  den  where  snow-tracks  mark 

the  way. 
And  drags  the  struggling  savage  into  day. 
At  night  returning,  every  labor  sped, 
He  sits  him  down  the  monarch  of  a  shed  ; 
Smiles  by  a  cheerful  fire,  and  round  surveys 
His   children's  looks  that  brighten  to  the 

blaze. 
While  his  loved    partner,    boastful   of   her 

hoard, 
Displays  her  cleanly  platter  on  the  board ; 
And  haply  too  some  pilgrim,  thither  led, 
With  many  a  tale  repays  the  nightly  bed. 

Thus  every  good  his  native  wilds  impart. 
Imprints  the  patriot  lesson  on  his  heart ; 
And  e'en  those  ills  that  round  his  mansion  rise, 
Enhance  the  bliss  his  scanty  fund  supplies. 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soulconforms. 
And   dear  that  hill  that  lifts  him  to  the 

storms ; 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest. 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  the  mother's  breast. 
So  the  loud  torrent  and  the  whirlwind's  roar 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 

Such   are  the    charms  to    barren    states 
assigned : 
Their  wants  but  few,  their  wishes  all  con- 
fined ; 
Yet  let  them  only  share  the  praises  due, — 
If  few  their  wants,  their  pleasures  are  but 
few : 


For  every  want  that  stimulates  the  breast 
Becomes  a  source  of  pleasure  when  redressed. 
Hence  from  such  lands  each  pleasing  science 

flies, 
That  first  excites  desire  and  then  supplies  ; 
Unknown  to  them,  when  sensual  pleasm-es 

cloy, 
To  fill  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy ; 
Unknown  those  powers  that  raise  the  soul  to 

flame. 
Catch  every  nerve,  and  vibrate  through  the 

frame. 
Their  level  life  is  but  a  smouldei-ing  fire, 
Xor  quenched  by  want,  nor  fanned  by  strong 

desire ; 
Unfit  for  raptures,  or  if  raptures  cheer 
On  some  high  festival  of  once  a  year. 
In  wild  excess  the  vulgar  breast  takes  fire. 
Til],  buried  in  debauch,  the  bliss  expire. 

But  not  their  joys  alone   thus   coarsely 

flow, — 
Their  morals,  like  their  pleasures,  are  but  low ; 
For,  as  refinement  stops,  from  sire  to  son 
Unaltered,  unimproved  the  manners  run ; 
And  love's  and  friendship's  finely  pointed 

dart 
Fall  blunted  from  each  indurated  heart. 
Some   sterner  virtues    o'er  the   mountain's 

breast 
iNFay  sit  like  falcons  cowering  on  the  nest; 
But  all  the  gentler  morals, — such  as  play 
Through  life's    more    cultured  walks,   and 

charm  the  way, — 
These,  far  dispersed,  on  timorous  pinions  fly, 
To  sport  and  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 

To  kinder  skies,   where  gentler  manners 
reign, 
I  turn,  and  France  displays  her  l)rig]it  do- 
main. 
Gay,  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease, 
Pleased  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can 

please, 
How  often  have  I  led  thy  sportive  choir 
With  tuneless  pipe  beside  the  murmuring 

Loire ! 
When  shading  elms  along  the  margin  grew. 
And  freshened  from  the  wave,  tlie  zephyr 
flew; 


61-i 


POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND  REFLECTION. 


And  baply,  though  my  harsh  touch  flattering 

stm, 

But  mocked  all  tune  and  marred  the  dancer's 
skill ; 

Yet  would  the  Tillage  praise  my  ^youdrous 
power, 

And  dance,  forgetful  of  the  noontide  hour. 

Alike  all  ages:  dames  of  ancient  days 

Have  led  their  children  through  the  mirthl'ul 
maze; 

And  the  gay  grandsire,  skilled  in  gestic  lore, 

Has  frisked  beneath  the  burden  of  three- 
score. 


So  blest  a  life  these  thoughtless  realms 
display. 
Thus  idly  busy  rolls  their  world  away. 
Theirs  are  those  arts  that  mind  to  mind  en- 
dear. 
For  honor  forms  the  social  temper  here : 
Honor,  that  praise  which  real  merit  gains. 
Or  e'en  imaginary  worth  obtains, 
Ilere  passes  current ;  paid  from  hand  to  hand, 
It  shifts  in  splendid  traffic  round  the  land ; 
From  courts  to  camps,  to  cottages  it  strays, 
And  all  are  taught  an  avarice  of  praise : 
They  please,  are  pleased ;  they  give  to  get 

esteem ; 
TiU,  seeming  blest,  they  grow  to  what  they 
seem. 


But  wliile  this  softer  art  tlieir  bliss  sup- 
plies. 
It  gives  their  follies  also  room  to  rise ; 
For  praise  too  dearly  loved  or  warmly  sought 
Enfeebles  all  internal  strength  of  thought; 
And  the  weak  soul,  within  itself  unblest. 
Leans  for  all  pleasure  on  another's  breast. 
Hence  ostentation  here,  with  tawdy  art. 
Pants  for  the  vulgar  praise  which  fools  im- 
part ; 
Here  vanity  assumes  her  pert  grimace. 
And  trims  her  robes  of  fi-ieze  witli  copper 

lace; 
Here  beggar  pride  defrauds  her  daily  cheer. 
To  boast  one  splendid  banquet  once  a  year; 
The  mind  still  turns  where  shifting  fashion 

draws, 
Nor  weighs  the  solid  worth  of  self-applause. 


To  men  of  other  minds  my  fancy  flies, 
Embosomed  in  the  deep  where  Holland  lies. 
Methinks  her  patient  sons  before  me  stand, 
Where  the  broad  ocean  leans  against  the  land, 
And,  sedulous  to  stop  the  coming  tide, 
Lift  the  tall  rampire's  artificial  pride. 
Onward,  methinks,  and  diligently  slow, 
The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow, 
Spreads  its  long  arms  amidst  the  watery  roar, 
Scoops  out  an  empire,-  and  usurps  the  shore ; 
While  the  pent  ocean,  rising  o'er  the  pile, 
Sees  an  ampliibious  world  beneath  him  smile ; 
The  slow  canal,  the  yellow-blossomed  vale, 
The  willow-tufted  bank,  the  gliding  sail, 
The  crowded  mart,  the  cultivated  plain, 
A  new  ci'eation  rescued  from  his  reign. 

Thus  while  around  the  wave-subjected  soil 
Impels  the  native  to  repeated  toil. 
Industrious  habits  in  each  bosom  reign. 
And  industry  begets  a  love  of  gain. 
Hence  all  the  good  from  opulence  that  springs, 
"With  all  those  ills  superfluous  treasure  brings, 
Are  here  displayed.   Their  much-loved  wealth 

imparts 
Convenience,  plenty,  elegance,  and  arts ; 
But  view  them  closer,  craft  and  fraud  appear ; 
E'en  liberty  itself  is  bartered  here ; 
At  gold's  superior  charms  all  freedom  flies. 
The  needy  sell  it,  and  the  rich  man  buys. 
A  land  of  tyrants,  and  a  den  of  slaves, 
Here  wretches  seek  dishonorable  graves. 
And,  calmly  bent,  to  servitude  conform, 
Dull  as  their  lakes  that  slumber  in  the  storm. 

Heavens  !   how  unlike  their  Bclgic  sires  oi 

old! 
Rough,  poor,  content,  ungovernably  bold. 
War   in  each   breast  and  freedom  on  each 

bi'ow ; 
How  much  unlike  the  sons  of  Britain  now  ! 

Fired  at  the  sound,  my  genius  spreads  her 

wing, 
And  flies  where  Britain  courts  the  western 

spring; 
Where  lawns  extend  that  scorn  Arcadian 

pride, 
And  brighter  streams  than  famed  Hydaspes 

glide. 


THE    TRAVELLER. 


613 


There  all  around  the  gentlest  breezes  stray, 
There  gentler  music  melts  on  every  spray ; 
Creation's  mildest   charms  are  there  com- 
bined, 
Extremes  are  only  in  the  master's  mind. 

Stern  o'er  each  bosom  reason  h  olds  her  state. 
With  daring  aims  irregularly  great, 
Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye, 
I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by : 
Intent  on  high  designs,  a  thoughtful  band, 
By  forms  uhfashioned,  fresh  from   nature's 

hand, 
Fierce  in  their  native  hardiness  of  soul. 
True  to  imagined  light  above  control, — 
While  e'en  the  peasant  boasts  these  rights  to 

scan. 
And  learns  to  venerate  himself  as  man. 

Thine,  freedom,  thine  the  blessings  pictured 
here. 
Thine  are  those  charms  that  dazzle  and  en- 
dear ! 
Too  blest  indeed  were  such  without  alloy ; 
But,  fostered  e'en  by  freedom,  ills  annoy  ; 
That  independence  Britons  prize  too  high 
Keeps  man  from  man,  and  breaks  the  social 

tie; 
The  self-dependent  lordlings  stand  alone. 
All  claims  that  bind  and  sweeten  life  un- 
known : 
ITere,  by  the  bonds  of  nature  feebly  held, 
Minds  combat  minds,  repelling  and  repelled ; 
Ferments  arise,  imprisoned  factions  roar, 
Eepressed  ambition  struggles  round  her  shore, 
Till,  overwrought,  the  general  system  feels 
Its  motion  stop,  or  frenzy  fire  the  wheels. 

ISTor  this  the  worst :  as  nature's  ties  decay. 
As  duty,  love,  and  honor  fail  to  sway, 
Fictitious  bonds,  the  bonds  of  wealth  and  law. 
Still  gather  strength,  and  force  unwilling  awe. 
Hence  all  obedience  bows  to  these  alone, 
And  talent  sinks,  and  merit  weeps  unknown ; 
Till  time  may  come  when,  stripped  of  all  her 

charms, 
The  land  of  scholars  and  the  nurse  of  arms, 
Where  noble  stems  transmit  the  patriot  flame, 
Where  kings  have  toiled  and  poets  wrote  for 
fame, 


One  sink  of  level  avarice  shall  lie. 

And  scholars,  soldiers,  kings,  unhonored  die. 

But  think  not,  thus  when  freedom's  ills  I 
state, 
I  mean  to  flatter  kings  or  court  the  great ; 
Ye  poAvers  of  truth,  that  bid  my  soul  aspire, 
Far  from  my  bosom  drive  the  low  desire ! 
And  thou,  fair  freedom,  taught  alike  to  feel 
The  rabble's  rage  and  tyrant's  angry  steel ; 
Thou  transitory  flower,  alike  undone 
By  proud  contempt  or  favor's  fostering  sun, — 
Still  may  thy  blooms  the  changeful  clime  en- 
dure ! 
I  only  would  repress  them  to  secure. 
For  just  experience  tells,  in  every  soil, 
That  those  that  think  must  govern  those  that 

toil ; 
And  all  that  freedom's  highest  aims  can  reach 
Is  but  to  lay  proportioned  loads  on  each. 
Hence,    should    one    order    disproportioned 

grow. 
Its  double  weight  must  ruin  all  below. 

Oh  then  how  blind  to  all  that  truth  re- 
quires. 
Who  think  it  freedom  when  a  part  aspires  ! 
Calm  is  my  soul,  nor  apt  to  rise  in  arms. 
Except  when  fast  approaching  danger  warms ; 
But  when  contending  chiefs  blockade  the 

throne, 
Contracting  regal  power  to  stretch  their  own ; 
When  I  behold  a  factious  band  agree 
To  call  it  freedom  when  themselves  are  free, 
Each   wanton   judge    new    penal    statutes 

draw, 
Laws  grind  the  poor,  and  rich  men  rule  the 

law. 
The  wealth  of  climes  where  savage  nations 

roam 
Pillaged  from   slaves  to  purchase  slaves  at 

home, — 
Fear,  pity,  justice,  indignation,  start, 
Tear  ofi:' reserve  and  bare  my  swelling  heart-. 
Till,  half  a  patriot,  half  a  coward  grown, 
I  fly  from  petty  tyrants  to  the  throne. 

Yes,  brotlier,  curse  with  mo  tliat  baleful 
hour, 
When  first  ambition  struck  at  regal  power; 


(514 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION, 


And  tlius,  polluting  honor  in  its  source, 
Gave  wealth  to  sway  the  mind  with  double 

force. 
Have  we  not  seen,  round  Britain's  peopled 

shore, 
Iler  usclnl  sons  exchanged  for  useless  ore  ? 
Seen  all  her  triumphs  but  destruction  haste. 
Like  i3aring  tapers  brightening  as  they  waste  ? 
Seen  opulence,  her  grandeur  to  maintain, 
Lead  stern  depopulation  in  her  train, 
And   over    fields   where    scattered    hamlets 

rose 
In  barren,  solitary  pomp  repose  ? 
Have  we  not  seen,  at  pleasure's  lordly  call, 
The  smiling,  oft-frequented  village  fall? 
Beheld  the  duteous  son,  the  sire  decayed, 
The  modest  matron,  and  the  blushing  maid, 
Forced  from   their    homes,    a     melancholy 

train. 
To  traverse  climes  beyond  the  western  main, 
"Where  wild    Oswego   spreads  her   swamps 

around. 
And  Niagara  stuns  with  thundering  sound? 


E'en  now,  perhaps,  as  there  some  pilgrim 
strays 
Through  tangled  forests  and  through  danger- 
ous ways, 
Where  beasts  with  man  divided  empire  claim. 
And  the  brown  Indian  marks  with  murder- 
ous aim ; 
There,  while  above  the  giddy  tempest  flies, 
And  all  around  distressful  yells  arise. 
The  pensive  exile,  bending  with  his  woe, 
To  stop  too  fearful,  and  too  faint  to  go, 
Oasts  a  long  look  where  England's  glories 

shine. 
And  bids  his  bosom  sympathize  with  mine. 


Vain,  very  vain,  ny  weary  search  to  find 
Tliat  bliss  which  only  centres  in  the  mind ; 
W.hy  have  I  strayf  d  from  pleasure  and  re- 
pose, 
To  seek  a  good  each  gov(.'rnmcnt  bestows  ? 
In  every  government,  though  terrors  reign. 
Though  tyrant  kings  or  tyrant  laws  restrain. 
How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  lawr,  or  kings  can  cause  or 
cure  ? 


Still  to  ourselves  in  every  place  consigned, 

Our  own  felicity  we  make  or  find  ; 

"With   secret  course  which  no  loud  stormR 

annoy 
Glides  the  smooth  current  of  domestic  joy. 
The  lifted  axe,  the  agonizing  wheel, 
Luke's  iron  crown,  and  Damien's  bed  of  steel, 
To  men  remote  from  power  but  rarely  known. 
Leave  reason,  faith,  and  conscience  all  our 

own. 

OnvEE  Goldsmith. 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 

Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
"Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring 

swain, 
"Wliere  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  de- 
layed ! 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease — 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could 

please ! 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green, 
"Where    humble    happiness    endeared     each 

scene ! 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm — 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill. 
The  decent  church  that  topt  the  neighboring 

hill, 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the 

shade — 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made  ! 
How  often  have  I  blest  the  coming  day, 
"When  toil,  remitting,  lent  its  turn  to  play, 
And  aU  the  village  train,  from  labor  free. 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the   spreading 

tree ; 
"While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade. 
The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed  ; 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground, 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went 

round ; 
And  still  as  each  repeated  pleasures  tired. 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired : 
The  dancing  pair,  that  simply  sought  renown 
By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down ; 


THE    DESERTED    VILLAGE. 


615 


The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smxUted  face, 

While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the 
place ; 

The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love, 

The  matron's  glance  that  -would  those  looks 
reprove : 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village !  sports 
like  these, 

With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to 
please ; 

These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influ- 
ence shed  ; 

These  were  thy  charms — but  all  these  charms 
are  fled. 

Sweet-smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn ! 
Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  with- 
drawn ; 
Amidst  thy  bowsers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen. 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green  ; 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain. 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain ; 
No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 
But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy 

way; 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
Tlie  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest ; 
Amidst  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flics. 
And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries ; 
Sunk  are  thy  bowers  in  shapeless  ruin  all. 
And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mouldering 

wall; 
And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's 

hand. 
Far,  far  away  thy  children  leave  the  land. 

Ill  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay ; 
Princes  and  lords  may  flour isli,  or  may  fade — 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has 

made; 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride, 
Wlien    once  destroyed,  can  never  be  sup- 
plied. 


A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  be- 
gan, 
Wlien  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its 
man: 


For  him  light  labor  spread  her  wholesome 

store — 
Just  gave  what  life  required,  bat  gave  no 

more ; 
His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health  ; 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth. 

But  times  are   altered :  trade's  unfeeling 
train 
Usurp  the  land,  and  dispossess  the  swain  ; 
Along    the  lawn,   where  scattered  hamlets 

rose. 
Unwieldy  wealth   and  cumbrous  pomp  re- 
pose; 
And  every  want  to  luxury  allied. 
And  every  pang  that  folly  pays  to  pride. 
Those  gentle  hours  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom, 
Those  calm  desires  that  asked  but  little  room. 
Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  pciico- 

ful  scene. 
Lived  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the 

green — 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore, 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 

Sweet  Auburn !  parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  pow- 
er. 
Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds 
Amidst  thy  tan-gling  walks  and  ruined  grounds. 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
AVhei'c  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn 

grew. 
Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to 
pain. 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of 

care. 
In   all   my  griefs— and  God  has  given  my 

rfiare — 
I  still  liad  liopes  my  latest  hours  to  crowii, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close. 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose; 
I  still  had  hopes— for  pride  attends  us  still- 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  bouk-lciirned 

skill, 
Around  my  Arc  an  evening  group  to  draw. 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw ;  • 


61() 


rOEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND  REFLECTION. 


And,  as  a  hare,  ^vllOlll  liounds  and  horns  pur- 
sue, 

Pants  to  the  place  from  ^vhence  at  first  she 
lle^v, 

I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 

Here  to  return — and  die  at  home  at  last. 

O  West  retirement!  I'ricnd  to  life's  decline! 
Retreats  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine! 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like 

these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease ; 
Who  quits  a  world  Avhere  strong  temptations 

try, 

And,  since  't  is  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and 

weep, 
Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous 

deep; 
No  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state, 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate ; 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end. 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend ; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way ; 
And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last. 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past. 

Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's 

close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose ; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  be- 
low : 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
The   sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their 

young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool. 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whis- 

p'^-ring  wind, 
And  the  ioud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant 

mind. 
These  all  in  s^voel;  confusion  sought  the  shade. 
And  filled  each  paase  the  nightingale  had 

made. 
But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail; 
No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale  ; 
No    busy    steps   the    grass-grown    footway 

tread — 
But  all  the  bloomy  blush  of  life  is  fled. 


All  but  one  widowed,  solitary  thing. 

That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring; 

She,   wretched   matron,   forced  in  age,   for 

bread. 
To   strip   the   brook  with  mantling  cresses 

spread. 
To  pick  her  wintry  fiigot  from  the  thorn. 
To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn 
She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train. 
The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden 

smiled, 
And  still  Avhere  many  a  garden-flower  grows 

wild. 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place 

disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear. 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race. 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change, 

his  place ; 
Unskilful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize- 
More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train; 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their 

pain. 
The  long-i-emembered  beggar  was  his  guest. 
Whose  beard,    descending,    swept  his   aged 

breast ; 
The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  al- 
lowed ; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay. 
Sate  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away — 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow 

done, 
Sliouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields 

were  won. 
Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned 

to  glow. 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe ; 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side  ; 


THE    DESERTED    TILLAGE. 


617 


But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for 

all; 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  oflispring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 

And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain,  by  turns  dis- 
mayed. 

The  reverend  champion  stood.  At  his  con- 
trol 

Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 

Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to 
raise, 

xind  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unafifected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place ; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double 

sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to 

pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 
With  ready  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 
E'en  children  fpllowed,  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good 

man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  exprcst; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares 

distressed; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were 

given — 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  hea- 
ven. 
As  some  tall  cliff"  that  lifts  its  awful  form. 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the 

storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds 

are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the 
way. 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule. 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view — 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew ; 
32 


Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to 
trace 

The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face ; 

Full  well  they  laughed,  with  counterfeited 
glee, 

At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he ; 

Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round, 

Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned ; 

Yet  he  was  kind — or,  if  severe  in  aught, 

The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault. 

The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew ; 

'Twas  certain  he  could  \vrite.  and  cipher 
too; 

Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  pre- 
sage. 

And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge. 

In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill, 

For,  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue 
still ; 

While  words  of  learned  length  and  thunder- 
ing sound 

Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around  ; 

And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder 
grew. 

That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

But  past  is  all  his  fame ;  the  very  spot, 

Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed,  is  forgot. 

Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on 

high, 
Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing 

eye, 
Low  lies  that  house  whore  nut-brown  draughts 

inspired, 
Where  gray-beard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  re- 
tired, 
Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks 

profound, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  Avent 

round. 
Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 
The  parlor  splendors  of  that  festive  place : 
The  whitewashed  wall,  the   nicely  sanded 

floor, 
Tlie  varnished  clock  that  clicked  beliind  the 

door, 
The  chest  contrived  a  doul)le  debt  to  pay — 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  l)y  day, 
Tlie  pictures  i)laced  for  ornament  and  use, 
The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of 

goose ; 


CIS 


FOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


The  hearth,  except  Avlien  Avinter  chilled  the 

day, 
With  aspen  boughs,  and  flowers  and  fennel 

gfiy ; 

While  broken  tea-cups,  wisely  kept  for  show, 
Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 

Vain,  transitory  splendor !  could  not  all 
Reprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall  ? 
Obscure  it  sinks,  nor  shall  it  more  impart 
An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart; 
Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care  ; 
No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  Avoodman's  ballad  shall  prevail ; 
No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall 

clear, 
Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  lean  to 

hear ; 
The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round; 
Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  be  prest. 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest. 

Yes !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain. 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train ; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 
One  native  charm  than  all  the  gloss  of  art 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  nature  has  its  play. 
The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born 

sway; 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,  uncontined; 
But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
"With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  Avealth  ar- 
rayed— 
In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain. 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain; 
And,  e'en  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy. 
The  heart,  distrusting,  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen,  who  sur- 
vey 

The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  de- 
cay! 

'T  is  yours  to  judge  how  wide  the  limits  stand 

Between  a  sj^lendid  and  a  happy  land. 

Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted 
ore, 

And  shouting  folly  hails  them  from  her 
shore ; 


Hoards,  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish,  abound, 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains :    this  wealth  is  but  a 


name, 


That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 
Not   so   the  loss:    the  man  of  wealth  and 

pride 
Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied — 
Space    for    his    lake,    his    park's    extended 

bounds — 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds ; 
The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robbed  the  neighboring  fields   of  half 

their  growth ;     • 
His  scat,  where  solitary  sports  ai"e  seen. 
Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green ; 
Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies, 
For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies ; 
While  thus  the  land,  adorned  for  pleasure  all 
In  barren  sjilendor,  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

As  some  fair  female,  unadorned  and  pidin, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confii'ms  her 

reign, 
Slights  every  borrov/ed  charm  that  dress  sup- 
plies, 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes ; 
But  when  those  charms  are  past — for  charms 

are  frail — 
When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 
She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress : 
Thus  fares  the  land,  by  luxury  betrayed. 
In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed ; 
But,  verging  to  decline,  its  splendors  risei. 
Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise ; 
AVhile,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smilmg 

land, 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band ; 
And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  g,rm  to  save. 
The  country  blooms — a  garden  and  a  grave. 

Where  then,  ah!  where,  shall  poverty  re- 
side, 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride  ? 
If,  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  strayed, 
He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade. 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  di- 
vide, 
And  even  the  bare- worn  common  is  denied. 


THE    DESERTED    TILLAGE. 


619 


If  to  the  city  sped,  what  waits  him  there  ? 
To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share ; 
To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combiced 
To  pamper  luxury,  and  thin  mankind ; 
To  see  each  joy  the  sons  of  jjleasure  know 
Extorted  from  his  fellow-creatures'  woe. 
Here  while  the  corn-tier  glitters  in  brocade, 
There  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade ; 
Here  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomps 

display. 
There  the  black   gibbet  glooms  beside   the 

way. 
The  dome  where  pleasure  holds  her  midnight 

reign, 
Here,    richly  decked,   admits  the  gorgeous 

train ; 
Tumultuous    grandeur   crowds    the    blazing 

square — 
The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 
Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy ! 
Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy ! 
Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ?     Ah !    turn 

thine  eyes 
"Where  the  poor,  houseless,  shivering  female 

lies: 
She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blest. 
Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distrest ; 
Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 
Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the 

thorn ; 
Now  lost  to  all — her  friends,  her  virtue  fled — 
Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head ; 
And,  pinched  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from 

the  shower, 
"With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour 
When,  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town. 
She  left  her  wheel,  and  robes   of  country 

brown. 

Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn — thine  the  love- 
liest train — 
Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain? 
E'en  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led. 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread. 

All,  no !     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene, 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  be- 
tween, 
Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they 

Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe.     1 


Far  different  there,  from  all  that  charmed  be- 
fore, 

The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore : 

Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray. 

And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day ; 

Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to 
sing, 

But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling ; 

Those  pois'nous  fields,  with  rank  luxuriance 
crowned. 

Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death 
around ; 

Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 

The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake ; 

Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless 

And  savage  men  more  murderous  still  than 

they ; 
While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies, 
Mingling  the    ravaged  landscape  with  tlie 

skies. 
Far  difl:erent  these  from  every  former  scene — 
The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vested  green. 
The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove, 
That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

Good  heaven!    what  sorrows  gloomed  that 

parting  day 
That  called  them  from  their  native  walks 

away ; 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past. 
Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked 

their  last. 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain, 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main; 
And,  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep. 
Returned   and   wept,  and  still   returned  to 


weep 


The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepared  to  go 
To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  otlicrs' 

woe; 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wished  for  Avorlds  beyond  the  grave 
His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  lier  tears. 
The  fond  companion  of  his  liolploss  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  lier  clianns. 
And  left  a  lover's  for  her  fiitlier's  arms. 
With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her 

woes. 
And  blessed  tlie  cot  where  every  pleasure 

rose; 


620 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many 

a  tear, 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly 

dear ; 
Whilst  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 

O  luxury !  thou  curst  by  heaven's  decree, 
How  ill  exchanged  are  thing(3  like  these  for 

thee ! 
now  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy, 
Dilfuse  their  pleasures  only  to  destroy ! 
Kingdoms  by  thee,  to  sickly  greatness  grown. 
Boast  of  a  florid  vigor  not  their  own. 
At  every  draught  more  large  and  large  they 

grow, 
A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  woe ; 
Till  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  un- 
sound, 
Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin 
round. 

Even  now  the  devastation  is  begun. 
And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done ; 
Even  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  T 

stand, 
I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land. 
Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads 

the  sail 
That,  idly  waiting,  flaps  with  every  gale — 
Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band, 
Pass  from   the   shore,   and  darken  all  the 

strand. 
Contented  toil,  and  hospitable  care. 
And  kind  connubial  tenderness  are  there ; 
And  piety  with  wishes  placed  above. 
And  steady  loyalty,  and  faithful  love. 
And  thou,  sweet  poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid, 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade — 
Unfit,  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame. 
To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame! 
Dear,  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 
My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride ! 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss  and  all  my  woe — 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  fii-st,  and  keep'st 

mc  so ! 
Thou  guide,  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel ! 
Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue — fare  thee  well ! 
Farewell ! — and  oh !  where'er  thy  voice  be 

tried, 
On  Torno's  cliffs,  or  Pambamarca's  side— 


Whether  where  equinoctial  fervors  glow, 
Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow — 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time, 
liedress  the  rigors  of  th'  inclement  clime ; 
Aid  slighted  trutli  with  thy  persuasive  strain; 
Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain ; 
Teach  him  that  states,  of  native  strength  pos- 

sest, 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blest ; 
That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  de- 
cay. 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  labored  mole  away ; 
While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy. 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky. 

Olivek  Goldsmith. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SHANDON. 

Sabltata  pango ; 
Funera  plango  ; 
Solemnia  clang-o. 

Inscmption  on  an  old  bell. 

With  deep  affection 
And  recollection 
I  often  think  of 

Those  Shandon  bells. 
Whose  sounds  so  wild  would, 
In  the  days  of  childhood, 
Fhng  round  my  cradle 

Their  magic  spells. 

On  this  I  ponder 
Where'er  I  wander. 
And  thus  grow  fonder. 

Sweet  Cork,  of  thee — 
With  thy  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lefe. 


I  've  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  many  a  clime  in. 
Tolling  sublime  in 

Cathedral  shrine, 
While  at  a  glibe  rate 
Brass  tongues  would  vibrato ; 
But  all  their  music 

Spoke  naught  like  thina 


THE    BELLS. 


621 


For  memory,  dwelling 
On  each  proud  swelling 
Of  thy  belfry,  knelling 

Its  bold  notes  free, 
Made  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

I  've  hoard  bells  tolling 
Old  Adrian's  Mole  in, 
Their  thunder  rolling 

Erom  the  Vatican — 
And  cymbals  glorious 
Swinging  uproarious 
In  the  gorgeous  turrets 

Of  Notre  Dame ; 

But  thy  sounds  were  sweeter 
Than  the  dome  of  Peter 
Flings  o'er  the  Tiber, 

Pealing  solemnly. 
Oh !  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 


There 's  a  bell  in  Moscow ; 
While  on  tower  and  kiosk  oh 
In  Saint  Sophia 

The  Turkman  gets, 
And  loud  In  air 
Calls  men  to  prayer, 
From  the  tapering  summit 

Of  tall  minarets. 


Such  empty  phantom 
I  freely  grant  them ; 
But  there  's  an  anthem 

More  dear  to  me — 
'T  is  the  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

Father  Peout.      (Francis  Mahony.) 


THE  BELLS. 

I. 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bells — 

Silver  bells—  [tells! 

AYhat  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  fore- 
IIow  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
"While  the  stars  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens,  seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  delight — 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  beUs— 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the 
bells. 

II. 

Hear  the  mellow  wedding  bells — 
Golden  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony 
foretells ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight ! 
From  the  molten-golden  notes, 

And  all  in  tune. 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she 
gloats 
On  the  moon ! 
Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells, 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells! 
How  it  swells ! 
How  it  dwells 
On  the  Future !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  beUs,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the 
bells. 

III. 

Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells — 
Brazen  bells! 
What  a  talc  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency 
tells ! 
In  the  startled  car  of  niglit 
IIow  they  scream  out  their  affright! 


G212                         POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 

Too  much  horrified  to  speak, 

They  are  neitlier  man  nor  woman- 

They  can  only  shriek,  shriek, 

They  are  neither  brute  nor  human- 

Out  of  tune, 

They  are  ghouls  : 

In  the  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of 

And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls; 

the  fire. 

And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls. 

In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and 

Rolls, 

frantic  fire 

A  ptean  from  the  bells ! 

Lca]iing  higher,  higher,  higher. 

And  liis  merry  bosom  swells 

With  a  desperate  desire. 

With  the  pasan  of  the  bells ! 

And  a  resolute  endeavor. 

And  he  dances  and  he  yells ; 

Now — now  to  sit  or  never, 

Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 

In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 

Oh,  the  hells,  hells,  hells. 

To  the  paean  of  the  bells — 

"What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 

Of  the  bells : 

Of  despair! 

Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar  1 

In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 

What  a  horror  they  outpour 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells — 

On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air ! 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells — 

Yet  the  ear  it  fully  knows. 

To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells ; 

By  the  twanging. 

Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

And  the  clanging. 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 

IIow  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows ; 

In  a  happy  Rimic  rhyme. 

Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells, 

To  tlie  rolling  of  the  bells — 

In  the  jangling, 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 

And  the  wrangling, 

To  the  tolling  of  the  bells. 

How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells. 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells- 

By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger 

Bells,  bells,  hells— 

of  the  bells — ■ 

To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. 

Of  the  bells— 

Edgas  Allan  Poe. 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells 

In  the  clamor  and  the  clangor  of  the  bells ! 

IV. 

THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells^ 

Iron  bells ! 

Those  evening  bells !  those  evening  bells ! 

What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  mon- 

IIow many  a  tale  their  music  tells. 

ody  compels !    . 

Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time 

In  the  silence  of  the  night. 

When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime ! 

How  Ave  shiver  with  affright 

At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone  ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 
And  the  people — ah,  the  people — 

Those  joyous  hours  are  passed  away ; 
And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay, 
AVithin  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone. 

And  so  't  will  be  when  I  am  gone— 

And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling. 

That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on; 

In  that  muflied  monotone, 

While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells. 

Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bells. 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone — 

Thomas  Mcore. 

ALEXANDER'S    FEAST. 


()^:s 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST; 


OR,  THE  POWER   OF  MrSIC. AX   ODE  IN^  HONOR 

OF  ST.  Cecilia's  day. 


'T  "WAS  at  tlie  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son : 
Aloft,  in  awful  state, 
The  godlike  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne ; 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around, 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles 

bound ; 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned) ; 
The  lovely  Thais  by  his  side 
Sate,  like  a  blooming  eastern  bride, 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair ! 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair. 

CHORUS. 

Happy ^  Tiappy^  Jiappy  pair  ! 

Xone  hut  the  hraxe^ 

ITone  lut  the  h'ave, 
None  hut  the  hrave  deserves  the  fair. 

Timotheus, placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire, 
With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre  ; 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 

And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove, 
Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above, 
(Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  Love). 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god ; 
Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode. 
When  he  to  Mr  Olympia  pressed. 
And  while  he  sought  her  snowy  breast; 
Then,  round  her  slender  waist  he  curled. 
And  stamped  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign 

of  the  world. 
The  listening  crowd  admh-e  the  lofty  sound — 
A  present  deity  !  they  shout  around  ; 
A  present  deity !  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
With  ravished  ears 
The  monarch  hears. 
Assumes  the  god. 
Affects  to  nod. 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


CHORUS. 

With  ravished  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 

Assumes  the  god, 

Affects  to  nod, 
And  seems  to  shaJce  the  spheres. 

The  praise  of  Bacchus,  then,  the  sweet  musi- 
cian sung — 
Of  Bacchus  ever  fair  and  ever  young ; 
The  joUy  god  in  triumph  comes : 
Sound  the  trumpets ;  beat  the  drums ! 
Flushed  with  a  purple  grace. 
He  shows  his  honest  foce ; 
Now  give  the  hautboys    breath — -he  comes, 
he  comes ! 
Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 

Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain; 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure ; 
Drinking  is  the  soldiers'  pleasure: 
Rich  the  treasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure ; 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

CHORUS. 

Bacchus'  llessings  are  a  treasure  ; 
DrinMng  is  the  soldier's  pleasure : 

Ricli  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure  ; 
Siceet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

Soothed  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain; 

Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again ; 
And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice 
he  slew  the  slain. 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise — 
Ilis  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes; 
And,  while  he  heaven  and  earth  defied. 
Changed  his  hand,  and  checked  his  pride. 

He  chose  a  mournful  muse. 

Soft  pity  to  infuse, 
He  sung  Darius  gi-eat  and  good. 

By  too  severe  a  fate 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen — 
Fallen  from  liis  high  estate. 

And  weltering  in  his  blood ; 
Deserted,  at  his  utmost  need. 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed ; 
On  the  bare  earth  exi)osed  he  lies, 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 
With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sato 


C2i 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Eevolving  in  liis  altered  soul 

Tlie  various  turns  of  cliance  below  ; 

And,  now  and  then,  a  sigli  lie  stole ; 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

CnORTTS. 

Eetolding  in  Ids  altered  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  helow  ; 

And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole; 
And  tears  hegan  tofloio. 

The  mighty  master  smiled,  to  see 
That  love  was  in  the  next  degree ; 
'T  was  but  a  kindred  sound  to  move, 
For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 
Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures, 
Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 
War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble ; 
Honor  but  an  empty  bubble- 
Never  ending,  still  beginning — 
Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying ; 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning, 
Think,  oh  think  it  worth  enjoying ! 
Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee — 
Take  the  goods  the  gods  provide  thee. 
The  many  rend  the  sky  with  loud  applause ; 
So    love  was  crowned,  but  music  won  the 
cause. 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 
Gazed  on  the  fair 
Who  caused  his  care. 
And  sighed  and  locked,  sighed  and  looked. 
Sighed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again. 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  op- 
pressed. 
The  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

cnoEus. 

The  prince  unahle  to  conceal  his  pain, 
Gazed  on  the  fair 
Who  caused  his  care, 
And  sighed  and  looked,  sighed  and  looTced, 
Sighed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again. 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppressed. 
The  vanquished  victor  sunlc  upon  her  hreast. 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again — 

A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain ! 

Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder. 

And  rouse  him,  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 


Hark,  hark  I  the  horrid  sound 
lias  raised  up  his  head ! 
As  awaked  from  the  dead, 
And  amazed,  he  stares  around. 
Eevenge!  revenge!  Timotheus  cries; 
See  the  Furies  arise ! 
See  the  snakes  that  they  rear, 
How  they  hiss  in  their  hair. 
And    the    sparkles    that    flash    from    their 
eyes! 

Behold  a  ghastly  band. 
Each  a  torch  in  his  hand ! 
Those  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were 
slain. 

And  unburied  remain, 
Inglorious,  on  the  plain ! 
Give  the  vengeance  due 
To  the  valiant  crew. 
Behold    how    they    toss    their    torches    on 
high. 
How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes, 
And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods ! 
The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy. 
And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to 
destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way 
To  light  him  to  his  prey. 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 

cnoEus. 

And  the  Tcing  seized  a  Jlanibeau  with  zeal  to 
destroy  ; 

Thais  led  the  loay 

To  light  him  to  his  prey, 

And,  nice  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 

Thus,  long  ago — 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow, 

AVhile  organs  yet  were  mute — 
Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute, 
And  sounding  lyre, 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft 
desire. 
At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame ; 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
"With  nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown 
before. 


THE    PASSIONS. 


625 


Let  old  Timotbeus  yield  tlie  prize, 

Or  both  divide  tbe  crown ; 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  tlie  skies — 

Sbe  drew  an  angel  down. 

GEAXD    CHOEUS. 

At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  lounds, 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds. 
With  nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unTcnown 
liefore. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  loth  divide  the  crown  ; 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  shies — 
She  drew  an  angel  down. 

John  Detdes. 


INFLUENCE  OF  MUSIC. 

Orpheus,  witb  bis  lute,  made  trees. 
And  tbe  mountain-tops  tbat  freeze. 

Bow  themselves  when  he  did  sing ; 
To  his  music  plants  and  flowers 
Ever  sprung — as  sun  and  showers 

There  bad  made  a  lasting  Spring. 

Every  thing  that  heard  him  play. 
Even  the  billows  of  the  sea. 

Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  music  is  such  art, 
Killing  care,  and  grief  of  heart — 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die ! 

Shakespeake. 


MUSIC. 


On,  lull  me,  lull  mc,  charming  air ! 

My  senses  rock  witb  wonder  sweet ! 
Like  snow  on  wool  thy  fallings  are ; 
Soft,  like  a  spirit's,  are  thy  feet. 
Grief  who  need  fear 
That  hath  an  ear? 
Down  let  him  lie, 
And  slumbering  die. 
And  change  his  soul  for  harmony. 


"William  Strode. 


THE  PASSIONS. 

AX     ODE     FOlt     MUSIC. 

Whex  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
"While  vet  in  early  Greece  sbe  sunsj, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  bear  her  shell, 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell — 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting — 
Possest  beyond  tbe  muse's  painting ; 
By  turns  they  felt  tbe  growing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined ; 
Till  once,  't  is  said,  when  all  were  fired. 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired. 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound ; 
And,  as  they  oft  bad  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 
Each  (for  madness  ruled  the  hour) 
"Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

First  Fear  bis  hand,  its  skill  to  try. 
Amid  tbe  chords  bewildered  laid, 

And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why. 
E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

Next  Anger  rushed ;  his  eyes,  on  fire. 
In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings : 

In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 
And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

"With  woful  measures  wan  Despair, 

Low,  sullen  sounds,  his  grief  beguiled — 

A  solenm,  strange,  and  mingled  air ; 
'T  was  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'tAvas  wild. 

But  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair— 

AVliat  was  thy  delightful  measure? 
Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 
And  bade  tbe  lovely  scenes  at  distance 
hail ! 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong; 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
She  called  on  Echo  still,  through  all  tlio 
song; 
And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard   at 
every  close ; 
And  Hope  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved 
her  golden  hair. 


83 


626 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTIOJN, 


And  longer  had  she  sung — but,  with   a 
frown, 
Revenge  impatient  rose; 
lie  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thun- 
der down ; 
And,  with  a  withering  look, 
The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 
And  blew  a  bhist  so  loud  and  dread, 
"Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe ! 
And,  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 
The  doubling  drum,  with  furious  heat ; 
And  though  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause 
between. 
Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 
Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  unaltered  mein, 
While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed 
bursting  from  bis  head. 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  naught  were 
fixed — 
Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state ; 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was 
mixed ; 
And  now  it  courted    love — now,  rav- 
ing, called  on  Hate. 

AVith  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired. 
Pale  Melancholy  sate  retired ; 
And,  from  her  wild  sequestered  seat. 
In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet. 
Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pen- 
sive soul ; 
And,  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 
Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound; 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled 
measure  stole ; 
Or,  o'er  some  haunted  stream,  with  fond 
delay. 
Round  an  holy  calm  diffusing, 
Love  of  peace,  and  lonely  musing, 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

But  oh !  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest 
hue. 
Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung. 
Her  buskins  gemmod  with  morning  dew, 
Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  tliicket 
rung — 
The  hunter's    call,   to    faun    and    dryad 
known  I 


The  oak-crowned    sisters,  and  their  chaste 
eyed  queen. 
Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys,  were  seen, 
Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green ; 
Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear; 

And  Sport  leapt  up,  and  seized  his  beecheK 
spear. 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial : 
He,  with  viny  crown  advancing, 

First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addrest ; 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol, 
Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the 
best; 
They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the 
strain, 
They  saw,  in  Tempe's  vale,  her  native  maids. 
Amidst  the  festal  sounding  shades, 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing. 
While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings. 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round: 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  un- 
bound ; 
And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play, 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. 

0  Music !  sphere-descended  maid, 
Friend  of  pleasure,  wisdom's  aid ! 
Why,  goddess !  why,  to  us  denied, 
Lay'st  thou  thy  ancient  lyre  aside  ? 
As,  in  that  loved  Athenian  bower. 
You  learned  an  all  commanding  power, 
Thy  mimic  soul,  0  nymph  endeared. 
Can  well  recall  what  then  it  heard ; 
AYhere  is  thy  native  simple  heart. 
Devote  to  virtue,  fancy,  art  ? 
Arise,  as  in  that  elder  time, 
Warm,  energetic,  chaste,  sublime! 
Thy  wonders,  in  that  godlike  age, 
Fill  thy  recording  sister's  page ; 
'T  is  said — and  I  believe  the  tale — 
Thy  humblest  reed  could  more  prevail, 
Had  more  of  strength,  diviner  rage. 
Than  all  which  charms  this  laggard  age — 
E'en  all  at  once  together  found — 
Cecilia's  mingled  world  of  sound. 
Oh  bid  our  vain  endeavors  cease ; 
Revive  the  just  designs  of  Greece  ! 
Return  in  all  thy  simple  state — 
Confirm  the  tales  her  sons  relate ! 

William  Collins. 


TO    A    LADY    WITH    A    GUITAR. 


627 


TO  A  LADY  WITH  A  GUITAR. 

Aeiel  to  Miranda :  — Take 

This  slave  of  music,  for  the  sake 

Of  him  who  is  the  shwe  of  thee ; 

And  teach  it  aU  the  harmony 

In  whicli  thou  canst,  and  only  thou. 

Make  the  delighted  spirit  glow, 

Till  joy  denies  itself  again, 

And,  too  intense,  is  turned  to  pain. 

For  by  permission  and  command 

Of  thine  own  prince  Ferdinand, 

Poor  Ariel  sends  this  sUent  token 

Of  more  than  ever  can  be  spoken ; 

Your  guardian  spirit,  Ariel,  who 

From  life  to  life  must  still  pursue 

Your  happiness,  for  thus  alone 

Can  Ariel  ever  find  his  own. 

From  Prospero's  enchanted  cell, 

As  the  mighty  verses  tell, 

To  the  throne  of  Naples  he 

Lit  you  o'er  the  trackless  sea, 

Flitting  on,  your  prow  before, 

Like  a  living  meteor. 

When  you  die,  the  silent  moon 

In  her  interlunar  swoon 

Is  not  sadder  in  her  cell 

Than  deserted  Ariel ; 

When  you  live  again  on  earth. 

Like  an  unseen  star  of  birth 

Ariel  guides  you  o'er  the  sea 

Of  life  from  your  nativity. 

Many  changes  have  been  run 

Since  Ferdinand  and  you  begun 

Your  course  of  love,  and  Ariel  still 

lias  tracked  your  steps  and  served  your  will, 

Now  in  humbler,  happier  lot. 
This  is  all  remembered  not ; 
And  now,  alas!  the  poor  sprite  is 
Imprisoned  for  some  fault  of  liis 
In  a  body  like  a  grave — 
From  you  he  only  dares  to  crave 
For  his  service  and  his  sorrow 
A  smile  to-day,  a  song  to-morrow. 

The  artist  who  this  viol  wrought 
To  echo  all  harmonious  thought, 


Felled  a  tree,  while  on  the  steep 

The  woods  were  in  their  winter  sleep. 

Rocked  in  that  repose  divine 

On  the  wind-swept  Apennine; 

And  dreaming,  some  of  autumn  past. 

And  some  of  spring  approaching  fast, 

And  some  of  April  buds  and  showers, 

And  some  of  songs  in  July  bowers. 

And  all  of  love ;  and  so  this  tree — 

Oh,  that  such  our  death  may  be! — 

Died  in  sleep,  and  felt  no  pain, 

To  live  in  happier  form  again ; 

From  which,  beneath  heaven's  fairest  star, 

Tlie  artist  wrought  this  loved  guitar ; 

And  taught  it  justly  to  reply 

To  all  who  question  skilfully 

In  language  gentle  as  thine  own ; 

Whispering  in  enamored  tone 

Sweet  oracles  of  woods  and  dells, 

And  summer  winds  in  sylvan  cells. 

For  it  had  learned  all  harmonies 

Of  the  plains  and  of  the  skies, 

Of  the  forests  and  tlie  mountains. 

And  the  many-voiced  fountains ; 

The  clearest  echoes  of  the  hills. 

The  softest  notes  of  fldling  rills, 

The  melodies  of  birds  and  bees. 

The  murmuring  of  summer  seas. 

And  pattering  rain,  and  breathing  dew, 

And  airs  of  evening  ;  and  it  knew 

That  seldom-heard  mysterious  sound 

Which,  driven  on  its  diurnal  round, 

As  it  floats  througli  boundless  day 

Our  world  enkindles  on  its  way. 

All  this  it  knows,  but  will  not  tell 
To  those  who  cannot  question  well 
The  spirit  that  inhabits  it; 
It  talks  according  to  the  wit 
Of  its  companions ;  and  no  more 
Is  heard  than  has  been  felt  before 
By  those  who  tempt  it  to  betray 
These  secrets  of  an  elder  day. 
But,  sweetly  as  its  answers  will 
Flatter  liands  of  perfect  skill, 
It  keeps  its  highest  holiest  tone 
For  one  beloved  friend  alone. 

Perct  Byssub  Shellkt. 


J 


02S 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND     IIEFLECTION. 


TO  COXSTANTIA— SINGING. 

Trirs  to  be  lost,  aud  thus  to  sink  and  die, 
Perchance  were  death  indeed! — Constan- 
tia,  turn! 
In  thy  dark  eyes  a  power  like  light  doth  lie. 
Even  though  the  sounds  wliich  were  thy 
voice,  which  burn 
Between  thy  lips,  are  laid  to  sleep ; 

TVithin  thy  breath,  and  on  thy  hair,  like 
odor  it  is  yet, 
And  from  thy  touch  like  fire  doth  leap. 
Even  while  I  write,  my  burning  cheeks  are 

wet — 
Alas,  that  the  torn  heart  can  bleed,  but  not 
forget ! 

A  breathless  awe  like  the  swift  change. 
Unseen  but  felt,  in  youthful  slumbers, 

Wild,  sweet,  but  uncommunicably  strange, 
Thou  breathestnow  in  fast  ascending  num- 
bers. 

The  cope  of  heaven  seems  rent  and  cloven 
By  the  enchantment  of  thy  strain  ; 

And  on  my  shoulders  wings  are  woven. 
To  follow  its  sublime  career 

Beyond  the  mighty  moons  that  wane 

Upon  the  verge  of  nature's  utmost  sphere, 
Till  the  world's  shadowy  walls  are  past  and 
disappear. 

Her  voice  is  hovering  o'er  my  soul — it  lingers, 
O'crshadowing   it  with  soft    and    lulling 
wings ; 

The  blood  and  life  within  those  snowy  fingers 
Teach    witchcraft    to    the    instrumental 
strings. 

My  brain  is  wild,  my  breath  comes  quick — 
The  blood  is  hstening  in  my  frame ; 

And  thronging  shadows,  fast  and  thick. 
Fall  on  my  overflowing  eyes ; 

My  heart  is  quivering  like  a  flame  ; 

As  morning  dew,  that  in  the  sunbeam  dies, 
I  am  dissolved  in  these  consuming  ecstasies. 

I  have  no  life,  Constantia,  now,  but  thee  ; 
"Whilst,  hke  the  world-surrounding  air,  thy 
song 
Flows  on,  and  filla  all  things  with  melody. 


Now  is  thy  voice  a  tempest,   swift  and 
strong. 
On  Avhich,  like  one  in  trance  upborne, 

Secure  o'er  rocks  and  waves  I  sweep, 
Rejoicing  like  a  cloud  of  morn. 

Now  't  is  the  breath  of  summer  night, 
Which,  when  the  starry  waters  sleep, 

Eound  western  isles,  with  incense-blossoms 
bright, 

Lingering,  suspends  my  soul  in  its  volup- 


tuous flight. 


Peect  Bysshe  Shelley. 


ON  A  LADY  SINGING. 

Oft  as  my  lady  sang  for  me 

That  song  of  the  lost  one  tiiot  sleeps  by  the 

sea. 
Of  the  grave  on  the  rock,  and  the  cypress 
tree. 
Strange    was    the    pleasure    that    over    me 

stole, 
For  't  was  made  of  old  sadness  that  lives  in 
my  soul. 

So  still  grew  my  heart  at   each   tender 

word 
That  the    pulse  in    my    bosom    scarcely 

stirred, 
And  I  hardly  breathed,  but  only  heard. 
Where  was  I? — not  in  the  world  of  men, 
Until  she  awoke  me  with  silence  again. 

Like  the  smell  of  the  vine,  when  its  early 

bloom 
Sprinkles  the  green  lane  with  sunny  per- 
fume. 
Such  a  delicate  fragrance  filled  the  room. 
Whether  it  came  from  the  vine  without, 
Oi-    arose   from   her  presence,    I   dwell  in 
doubt. 

Light    shadows  played   on  the    pictured 

wall 
From  the  maples  that  fluttered  outside  the 

hall. 
And  hindered  the  daylight — yet  ah!   not 
all; 
Too  httle  for  that  all  the  forest  would  be — 
Such  a  sunbeam  she  was,  and  is,  to  me ! 


WOMAN'S    VOICE. 


629 


"When  my  sense  returned,  as  the  song  was 
o'er, 


I  fain  would  have  said  to  her,  "  Sing  it  once, 
more; " 

But  soon  as  she  smiled  mj  wish  I  forbore : 

Music  enough  in  her  look  I  found, 

And  the  hush  of  lier  lip  seemed  sweet  as  the 

sound. 

Thomas  "William  Paesoxs. 


A  OAXADIAE"  BOA^  SOXG. 

Et  remigem  cantus  hortatur. 

QUINTILIAN. 

FArjfTLT  as  tolls  the  evening  chime. 
Our  voices  keep  tune,  and  our  oars  keep  time. 
Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 
"We  '11  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn. 
Row,  brothers,  row!  the  stream  runs  fast. 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight 's  past ! 

"Why  should  we  yet  our  sail  unfurl  ? — 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl. 
But  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore 
Oh  !  sweetly  we  '11  rest  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow !  the  stream  runs  fast. 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's  past! 

Utawa's  tide !  tliis  trembling  moon 
Shall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon. 
Saint  of  this  green  isle,  hear  our  prayers — 
Oh !  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favoring  airs ! 
Blow,  breezes,  blow !  the  stream  runs  fast. 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight 's  past ! 

Thomas  Mooee. 


EGYPTIAN"  SERENADE. 

Sis^G  again  the  song  you  sung 
When  we  were  together  young — 
When  there  were  but  you  and  I 
Underneath  the  summer  sky. 

Sing  the  song,  and  o'er  and  o'er. 
Though  I  know  that  nevermore 
Will  it  seem  the  song  you  sung 
Wliea  we  were  together  young. 

Geobge  "William  Ccetis. 


WOMAN'S  VOICE. 


"  Her  voice  was  over  low, 
Gentle  and  soft— an  excellent  thing  in  woman." 

King  Leak. 

Not  in  the  swaying  of  the  summer  trees, 
When  evening  breezes  sing  their  vesper 
hymn — 
Not  in  the  minstrel's  mighty  symphonies, 

N"or  ripples  breaking  on  the  river's  brim. 
Is  earth's  best  music ;  these  may  move  awiiilo 
High  thouglits  in  happy  hearts,  and  carking 
cares  beguile. 

But  even  as  the  swallow's  silken  wings. 
Skimming  the  water  of  the  sleeping  lake. 

Stir  the  still  silver  with  a  hundred  rings — 
So  doth  one  sound  the  sleeping  spirit  wake 

To  brave  the  danger,  and  to  bear  the  harm — 

A  low  and  gentle  voice — dear  woman's  chief- 
est  cliarm. 

An  excellent  thing  it  is,  and  ever  lent 
To  truth  and  love,  and  meekness ;  they 
who  own 
Tliis  gift,  by  the  aU-gracious  Giver  sent, 

Ever  by  quiet  step  and  smile  are  known ; 
By  kind  eyes  that  have  wept,  hearts  that  have 

sorrowed — 
By  patience  never  tired,  from  their  own  trials 
borrowed. 

An  excellent  thing  it  is,  v/hen  first  in  glad- 
ness 
A  mother  looks  into  her  infant's  eyes. 
Smiles  to  its  smiles,  and  saddens  to  its  sad- 
ness 
Pales  at  its  paleness,  sorrows  at  its  cries ; 
Its  food  and  sleep,  and  smiles  and  little  joys — 
Ml  these  come  ever  blent  Avith  one  low  gen- 
tle voice. 

An  excellent  thing  it  is  when  life  is  leaving, 
Leaving  with  gloom  and  gladness,  joys  and 
cares. 
The  strong  heart  failing,  nnd  tli?  liigh  soul 
grieving 
With  strangest  thoughts,  and  with  unwont- 
ed fears ; 


630 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Then,  thou  a  ■woman's  low  soft  sympathy 
!  like  ai 
to  die. 


Comes  like  an  angel's  voice  to  teach  us  how 


But  a  most  excellent  thing  it  is  in  youth, 
"When  tlie  fond  lover  hears  the  loved  one's 
tone, 
That  fears,  but  longs,  to  syllable  the  truth — 
How  their  two  hearts  are  one,  and  she  his 
own ; 
It  makes  sweet  human  music — oh !  the  spells 
That  haunt  the  trembling  tale  a  bright-eyed 
maiden  tells ! 

Edwin  Aknold. 


SOI^^G. 


Still  to  be  neat,  still  to  be  drest. 

As  you  were  going  to  a  feast ; 

Still  to  be  powdered,  still  perfumed — 

Lady,  it  is  to  be  presumed, 

Though  art's  hid  causes  are  not  found. 

All  is  not  sweet,  all  is  not  sound. 

Give  me  a  look,  give  me  a  face, 
That  makes  simplicity  a  grace  ; 
Eobes  loosely  flowing,  hair  as  free — 
Such  sweet  neglect  more  taketh  me 
Than  all  the  adulteries  of  art ; 
They  strike  mine  eyes,  but  not  my  heart. 

Ben  Jonson. 


DELIGHT  m  DISORDER. 

A  SWEET  disorder  in  the  dress 

Kindles  in  clothes  a  wantonness: 

A  lawn  about  the  shoulders  thrown 

Into  a  fine  distraction — 

An  erring  lace,  which  here  and  there 

Enthralls  the  crimson  stomacher — 

A  cuff  neglectful,  and  thereby 

Ribbons  to  flow  confusedly — 

A  winning  wave,  deserving  note. 

In  the  tempestuous  petticoat — • 

A  careless  shoe  string,  in  whose  tie 

I  see  a  wild  civility — 

Do  more  bewitch  me  than  when  art 

Is  too  precise  in  every  part. 

Robert  Heeiiick. 


HEBE. 

I  SAW  the  twinkle  of  white  feet, 

I  saw  the  flash  of  robes  descending ; 

Before  her  ran  an  influence  fleet. 

That  bowed  my  heart  like  barley  bendhig. 

As,  in  bare  fields,  the  searching  bees 
Pilot  to  blooms  beyond  our  finding, 
It  led  me  on — by  sweet  degrees, 
Joy's  simple  honey  cells  unbinding. 

Those  graces  were  that  seemed  grim  fates ; 
With  nearer  love  the  sky  leaned  o'er  me; 
The  long  sought  secret's  golden  gates 
On  musical  hinges  swung  before  me. 

I  saw  the  brimmed  bowl  in  her  grasp 
Thrilling  with  godhood;  like  a  lover, 
I  sprang  the  proffered  life  to  clasp — • 
The  beaker  fell ;  the  luck  was  over. 

The  earth  has  drunk  the  v"intage  up ; 
That  boots  it  patch  the  goblet's  splinters  ? 
Can  summer  fill  the  icy  cup 
"Whose  treacherous  crystal  is  but  winter's  ? 

0  spendthrift  haste!  await  the  gods  ; 
Their  nectar  crowns  the  lips  of  patience. 
Haste  scatters  on  unthankful  sods 
Tlie  immortal  gift  in  vain  libations. 

Coy  Hebe  flies  from  those  that  woo, 
And  shuns  tlie  hands  would  seize  upon  her ; 
Follow  thy  life,  and  she  will  sue 
To  pour  for  thee  the  cup  of  honor. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


SONNET. 

'T  IS  much  immortal  beauty  to  admire, 
But  more  immortal  beauty  to  withstand ; 
The  perfect  soul  can  overcome  desire, 
If  beauty  with  divine  delight  be  scanned. 
For  what  is  beauty,  but  the  blooming  child 
Of  fair  Olympus,  that  in  night  must  end, 
And  be  for  ever  from  that  bliss  exiled. 
If  admiration  stand  too  much  its  friend  ? 


TO     MISTRESS    MARGARET    HUSSEY. 


C3] 


The  "n^iud  /va/  be  en«iinored  of  a  flower, 
The  oce?iii  ni  I'je  green  and  laughing  shore, 
The  silver  %VtniDg  of  a  lofty  tower — 
But  must  not  with  too  near  a  love  adore ; 
Or  flower,  and  margin,  and  cloud-capped  tow- 
er, 
Love  and  delight  shall  with  delight  devour ! 

LoKD  TmrELow. 


TO  MISTRESS  MAEGARET  HUSSEY. 

Meeet  Margaret, 

As  midsummer  flower — 

Gentle  as  falcon. 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower ; 

With  solace  and  gladness. 

Much  mirth  and  no  madness, 

All  good  and  no  badness ; 

So  joyously, 

So  maidenly, 

So  womanly 

Iler  demeaning — 

In  everything 

Far,  far  passing 

That  I  can  indite. 

Or  suffice  to  write. 

Of  merry  Margaret, 

As  midsummer  flower. 

Gentle  as  falcon 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower ; 

As  patient  and  as  still, 

And  as  full  of  good  will, 

As  fair  Isiphil, 

Coliander, 

Sweet  Pomander, 

Good  Cassandcr ; 

Steadfast  of  thought, 

Well  made,  well  wrought ; 

Far  may  be  sought 

Ere  you  can  find 

So  courteous,  so  kind. 

As  merry  Margaret, 

This  midsummer  flower. 

Gentle  as  falcon, 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower. 

John  Skelton. 


WHO  IS  SYLVIA? 

Who  is  Sylvia  ?  what  is  she, 
That  all  the  swains  commend  her  ? 

Holy,  foir,  and  wise,  is  she ; 

The  heavens  such  grace  did  lend  her 

That  she  might  adored  be. 

Is  she  kind,  or  is  she  fair  ? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness. 
Love  does  to  her  eyes  repair 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness — 
And,  being  helped,  inhabits  there. 

Then  to  Sylvia  let  us  sing 

That  Sylviti  is  excelfing ; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwehiug ; 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

SUAKESPEABK. 


SHE  WALKS  IN"  BEAUTY. 

She  walks  in  beauty  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies; 

And  all  that's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meets  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes: 

Thus  mellowed  to  that  tender  liglit 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  tlic  less 
Had  half  impaired  the  nameless  grace 

Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress, 
Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  fixce — 

Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express 
How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling  place. 

And  on  that  cheek,  and  o'er  that  brow, 

So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 
The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow. 

But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent, 
A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 

A  heart  wliosc  love  is  innocent. 

LonD  BrnoN. 


o;;2 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


IIERMIONE, 

Inou  bast  beauty  brigbt  and  fair, 

Manner  noble,  aspect  free. 
Eyes  tbat  are nntoucbcd  by  care: 

"What  then  do  wq  ask  from  tbee  ? 
Hermione,  Hermione  ? 

Thou  bast  reason  quick  and  strong, 
"Wit  tbat  envious  men  admire. 

And  a  voice,  itself  a  song ! 

"What  then  can  we  still  desire  ? 

Hermione^  Hermione  f 

Something  thou  dost  want,  0  queen ! 

(As  the  gold  doth  ask  alloy), 
Tears — amid  thy  laughter  seen, 
Pity  mingling  .with  thy  joy. 

T/iis  is  all  we  ash  from  thee^ 
Hermione^  Hermione  ! 

Baert  Cornwall. 


UPON  JULIA'S  PvECOVERY. 

Deoop,  droop  no  more,  or  hang  the  head, 

Ye  roses  almost  withered ! 

New  strength  and  newer  purple  get. 

Each  hero  declining  violet ! 

0  primroses!  let  this  day  be 

A  resurrection  nnto  ye. 

And  to  all  flowers  allied  in  blood. 

Or  sworn  to  tbat  sweet  sisterhood. 

For  health  on  Julia's  cheek  hath  shed 

Claret  and  cream  commingled  ; 

And  those  her  lips  do  now  appear 

As  beams  of  coral  but  more  clear. 

EOBEET   HeEKIOK. 


SONG. 


0  Lady,  leave  thy  silken  thread 

And  flowery  tapestry — 
There 's  living  roses  on  the  bush, 

And  blossoms  on  the  tree. 
Stoop  where  thou  wilt,  thy  careless  hand 

Some  random  bud  will  meet- 
Thou  canst  not  tread  but  thou  wilt  find 

The  daisy  at  thy  feet. 

'T  is  like  the  birthday  of  the  world, 
When  earth  was  born  in  bloom  ; 


The  light  is  made  of  many  dyes, 

The  air  is  all  perfume ; 
There's  crimson  buds,  and  white  and  blue— 

The  very  rainbow  showers 
Have  turned  to  blossoms  where  they  fell, 

And  sown  the  earth  Avitli  flowers. 

There  's  fairy  tulips  in  the  east — 

The  garden  of  the  sun  ; 
The  very  streams  reflect  the  hues. 

And  blossom  as  they  run  ; 
"While  morn  opes  like  a  crimson  rose, 

Still  wet  with  pearly  showers : 

Then,  lady,  leave  the  silken  thread 

Thou  twiuest  into  flowers ! 

Thomas  Hood. 


i 


TO  A  HIGHLAND  GIRL. 

Sweet  Highland  girl!  a  very  shower 

Of  beauty  is  thy  earthly  dower ; 

Thrice  seven  consenting  years  have  shed 

Their  utmost  bounty  on  thy  head. 

And  these  gray  rocks  ;  that  household  lawn ; 

Those  trees — a  veil  just  half  withdrawn  ; 

This  fall  of  water,  that  doth  make 

A  murmur  near  the  silent  lake  : 

This  little  bay,  a  quiet  road 

That  holds  in  shelter  thy  abode — 

In  truth,  together  do  ye  seem 

Like  something  foshioned  in  a  dream — 

Such  forms  as  from  their  covert  peep 

"When  earthly  cares  are  laid  asleep. 

But,  O  fair  creature!  in  the  light 

Of  common  day  so  heavenly  bright — 

I  bless  thee,  visicm  as  thou  art, 

I  bless  thee  with  a  human  heart ; 

God  shield  thee  to  thy  latest  years ! 

Thee  neither  know  I,  nor  thy  peers ; 

And  yet  my  eyes  are  filled  Avitli  tears. 

"With  earnest  feeling  I  shall  pray 
For  tbce  when  I  am  far  away ; 
For  never  saw  I  mien  or  face 
In  which  more  plainly  I  could  trace 
Benignity  and  homebred  sense 
Ripening  in  perfect  innocence. 
Here,  scattered,  like  a  random  seed, 
Remote  from  men,  thou  dost  not  need 
The  embarrassed  look  of  shy  distress, 
And  maidenly  shamefacedness ; 


THE    SOLITARY    REAPER. 


633 


Thou  wear'st  upon  thy  forehead  clear 
The  freedom  of  a  mountaineer : 
A  face  with  ghidness  overspread  ; 
Soft  smiles,  by  human  kindness  bred ; 
And  seemliness  complete,  that  sways 
Thy  courtesies,  about  thee  plays ; 
"With  no  restraint,  but  such  as  springs 
From  quick  and  eager  visitings 
Of  thoughts  that  lie  beyond  the  reach 
Of  thy  few  words  of  English  speech — 
A  bundage  sweetly  brooked,  a  strife 
That  gives  thy  gestures  grace  and  life  ; 
So  have  I,  not  unmoved  in  mind, 
Seen  birds  of  tempest-loving  kind 
Thus  beating  up  against  the  wind. 

What  hand  but  would  a  garland  cull 
For  thee,  w^ho  art  so  beautifid  ? 

0  happy  pleasure !  here  to  dwell 
Beside  thee  in  some  heathy  dell — 
Adopt  your  homely  ways  and  dress, 
A  shepherd,  thou  a  shepherdess ! 
But  I  could  frame  a  wish  for  thee 
More  like  a  grave  reality. 

Thou  art  to  me  but  as  a  wave 

Of  the  wild  sea ;  and  I  would  have 

Some  claim  upon  thee,  if  I  could, 

Tliough  but  of  common  neighborhood. 

What  joy  to  hear  thee,  and  to  see  ! 

Thy  elder  brotber  I  would  be. 

Thy  father — anything  to  thee ! 

JTow  thanks  to  heaven,  that  of  its  grace 
Hath  led  me  to  this  lonely  place ! 
Joy  have  I  had ;  and,  going  hence, 

1  bear  away  ray  recompense. 

In  spots  like  these  it  is  we  prize 

Our  memory,  feel  that  she  liath  eyes. 

Then  why  should  I  be  loth  to  stir  ? 

I  feel  this  place  was  made  for  her, 

To  give  new  pleasure  like  the  past — 

Continued  long  as  life  sliall  last. 

Nor  am  I  loth,  tliough  pleased  at  heart, 

Sweet  Highland  girl !  from  thee  to  part ; 

For  T,.incthinks,  till  I  grow  old. 

As  fair  before  me  shall  behold, 

As  I  do  now,  the  cabin  small, 

The  lake,  the  bay,  the  waterfall — 

And  thee,  the  spirit  of  them  all ! 

William  Wordswoktii. 

84 


THE  SOLITARY  REAPER. 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  lass ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 
Oh  listen !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  nightingale  did  ever  chant 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travellers  in  some  shady  haunt, 
Among  Arabian  sands ; 
A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  vvas  heard 
In  spring  time  from  the  cuckoo  bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

WiU  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ?— 

Perhaps  tlie  plaintive  numbers  flow 

For  old,  unhappy,  far-oft'  things, 

And  battles  long  ago  ; 

Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

Familiar  matter  of  to-day? 

Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 

That  has  been,  or  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work 
And  o'er  her  sickle  bending ; — 
I  listened  motionless  and  still ; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill. 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

William  'WoiiDSAVonTii. 


"PROUD  MAISIE  IS  IX  THE  T700D." 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early ; 
Sweet  robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 

"Tell  me,  thou  Ijoimy  bird, 

When  shall  I  marry  mc  ?  " 
— "When  six  braw  gentlemen 

Kirkward  shall  carry  ye." 


634 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly  ?  " 
— "The  gray-headed  sexton 

Tiiat  delves  the  grave  duly. 

"  The  glow-Avorm  o'er  grave  and  stono 

Shall  light  thee  steady ; 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing 

Welcome,  proud  lady !  " 

Sir  W  alter  Scott. 


THE  TWO  BRIDES. 

I  SAW  two  maids  at  the  kirk, 
And  both  were  fair  and  sweet — 

One  in  her  wedding  robe. 

And  one  in  her  winding-slieet. 

The  choristers  sang  the  hymn — 
The  sacred  rites  were  read  ; 

And  one  for  life  to  life. 
And  one  to  death,  was  wed. 

They  were  borne  to  their  bridal  beds, 

In  loveliness  and  bloom — 
One  in  a  merry  castle, 

The  other  a  solemn  tomb. 

One  on  the  morrow  woke 
In  a  world  of  sin  and  pain  ; 

But  the  other  was  happier  far, 
And  never  awoke  again ! 

KicnAED  Henry  Stoddard. 


"  SHE  WAS  A  PHANTOM  OF  DELIGHT." 

She  was  a  phantom  of  delight 

When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 

A  lovely  apparition,  sent 

To  be  a  moment's  ornament : 

Her  eyes  as  stars  of  twilight  fair ; 

Like  twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair, 

But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 

From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  dawn — 

A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 

To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay. 

I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 
A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too  : 


Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty ; 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 
A  creature,  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  natm-e's  daily  food — 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,   blame,   love,  kisses,  tears,  and 
smiles. 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 
A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  traveller  between  life  and  death ; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill : 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned. 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command  ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  an  angel  light. 

William  "Wordswoeth. 


TO  MY  SISTER. 


WITH  A  COPY  OF   SUPEENATUEALISM  OF  NEW 
ENGLAND." 


Deae  sister !  while  the  wise  and  sage 
Turn  coldly  from  my  playful  page. 
And  count  it  strange  that  ripened  age 

Should  stoop  to  boyhood's  folly- 
I  know  that  thou  wilt  judge  aright 
Of  all  that  makes  the  heart  more  light. 
Or  lends  one  star-gleara  to  the  night 

Of  clouded  melancholy. 

Away  with  weary  cares  and  themes ! 
Swing  wide  the  moonlit  gate  of  dreams! 
Leave  free  once  more  the  land  which  teema 

With  wonders  and  romances ! 
Where  thou,  with  clear  discerning  eyes, 
Shalt  rightly  read  the  truth  which  lies 
Beneath  the  quaintly-masking  guise 

Of  wild  and  wizard  fancies. 

Lo !  once  again  our  feet  we  set 

On  still  green  wood  paths,  twilight  wet. 

By  lonely  brooks,  whose  waters  fret 


THE    OLD    MAID. 


635 


The  roots  of  spectral  beeclies  ; 
Again  the  hearth-fire  ghmmers  o'er 
Home's   white-washed   wall    and  painted 

floor, 
And  young  eyes  widening  to  the  lore 

Of  faery-folks  and  witches. 

Dear  heart! — the  legend  is  not  vain 
Which  lights  that  holy  hearth  again  ; 
Aiid,  calling  back  from  care  and  pain, 

And  death's  funereal  sadness, 
Draws  round  its  old  familiar  blaze 
The  clustering  groups  of  happier  days. 
And  lends  to  sober  manhood's  gaze 

A  glimpse  of  childish  gladness. 

And,  knowing  how  my  life  hath  been 
A  weary  work  of  tongue  and  pen, 
A  long,   harsh   strife,  with   strong-willed 
men, 

Thou  wilt  not  chide  my  turning 
To  con,  at  times,  an  idle  rhyme. 
To  pluck  a  flower  from  childhood's  clime. 
Or  listen,  at  life's  noonday  chime. 

For  the  sweet  bells  of  morning ! 

John  Greenleap  WniniEB. 


THE  OLD  MAID. 

Why  sits  she  thus  in  solitude  ?     Her  heart 

Seems  melting  in  her  eyes'  delicious  blue; 
And  as  it  heaves,  her  ripe  lips  lie  apart, 

As  if  to  let  its  heavy  throbbings  through  ; 
In  her  dark  eye  a  depth  of  softness  swells, 

Deeeper  than  that  her  careless  girlhood 
wore; 
And  her  cheek  crimsons  with  the  hue  that 
tells 

The  rich,  fair  fruit  is  i-ipened  to  the  core. 

It  is  her  thirtieth  birthday  I     "Witli  a  sigh 
Her  soul  hath  turned  from  youth's  luxuri- 
ant bowers. 
And  her  heart  taken  up  the  last  sweet  tie 
TJiat   measured    out   its   links    of   golden 
hours ! 


She  feels  her  inmost  soul  within  her  stir 
With  thoughts  too  wild  and  passionate  to 
speak ; 

Yet  her  full  heart-  its  own  interpreter- 
Translates  itself  in  silence  on  her  cheek 

Joy's  opening  buds,  affection's  glowing  flow- 
ers, 
Once  lightly  sprang  within  her  beaming 
track ; 
Oh,  life  was  beautiful  in  those  lost  liours  I 

And  yet  she  does  not  wish  to  wander  back ; 
No !  she  but  loves  in  loneliness  to  think 
On  pleasures  past,  though  never  more  to 
be ; 
Hope  links  her  to  the  future—but  the  link 
That  binds  her  to  the  past  is  memory. 

From  her  lone  path  she  never  turns  aside, 
Thougli  passionate  worshippers  before  her 
fall; 
Like  some  pure  planet  in  her  lonely  pride. 

She  seems  to  soar  and  beam  above  them  all. 
Not  that  her  heart  is  cold — emotions  new 
And  fresh  as  flowers  are  with  her  heart- 
strings knit ; 
And    sweetly    mournful    pleasures    wander 
through 
Her  virgin  soul,  and  softly  rullle  it. 

For  she  hath  lived  with  heart  and  soul  alive 

To  all  that  makes  life  beautiful  and  fair ; 
Sweet  thoughts,  like  honey-bees,  have  made 
their  hive 

Of  her  soft  bosom-cell,  and  cluster  there. 
Yet  life  is  not  to  her  what  it  hath  been — 

Her  soul  hatli  learned  to  look  beyond  its 
gloss; 
And  now  she  hovers,  like  a  star,  between 

Her  deeds  of  love,  her  Saviour  on  the  cross  1 

Beneath  the  cares  of  earth  she  does  not  bow, 

Though  she  hath  ofttimes  drained  its  bit- 
ter cup ; 
But  ever  wanders  on  witli  licjivcnward  brow, 

And  eyes  whoso  lovely  lids  are  lifted  u]). 
She  feels  tliat  in  that  lovelier,  hapi)ier  sphere 

Her  bosom  yet  will,  bird-like,  find  its  mate, 
And  all  the  joys  it  found  so  blissful  liere 

Within  that  spirit-realm  perpetuate. 


G36 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Yet    sometimes    o'er    Ler  trembling  heart- 
strings thrill 
Soft  sighs — for  raptures  it  hath  ne'er  en- 
joyed ; 
And  then  she  dreams  of  love,  and  strives  to  fill 
AVith   wild   and  passionate  thoughts    the 
craving  void. 
And  thus  she  wanders   on — half    sad,   half 
blest— 
Witliout  a  mate  for  the  pure,  lonely  heart 
That,   yearning,   throbs    Avithin    her  virgin 
breast, 
Xevcr  to  find  its  lovely  counterpart ! 

Amelia  B.  "Welbt. 


MOTHER  MARGERY. 

On  a  bleak  ridge,  from  whose  granite  edges 

Sloped  the  rough  land  to  the  grisly  north ; 
And  whose  hemlocks,  clinging  to  the  ledges, 

Like  a  thinned  banditti  staggered  forth — 
In  a  crouching,  w^rmy-timbered  hamlet 

Mother  Margery  shivered  in  the  cold. 
With  a  tattered  robe  of  faded  camlet 

On  her  shoulders — crooked,  weak,  and  old. 

Time  on  her  had  done  his  cruel  pleasure ; 

For  her  face  was  very  dry  and  thin, 
And  the  records  of  his  growing  measure 

Lined  and  cross-lined  all  her  shrivelled  skin. 
Scanty  goods  to  her  had  been  allotted. 

Yet  her  thanks  rose  oftener  than  desire ; 
While  her  bony  fingers,  bent  and  knotted, 

Fed  with  withered  twigs  the  dying  fire. 

Raw  and  weary  were  the  northern  winters ; 

Winds  howled  piteously  around  her  cot, 
Or  with  rude  sighs  made  the  jarring  splinters 

Moan  the  misery  she  bemoaned  not. 
Drifting  tempests  rattled  at  her  windows. 

And  hung  snow-wreaths  around  her  naked 
bed; 
Wliile  tlie  wind-flaws  muttered  on  the  cinders. 

Till  the  last  spark  fluttered  and  was  dead. 

Life  liad  fresher  hopes  when  she  was  younger, 
But  their  dying  wrung  out  no  comj^laints; 

CLill,  and  penury,  and  neglect,  and  hunger — 
These  to  ^Margery  were  guardian  saints. 


When   she  sat,  her  head  was,  prayer-like, 
bending ; 
When  she  rose,  it  rose  not  any  more  ; 
Faster   seemed  her  true    hea^t    graveward 
tending 
Tlian  her  tired  feet,  weak  and  travel-sore. 

She  was  mother  of  the  dead  and  scattered — 

Had  been  mother  of  the  brave  and  fair ; 
But  her  branches,   bough  by  bough,  Avero 
shattered. 

Till    her    torn    breast  was    left  dry  and 
bare. 
Yet  she  kncAV,  though  sadly  desolated, 

When  the  children  of  the  poor  depart 
Their  earth-vestures  are  but  sublimated, 

So  to  gather  closer  :n  the  heart. 

With  a  courage  that  had  never  fitted 

Words  to  speak  it  to  the  soul  it  blessed. 
She  endured,  in  silence  and  unpitied, 

Woes  enough  to  mar  a  stouter  breast. 
Thus  was  born  such  holy  trust  within  her, 

That  the  graves  of  all  Avho  had  been  dear, 
To  a  region  clearer  and  serener, 

Raised  her  spirit  from  our  chilly  sphere. 

They  were  footsteps  on  her  Jacob's  ladder  ; 

Angels  to  her  were  the  loves  and  hopes 
Which  had  left  her  purified,  but  sadder  ; 

And  they  lured  her  to  the  emerald  slopes 
Of  that  heaven  where  anguish  never  flashes 

Her  red  fire-whips, — happy  land,   Avhere 
flowers 
Blossom  over  the  volcanic  ashes 

Of  this  blighting,  blighted  world  of  ours ! 

All  her  power  was  a  love  of  goodness ; 

All  her  wisdom  was  a  mystic  faith 
That  the  rough  world's  jargoning  and  rude- 
ness 
Turns  to  music  at  the  gate  of  death. 
So  she  Avalked  while  feeble  limbs   allowed 
her,  ii   ■ 

KnoAving  well  that  any  stubborn  grief 
She  might  meet  with  could  no  more  than 
crowd  her 
To  that  Avail  whose  opening  was  relief 


THE    NYMPH'S    SONG. 


637 


So  she  lived,  an  anchoress  of  sorrow, 

Lone  and  peaceful,  on  the  rocky  slope ; 
And,  Avhen  burning  trials  came,  Tvould  bor- 
row 
New  fire  of  them  for  the  lamp  of  hope. 
When  at  last  her  palsied  hand,  in  groping. 

Rattled  tremulous  at  the  grated  tomb. 
Heaven  flashed  round  her  joys  beyond  her 
hoping, 
And  her  young  soul  gladdened  into  bloom. 

Geoege  S.  Bukleigh. 


THE  NYMPH'S  SONG. 

Gextle  swain,  good  speed  befall  thee ; 

And  in  love  still  prosper  thou ! 
Future  times  shall  happy  call  thee, 

Though  thou  He  neglected  now. 
Virtue's  lovers  shall  commend  thee, 
And  perpetual  fame  attend  thee. 

Happy  are  these  woody  mountains, 
In  whose  shadows  thou  dost  hide  ; 

And  as  happy  are  those  fountains 
By  whose  murmurs  thou  dost  bide : 

For  contents  are  here  excelling. 

More  than  in  a  prince's  dwelling. 

These  thy  flocks  do  clothing  bring  thee, 
And  thy  food  out  of  the  fields  ; 

Pretty  songs  the  birds  do  sing  thee ; 
Sweet  perfumes  the  meadow  yields  ; 

And  what  more  is  Avorth  the  seeing, 

Heaven  and  earth  thy  prospect  being  ? 

None  comes  hither  who  denies  thee 
Thy  contentments  for  despite ; 

Neither  any  that  envies  thee 
That  wherein  thou  dost  delight : 

But  all  happy  things  are  meant  thee. 

And  whatever  may  content  theo. 

Thy  affection  reason  measures. 
And  distempers  none  it  feeds  ; 

Still  so  harmless  are  thy  pleasures 
That  no  other's  grief  it  breeds  ; 

And  if  night  beget  thee  sorrow, 

Seldom  stays  it  till  the  morrow. 


Why  do  foolish  men  so  vainly 
Seek  contentment  in  their  store. 

Since  they  may  perceive  so  plainly 
Thou  art  rich  in  being  poor — 

And  that  they  are  vexed  about  it,. 

Whilst  thou  merry  art  without  it  ? 

Why  are  idle  brains  devising 
How  high  titles  may  be  gained. 

Since  by  those  poor  toys  despising 
Thou  hast  higher  things  obtained? 

For  the  man  who  scorns  to  crave  them 

Greater  is  than  they  that  have  them. 

If  all  men  could  taste  that  sweetness 
Thou  dost  in  thy  me-anness  know, 

Kings  wou-ld  be  to  seek  where  greatness 
And  their  honors  to  bestow  ; 

For  it  such  content  would  breed  them 

As  they  would  not  think  they  need  them. 

And  if  those  who  so  aspiring 
.  To  the  court  preferments  be. 
Knew  how  worthy  tlie  desiring 

Those  things  are  enjoyed  by  thee, 
Wealth  and  titles  would  hereafter 
Subjects  be  for  scorn  and  laugiiter. 

He  that  courtly  styles  aflectcd 

Should  a  May-lord's   honor  have- 
He  that  heaps  of  wealth  collected 

Should  be  counted  as  a  slave ; 
And  the  man  with  few'st  things  cumbered 
With  the  noblest  should  be  numbered. 

Thou  their  folly  hast  discerned 
That  neglect  thy  mind  and  thee ; 

And  to  slight  them  thou  hast  learned. 
Of  what  title  e'er  they  be ; 

Tliat  no  more  with  theo  obtaineth 

Than  with  them  thy  meanness  gal  net  h. 

All  their  riches,  honors,  pleasures. 

Poor  unwortliy  trifles  seem. 
If  compared  with  thy  treasures— 

And  do  merit  no  esteem  ; 
For  they  true  contents  provide  thee. 
And  from  them  can  none  divide  thee. 


638 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


"Wlietlier  thralled  or  exiled, 

Whether  poor  or  rich  thou  be — 

Wlietlicr  praised  or  reviled, 
Xol  a  rush  it  is  to  thee  ; 

Tliis  nor  tliat  thy  rest  doth  win  thee, 

But  the  mind  which  is  within  tliee. 

Tlien,  oh  why  so  madly  dote  we 
Ou  those  things  tliat  us  o'erload? 

Why  no  more  their  vainness  note  we, 
But  still  make  of  them  a  god  ? 

For,  alas  !  they  still  deceive  us, 

And  in  greatest  need  they  leave  us. 

Therefore  have  the  fates  provided 
Well,  thou  happy  swain,  for  thee. 

That  may'st  here  so  for  divided 
From  the  world's  distractions  be. 

Thee  distemper  let  them  never. 

But  in  peace  continue  ever. 

In  these  lonely  groves  enjoy  thou 
Tliat  contentment  here  begun ; 

And  thy  liours  so  pleased  employ  thou, 
Till  the  latest  glass  be  run. 

From  a  fortune  so  assured 

By  no  temptings  be  allured. 

Much  good  do 't  them,  with  their  glories, 
Who  in  courts  of  princes  dwell ; 

We  have  read  in  antique  stories 
How  some  rose  and  how  they  fell — 

And  't  is  worthy  well  the  heeding. 

There 's  like  end  where  's  like  proceeding. 

Be  thou  still  in  thy  affection 

To  thy  noble  mistress  true  ; 
Let  her  never-matched  perfection 

Be  the  same  unto  thy  view ; 
And  let  never  other  beauty 
Make  thee  fail  in  love  or  duty. 

For  if  thou  shalt  not  estranged 
From  thy  course  professed  be. 

But  remain  for  aye  unchanged. 
Nothing  shall  have  power  on  thee. 

Those  that  slight  thee  now  shall  love  thee. 

And  in  spite  of  spite  approve  thee. 


So  those  virtues  now  neglected 
To  be  more  esteemed  will  come ; 

Yea,  those  toys  so  much  affected 
Many  shall  be  wooed  from  ; 

And  the  golden  age  deplored 

Shall  by  some  be  thought  restored. 

Gbokge  'VViTnsR. 


ON"  ANACREON. 

AEOuisfD  the  tomb,  O  bard  divine. 

Where  soft  thy  hallowed  brow  reposes, 

Long  may  the  deathless  ivy  twine, 
And  summer  pour  her  waste  of  roses ! 

And  many  a  fount  shall  there  distil, 
And  many  a  rill  refresh  the  flowers ; 

But  wine  shall  gush  in  every  rill. 

And  every  fount  yield  milky  showers. 

Thus — shade  of  him  whom  nature  taught 
To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to' pleasure — 

Who  gave  to  love  his  warmest  thought, 
Who  gave  to  love  his  fondest  measure — ■ 

Thus,  after  death  if  spirits  feel 

Thou  may'  st  from  odors  round  thee  stream- 

A  pulse  of  past  enjoyment  steal. 

And  live  again  in  blissful  dreaming. 

Antipatek  of  Sidon,  (Greek.) 
Paraphrase  of  Tuomas  Moore. 


♦- 


AN    EPITAPH    ON    THE    ADMIPvABLE 
DRAMATIC  POET  W.  SHAKESPEARE. 

What  needs  my  Shakespeare  for  his  honored 

bones — 
The  labor  of  an  age  in  piled  stones? 
Or  that  his  hallowed  reliques  should  be  hid 
Under  a  starry-pointing  pyramid? 
Dear  son  of  memory,  great  heir  of  fame, 
What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy 

name? 
Thou  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 
Hast  built  thyself  a  live-long  monument. 


LINES    ON     THE    MERMAID    TAVERN. 


639 


For  whilst  to  the  shame  of  slow-endeavoring 

art 
Thy  easy  numbers  flow,  and  that  each  heart 
Hath  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  book 
Those  Delphic  lines  with  deep  impression 

took, 
Then  thou,  our  fancy  of  itself  bereaving, 
Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiv- 
ing ■ 
And,  so  sepulchred,  in  such  pomp  dost  lie 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die. 

JoHS  Milton. 


SHAKESPEARE. 

How  little  fades  from  earth  when  sink  to  rest 

The  hours  and  cares  that  move  a  great  man's 
breast ! 

Though  nought  of  all  we  saw  the  grave  may 
spare, 

His  life  pervades  the  world's  impregnate  air; 

Though  Shakespeare's  dust  beneath  our  foot- 
steps lies, 

His  spirit  breathes  amid  his  native  skies ; 

With  meaning  won  from  him  for  ever  glows 

Each  air  that  England  feels,  and  star  it 
knows ; 

His  whispered  words  from  many  a  mother's 
voice 

Can  make  her  sleeping  child  in  dreams  re- 
joice; 

And  gleams  from  spheres  he  first  conjoined 
to  earth 

Are  blent  with  rays  of  each  new  morning's 
birth. 

Amid  the  sights  and  tales  of  common  things, 

Leaf,  flower,  and  bird,  and  wars,  and  deaths 
of  kings, — 

Of  shore,  and  sea,  and  nature's  daily  round, 

Of  life  that  tills,  and  tombs  that  load,  the 
ground, 

llis  visions  mingle,  swell,  command,  pace  by, 

And  haunt  with  living  presence  heart  and  eye ; 

And  tones  from  him,  by  other  bosoms  caught. 

Awaken  flush  and  stir  of  moiinling  thought; 

And  the  long  sigh,  and  deep  impassioned 
thrill. 

Rouse  custom's  trance  and  spur  the  faltering 
will. 


Above  the  goodly  land,  more  his  than  ours. 

He  sits  supreme,  enthroned  in  skyey  towers ; 

And  sees  the  heroic  brood  of  his  creation 

Teach  larger  life  to  his  ennobled  nation. 

O  shaping  brain !  O  flashing  fancy's  hues ! 

0  boundless  heart,  kept  fresh  by  pity's  dews! 

0  wit  humane  and  blithe!  0  sense  sublime! 

For  each  dim  oracle  of  mantled  time! 

Transcendant    form  of  man!    in  whom  avo 
read 

Mankind's  whole  tale  of   impulse,    thought 
and  deed ! 

Amid  the  expanse  of  years,  beholding  thee, 

TTe  know  how  vast  our  world  of  life  may  be ; 

Wherein,  perchance,  with   aims  as  pure  as 
thine, 

Small  tasks  and  strengths  may  be  no  less  di- 
vine. 

John  Sterling. 


LINES  ON  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN. 

Souls  of  poets  dead  and  gone. 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  tavern  ? 
Have  ye  tippled  drink  more  fine 
Tlian  mine  host's  Canary  wine  ? 
Or  are  fruits  of  Paradise 
Sweeter  than  those  dainty  pies 
Of  venison  ?     0  generous  food ! 
Drest  as  though  bold  Robin  Hood 
Would,  with  his  maid  ^lariaii, 
Sup  and  bowse  from  horn  and  can. 

I  have  heard  that  on  a  day 
Mine  host's  sign-board  flew  away, 
Nobody  knew  whither,  till 
An  astrologer's  old  quill 
To  a  sheepskin  gave  the  story, — 
Said  he  saw  you  in  your  glory. 
Underneath  a  new  old-sign 
Sipping  beverage  divine. 
And  pledging  with  contented  smack, 
The  Mermaid  in  the  zodiac. 

Souls  of  poets  dead  and  gone, 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  tavern  ? 

John   Kkats. 


640 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


AN  ODE— TO  HIMSELF. 

"Where  dost  tliou  careless  lie 

Buried  in  ease  and  sloth  ? 
Knowledge  that  sleeps,  doth  die : 
And  this  security, 

It  is  the  common  moth 
That  eats  on  wits  and  arts,  and  so  destroys 

themhoth. 

Are  all  the  Aouian  springs 
Dried  up  ?  lies  Thespia  w^aste  ? 

Doth  Clarius'  harp  want  strings, 

That  not  a  nymph  now  sings  ? 
Or  droop  they  as  disgraced 
To  see  their  seats  and  bowers  by  chattering 
pies  defaced  ? 

If  hence  thy  silence  be. 

As  't  is  too  just  a  cause — 
Let  this  thought  quicken  thee  ; 
Minds  that  are  great  and  free 

Should  not  on  fortune  pause ; 
'T  is  crown  enough  to  virtue  still,  her  own 

applause. 

"What  though  the  greedy  fry 

Be  taken  with  false  baits 
Of  worded  balladry. 
And  think  it  poesy  ? 

They  die  with  their  conceits, 
And  only  piteous  scorn  upon  their  folly 

waits. 

Then  take  in  Land  thy  lyre, 

Strike  in  thy  proper  strain  ; 
"With  Japhet's  line  aspire 
Sol's  chariot  for  new  fire 

To  give  the  world  again ; 
Who  aided  him,  will  thee,  the  issue  of 

Jove's  brain. 

And  since  our  dainty  age 

Cannot  endure  reproof, 
Make  not  thyself  a  page 
To  that  strumpet,  the  stage : 

But  sing  high  and  aloof 

Safe  from  the  wolf's  black  jaw,  and  the 

dull  ass's  hoof. 

Bek  Jonson. 


THE  SILEPIIERD'S  HUNTING-. 


AN    ECLOGUE. 


THE   ARGUMENT. 

Philarete  on  Willy  calls, 

To  sing  out  his  pastorals  ; 

Warrants  fame  shall  grace  Ms  rhyme*, 

''Spite  of  envy  and  the  times; 

And  sheics  how  in  care  he  uses 

To  take  comfort  from,  his  muses. 


Philarete ;   Willy. 


PHILARETE. 


Prtthee,  "Willy!  tell  me  this — 
"What  new  accident  there  is 
That  thou,  once  the  blithest  lad, 
Art  become  so  wondrous  sad, 
And  so  careless  of  thy  quill. 
As  if  thou  hadst  lost  thy  skill  ? 
Thou  wert  wont  to  charm  thy  flocks, 
And  among  the  massy  rocks 
Hast  so  cheered  me  with  thy  song 
That  I  have  forgot  my  wrong. 
Something  hath  thee  surely  crost. 
That  thy  old  wont  thou  hast  lost. 
Tell  me — have  I  ought  mis-said, 
That  hath  made  thee  ill-apaid  ? 
Hath  some  churl  done  thee  a  spite? 
Dost  thou  miss  a  lamb  to-night? 
Frowns  thy  fairest  shepherd's  lass? 
Or  how  comes  this  ill  to  pass  ? 
Is  there  any  discontent 
"Worse  than  this  my  banishment? 

■Willy. 

« 

"Why,  doth  that  so  evil  seem 
That  thou  nothing  Avorse  dost  deem  ? 
Shepherds  there  full  many  be 
That  will  change  contents  with  thee ; 
Those  that  choose  their  walks  at  will, 
On  the  valley  or  the  hill — 
Or  those  pleasures  boast  of  can 
Groves  or  fields  may  yield  to  man — 
Never  come  to  know  the  rest, 
"Wherewithal  thy  mind  is  blest. 
Many  a  one  that  oft  resorts 
To  make  up  the  troop  at  sports, 


THE    SHEPHERD'S    HUNTING. 


641 


And  in  company  some  while 
Happens  to  strain  forth  a  smile, 
Feels  more  -want  and  outward  smart, 
And  more  inward  grief  of  heart, 
Than  this  place  can  bring  to  thee, 
While  thy  mind  remaineth  free. 
Thou  bewail'st  my  want  of  mirth — • 
But  what  find'st  thou  in  this  earth 
"Wherein  aught  may  be  believed 
Worth  to  make  me  joyed  or  grieved  ? 
And  yet  feel  I,  naitheless, 
Part  of  both  I  must  confess. 
Sometime  I  of  mirth  do  borrow- 
Other  while  as  much  of  sorrow ; 
But  my  present  state  is  such 
As  nor  joy  nor  grieve  I  much. 

PniLAEETE. 

Why  hath  Willy  then  so  long 
Thus  forborne  his  wonted  song? 
Wherefore  doth  he  now  let  fall 
His  well-tuned  pastoral. 
And  ray  ears  that  music  bar 
Which  I  more  long  after  far 
Than  the  liberty  I  want? 

WILLY. 

That  were  very  much  to  grant. 
But  doth  this  hold  alway,  lad — 
Tliose  that  sing  not  must  be  sad? 
Didst  thou  ever  that  bird  hear 
Sing  well  that  sings  all  the  year? 
Tom  the  piper  doth  not  play 
Till  he  wears  his  pipe  away — 
There's  a  time  to  slack  the  string. 
And  a  time  to  leave  to  sing. 

PniLAEETE. 

Yea !  but  no  man  now  is  still 
That  can  sing  or  tune  a  quill. 
Now  to  chaunt  it  were  but  reason — 
Song  and  music  are  in  season. 
Now,  ill  this  sweet  jolly  tide. 
Is  the  earth  in  all  her  pride; 
The  fair  lady  of  the  May, 
Trimmed  up  in  her  best  array. 
Hath  invited  all  the  swains, 
With  the  lasses  of  the  plains. 
To  attend  upon  her  sport 
At  the  places  of  resort. 
85 


Coridon,  with  his  bold  rout, 

Hath  already  been  about 

For  the  elder  shepherd's  dole. 

And  fetched  in  the  summer-pole ; 

Whilst  the  rest  have  built  a  bower 

To  defend  them  from  a  showei* — 

Coiled  so  close,  with  boughs  all  green, 

Titan  cannot  pry  between. 

Now  the  dairy  wenches  dream 

Of  their  strawberries  and  cream ; 

And  each  doth  herself  advance 

To  be  taken  in  to  dance ; 

Every  one  that  knows  to  sing 

Fits  him  for  his  carolling ; 

So  do  those  that  hope  for  meed 

Either  by  the  pipe  or  reed ; 

And,  though  I  am  kept  away, 

I  do  hear,  this  very  day. 

Many  learned  grooms  do  wend 

For  the  garlands  to  contend ; 

Which  a  nymph,  that  hight  Desert, 

Long  a  stranger  in  this  part. 

With  her  own  fair  hand  hath  wrought- 

A  rare  work,  they  say,  past  thought. 

As  appeareth  by  the  name, 

For  she  calls  them  wreaths  of  fame. 

She  hath  set  in  their  due  place 

Every  flower  that  may  grace; 

And  among  a  thousand  moe, 

Whereof  some  but  serve  for  show, 

She  hath  wove  in  Daphne's  tree. 

That  they  may  not  blasted  be ; 

Which  with  time  she  edged  about, 

Lest  the  work  should  ravel  out ; 

And  that  it  might  wither  never. 

Intermixed  it  witli   live-ever. 

These  are  to  be  shared  among 

Those  that  do  excel  for  song. 

Or  their  passions  can  rehearse 

In  the  smooth'st  and  sweetest  verso. 

Then  for  those  among  the  rest 

That  can  play  and  pipe  the  best. 

There's  a  kidling  with  the  dara, 

A  fat  wether  and  a  lamb. 

And  for  those  that  leapcn  far, 

Wrestle,  run,  and  llirow  the  bar. 

There's  ai)pointcd  guerdons  too: 

He  that  best  the  iirst  can  do 

Shall  for  his  reward  be  paid 

With  a  sheep-hook,  fair  inlaid 


642 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION 


With  fine  bone  of  a  strange  beast 
That  men  bring  out  of  the  west ; 
For  the  next  a  scrip  of  red, 
Tasselled  ■with  fine  colored  thread ; 
There's  prepared  for  their  meed 
Tliat  in  running  make  most  speed, 
Or  the  cunning  measures  foot. 
Cups  of  turned  maple-root, 
"Whereupon  the  skilful  man 
Hath  engraved  the  loves  of  Pan ; 
And  the  last  hath  for  his  due 
A  fine  nai)kin  wrought  with  blue. 
Then,  my  Willy,  why  art  thou 
Careless  of  thy  merit  now  ? 
What  dost  thou  here,  with  a  wight 
That  is  shut  up  from  delight 
In  a  solitary  den. 
As  not  fit  to  live  with  men? 
Go,  my  Willy  !  get  thee  gone — 
Leave  me  in  exile  alone; 
Hie  thee  to  that  merry  throng. 
And  amaze  them  Avith  thy  song ! 
Thou  art  young,  yet  such  a  lay 
Never  graced  the  month  of  May, 
As,  if  they  provoke  thy  skill, 
Thou  canst  fit  unto  thy  quill. 
I  with  wonder  heard  thee  sing 
At  our  last  year's  revelling. 
Then  I  Avith  the  rest  was  free. 
When,  unknown,  I  noted  thee. 
And  perceived  the  ruder  swains 
Envy  thy  far  sweeter  strains. 
Yea,  I  saw  the  lasses  cling 
Round  about  thee  in  a  ring. 
As  if  each  one  jealous  were 
Any  but  herself  should  hear ; 
And  I  know  they  yet  do  long 
For  the  residue  of  thy  song. 
Haste  thee  then  to  sing  it  forth ; 
Take  the  benefit  of  worth ; 
And  Desert  will  sure  bequeath 
Fame's  fair  garland  for  thy  wreath 
Hie  thee,  Willy !  hie  away. 

WILLY. 

Phila !  rather  let  me  stay, 
And  be  desolate  with  thee. 
Than  at  those  their  revels  be. 
Naught  such  is  my  skill,  I  wis, 
As  indeed  thou  deem'st  it  is ; 


But  whate'er  it  be,  I  must 
Be  content,  and  shall,  I  trust. 
For  a  song  I  do  not  pass 
'Mongst  my  friends;  but  what,  alas! 
Should  I  have  to  do  with  them 
That  my  music  do  contemn? 
Some  there  are,  as  well  I  wot. 
That  the  same  yet  favor  not ; 
Yet  I  cannot  well  avow 
They  my  carols  disallow ; 
But  such  malice  I  have  spied, 
'T  is  as  much  as  if  they  did. 

PHILAEETE. 

Willy !  what  may  those  men  be 
Are  so  ill  to  malice  thee? 

WILLY. 

Some  are  worthy-well  esteemed ; 
Some  without  worth,  are  so  deemed; 
Others  of  so  base  a  spirit 
They  have  nor  esteem  nor  merit 

PniLAEETE. 

What's  the  wrong  ?     .     .     .     . 


WILLY. 


A  slight  offence, 

Wherewithal  I  can  dispense ; 

But  hereafter,  for  their  sake, 

To  myself  I  '11  music  make. 


PHILARETE. 

What,  because  some  clown  oifends. 
Wilt  thou  punish  all  thy  friends  ? 

WILLY. 

Do  not,  Phil !  misunderstand  me — • 
Those  that  love  me  may  command  me ; 
But  thou  know'st  I  am  but  young. 
And  the  pastoral  I  sung 
Is  by  some  supposed  to  be. 
By  a  strain,  too  high  for  me ; 
So  they  kindly  let  me  gain 
Not  ray  labor  for  my  pain. 
Trust  me,  I  do  wonder  why 
They  should  me  my  own  deny. 
Though  I  'm  young,  I  scorn  to  flit 
On  the  wings  of  borrowed  wit ; 
I  '11  make  my  own  feathers  rear  me, 
Whither  others  cannot  bear  me. 


THE    SHEPHERD'S    HUNTING. 


Yet  I  '11  keep  my  skill  in  store, 
Till  I  've  seen  some  winters  more. 


riilLARETE. 

But  in  earnest  mean'st  thou  so? — 

Then  thou  art  not  wise,  I  trow : 

Better  shall  advise  thee  Pan, 

For  thou  dost  not  rightly  tlien; 

That 's  the  ready  way  to  blot 

All  the  credit  thou  hast  got. 

Rather  in  thy  age's  prime 

Get  another  start  of  time ; 

And  make  those  that  so  fond  be, 

Spite  of  their  own  dulness,  see 

Tliat  the  sacred  muses  can 

Make  a  child  in  years  a  man. 

It  is  known  what  thou  canst  do ; 

For  it  is  not  long  ago. 

When  that  Cuddy,  thou  and  I, 

Each  the  other's  skill  to  try, 

At  Saint  Dunstan's  charmed  well, 

As  some  present  there  can  tell, 

Sang  upon  a  sudden  theme, 

Sitting  by  the  crimson  stream; 

"Where  if  thou  didst  well  or  no 

Yet  remains  the  song  to  show. 

Much  experience  more  I  've  had 

Of  thy  skill,  thou  happy  lad ; 

And  would  make  the  world  to  know  it, 

But  that  time  will  further  show  it. 

Envy  makes  their  tongues  now  run, 

More  than  doubt  of  what  is  done  ; 

For  that  needs  must  be  thine  own, 

Or  to  be  some  other's  known ; 

But  how  then  will 't  suit  unto 

What  thou  shalt  hereafter  do? 

Or  I  wonder  where  is  he 

Would  with  that  song  part  with  thee  ! 

Nay,  were  there  so  mad  a  swain 

Could  snch  glory  sell  for  gain, 

Phoebus  would  not  have  combined 

That  gift  with  so  base  a  mind. 

Never  did  the  nine  impart 

The  sweet  secrets  of  their  art 

Unto  any  that  did  scorn 

We  should  see  their  favors  worn. 

Therefore,  unto  those  that  say 

Were  they  pleased  to  sing  a  lay 

Tiiey  could  do't,  and  will  not  tho' 

This  I  speak,  for  this  I  know — 


643 


None  e'er  drank  the  Thespian  spring, 

And  knew  how,  but  he  did  sing: 

For,  that  once  infused  in  man, 

Makes  him  shew 't,  do  what  he  can ; 

Nay,  those  that  do  only  sip, 

Or  but  e'en  their  fingers  dip 

In  that  sacred  fount,  poor  elves ! 

Of  that  brood  will  show  themselves. 

Yea,  in  hope  to  get  them  fame. 

They  will  speak,  though  to  their  shame. 

Let  those,  then,  at  thee  repine 

That  by  their  wits  measure  thine ; 

Needs  those  songs  must  be  thine  own, 

And  that  one  day  will  be  known. 

That  poor  imputation,  too, 

I  myself  do  undergo ; 

But  it  will  appear,  ere  long. 

That 't  was  envy  sought  our  wrong, 

Who,  at  twice  ten,  have  sung  more 

Than  some  will  do  at  four  score. 

Cheer  thee,  honest  Willy !  then, 

And  begin  thy  song  again. 

WILLY. 

Fain  I  would  ;  but  I  do  fear, 
When  again  my  lines  they  hear, 
If  they  yield  they  are  my  rhymes, 
They  will  feign  some  other  crimes ; 
And  'tis  no  safevcntnringby 
Where  we  see  detraction  lie; 
For,  do  what  I  can,  I  doubt 
She  will  pick  some  quarrel  out; 
And  I  oft  have  heard  defended 
Little  said  is  soon  amended. 

PniLAEETE. 

See'st  thou  not,  in  clearest  days 

Oft  thick  fogs  cloud  heaven's  rays? 

And  that  vapors,  which  do  breathe 

From  tlic  earth's  gross  womb  beneath, 

Seem  unto  us  with  black  steams 

To  pollute  the  sun's  bright  beams — 

And  yet  vanish  into  air, 

Leaving  it,  unblcmislicd,  fair? 

So,  my  Willy,  shall  it  be 

With  detraction's  breath  on  thee — 

It  shall  never  rise  so  high 

As  to  stain  thy  poesy. 

As  that  sun  doth  oft  exhale 

Vapors  from  each  rotten  vale, 


J 


r.it 


POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND  REFLECTION. 


Poesy  so  sometimes  drains 

Gross  conceits  from  muddy  brains — 

Mists  of  envy,  fogs  of  spite, 

Twixt  men's  judgments  and  lier  light ; 

]5ut  so  much  her  power  may  do 

That  she  can  dissolve  them  too. 

If  thy  verse  do  bravely  tower, 

As  she  makes  wing  she  gets  power ; 

Yet  the  higher  she  doth  soar 

She 's  affronted  still  the  more, 

Till  she  to  the  high'st  hath  past  \ 

Then  she  rests  with  fame  at  last. 

Let  naught,  therefore,  thee  aifright. 

But  make  forward  in  thy  flight. 

For,  if  I  could  match  thy  rhyme, 

To  the  very  stars  I  'd  climb ; 

There  begin  again,  and  fly 

Till  I  reached  eternity. 

But,  alas !  my  muse  is  slow — 

For  thy  place  she  flags  too  low ; 

Yea — the  more 's  her  hapless  fate — 

Iler  short  wings  were  dipt  of  late ; 

And  poor  I,  her  fortune  ruing, 

And  myself  put  up  a-mewing. 

But  if  I  my  cage  can  rid, 

I  '11  fly  where  I  never  did ; 

And  though  for  her  sake  I'm  crost, 

Though  my  best  hopes  I  have  lost. 

And  knew  she  Avould  make  my  trouble 

Ten  times  more  than  ten  times  double, 

I  should  love  and  keep  her  too, 

'Spite  of  all  the  world  could  do. 

For,  though  banished  from  my  flocks. 

And  confined  within  these  rocks. 

Here  I  waste  away  the  light, 

And  consume  the  sullen  night, 

She  doth  for  my  comfort  stay. 

And  keeps  many  cares  away. 

Though  I  miss  the  flow'ry  fields, 

With    tliose     sweets    the    spring  -  tide 

yields — 
Though  I  may  not  see  these  groves 
Where  the  shepherds  cliaunt  their  loves. 
And  the  lasses  more  excel 
Than  the  sweet-voiced  Philomel — 
Though  of  all  those  pleasures  past 
Kothiiig  now  remains  at  last 
But  remembrance,    poor  relief. 
That  more  makes  than  mends  my  grief — 
She 's  my  mind's  companion  still, 
Maugre  envy's  evil  will ; 


"Whence  she  should  be  driven  too, 

Were 't  in  mortal's  power  to  do. 

She  doth  tell  me  where  to  borrow 

Comfort  in  the  midst  of  sorrow, 

!Makes  the  desolatest  place 

To  her  presence  be  a  grace. 

And  the  blackest  discontents 

To  be  pleasing  ornaments. 

In  my  former  days  of  bliss 

Her  divine  skill  taught  me  this — ■ 

That  from  every  thing  I  saw 

I  could  some  invention  draw. 

And  raise  pleasure  to  her  height 

Through  the  meanest  object's  sight ; 

By  the  murmur  of  a  spring. 

Or  the  least  bough's  rusteling — 

By  a  daisy,  whose  leaves,  spread. 

Shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bed — 

Or  a  shady  bush  or  tree, 

She  could  more  infuse  in  me 

Than  all  nature's  beauties  can 

In  some  other  wiser  man. 

By  her  help  I  also  now 

Make  this  churlish  place  allow 

Some  things  that  may  sweeten  gladness 

In  tlie  very  gall  of  sadness : 

The  dull  loneness,  the  black  shade 

That  these  hanging-vaults  have  made ; 

The  strange  music  of  the  waves. 

Beating  on  these  hollow  caves; 

Tins  black  den,  which  rocks  emboss. 

Overgrown  with  eldest  moss ; 

The  rude  portals  that  give  light 

More  to  terror  than  delight ; 

This  my  chamber  of  neglect. 

Walled  about  with  disrespect ; — 

From  all  these,  and  this  dull  air, 

A  fit  object  for  despair. 

She  hath  taught  me,  by  her  might, 

To  draw  comfort  and  delight. 

Therefore,  thou  best  earthly  bliss ! 

I  will  cherish  thee  for  this. 

Poesy,  thou  sweet'st  content 

That  e'er  heaven  to  mortals  lent ! 

Though  they  as  a  trifle  leave  thee 

Whose   dull  thoughts    cannot  conceive 

thee — 
Though  thou  be  to  tliem  a  scorn 
Til  at  to  naught  but  earth  are  born — 
Let  my  life  no  longer  be 
Than  I  am  in  love  with  thee ; 


CO^YPER'S    GRAVE. 


645 


Though  our  wise  ones  call  thee  madness, 
Let  me  never  taste  of  gladness 
If  I  love  not  thy  madd'st  fits 
More  than  all  their  greatest  wits ; 
And  though  some,  too  seeming  holv. 
Do  account  thy  raptures  folly, 
Thou  dost  teach  me  to  contemn 
What  makes  knaves  and  fools  of  them. 

0  high  power !  that  oft  doth  carry 
Men  above 

WILLY. 

.     .     .     .     Good  Philarete,  tarry! 

1  do  fear  thou  wilt  be  gone 
Quite  above  my  reach  anon. 
The  kind  flames  of  poesy 

Have  now  borne  thy  thoughts  so  high 

That  they  up  in  heaven  be, 

And  have  quite  forgotten  me. 

Call  thyself  to  mind  again — 

Are  these  raptures  for  a  swain 

That  attends  on  lowly  sheep. 

And  with  simple  herds  doth  keep  ? 

PHILAEETE. 

Thanks,  my  Willy !  I  had  run 

Till  that  time  had  lodged  the  sun. 

If  thou  hadst  not  made  me  stay ; 

But  thy  pardon  here  I  pray ; 

Loved  Apollo's  sacred  sire 

Had  raised  up  my  spirits  higher, 

Througli  the  love  of  poesy, 

Than  indeed  they  use  to  fly. 

But  as  I  said  I  say  still — 

If  that  I  had  Willy's  skill 

Envy  nor  detraction's  tongue 

Should  e'er  make  me  leave  my  song ; 

But  I  'd  sing  it  every  day. 

Till  they  pined  themselves  away. 

Be  thou  then  advised  in  this, 

Which  both  just  and  fitting  is — 

Finish  what  thou  hast  begun. 

Or  at  least  still  forward- run. 

Hail  and  thunder  ill  he  '11  bear 

That  a  blast  of  wind  doth  fear; 

And  if  words  will  thus  aflFray  thee, 

Prythee  how  will  deeds  dismay  thee  ? 

Do  hot  think  so  rathe  a  song 

Can  pass  through  the  vulgar  throng, 

And  escape  without  a  touch — 

Or  that  they  can  hurt  it  much. 


Frosts  we  see  do  nip  that  thing 
Which  is  forward'st  in  the  spring; 
Yet  at  last,  for  all  such  lets. 
Somewhat  of  the  rest  it  gets ; 
And  I  'm  sure  that  so  mayst  thou. 
Therefore,  my  kind  Willy,  now, 
Since  thy  folding-time  draws  on, 
And  I  see  thou  must  be  gone, 
Thee  I  earnestly  beseech 
To  remember  this  my  speech. 
And  some  little  counsel  take. 
For  Philarete  his  sake ; 
And  I  more  of  this  will  say. 
If  thou  come  next  holiday, 

George  WnurER. 


COWPER'S  GRAVE. 


I  will  invite  tliee,  from  tby  envious  hearse 

To  rise,  and  'bout  the  world  thy  bef.ms  to  spread, 

That  we  may  see  there 's  brightness  in  the  dead. 

IlABRINaTO>r. 


Ix  is  a  place  where  poets  crowned 

May  feel  the  heart's  decaying — 
It  is  a  place  where  happy  saints 

May  weep  amid  tlieir  praying ; 
Yet  let  the  grief  and  humbleness. 

As  low  as  silence,  languish — 
Earth  surely  now  may  give  her  calm 

To  whom  she  gave  her  anguish. 

0  poets !  from  a  maniac's  tongue 

Was  poured  the  deathless  singing! 
O  Christians !  at  your  cross  of  hope 

A  hopeless  hand  was  clinging! 
O  men !  this  man,  in  brotherhood, 

Your  weary  paths  beguiling. 
Groaned  inly  while  he  taught  you  peace, 

And  died  while  ye  were  smiling! 

And  now,  what  time  ye  all  may  read 

Through  dimming  tears  his  story— 
IIow  discord  on  the  music  fell, 

And  darkness  on  the  glory— 
And  how,  wlicn  one  by  one,  sweet  soQnd.s 

And  wandering  lights  departed, 
Be  wore  no  less  a  loving  face. 

Because  so  broken-hearted — 


641'.                       POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    EEFLECTION. 

lie  sliall  be  strong  to  sanctify 

That  turns  his  fevered  eyes  around — 

The  poet's  high  vocation, 

"  My  mother !  Avhere  's  my  mother  ? '' — 

And  bow  the  meekest  Cliristian  down 

As  if  such  tender  words  and  looks 

In  meeker  adoration ; 

Could  come  from  any  other — 

Nor  ever  shall  he  be  in  praise 

By  wise  or  good  forsaken — 

The  fever  gone,  with  leaps  of  heart 

Named  softh',  as  the  household  name 

He  sees  her  bending  o'er  him  ; 

Of  one  whom  God  hath  taken ! 

Her  face  all  pale  from  watchful  love, 

Tli'  unweary  love  she  bore  him ! 

With  sadness  that  is  calm,  not  gloom, 

I  learn  to  think  upon  him ; 
With  meekness  that  is  gratefulness, 

On  God  whose  heaven  hath  won  him — 

Thus  woke  the  poet  from  the  dream 
His  life's  long  fever  gave  him. 

Beneath  these  deep  pathetic  eyes 
Which  closed  in  death  to  save  him ! 

Who  suffered  once  the  madness-cloud 
Toward  his  love  to  blind  him ; 

But  gently  led  the  blind  along 

Where  breath  and  bird  could  find  him ; 

Thus !  oh,  not  thus !  no  type  of  earth 
Could  image  that  awaking, 

Wherein  he  scarcely  heard  the  chant 
Of  seraphs,  round  him  breaking — 

Or  felt  the  new  immortal  throb 

And  -wrought  within  his  shattered  brain 

Of  soul  from  body  parted ; 

Such  quick  poetic  senses 

But  felt  those  eyes  alone,  and  knew 

As  hills  have  language  for,  and  stars 

"  My  Saviour !  not  deserted !  " 

Harmonious  influences ! 

The  pulse  of  dew  upon  the  grass, 

Deserted !  who  hath  dreamt  that  when 

His  own  did  calmly  number ; 

The  cross  in  darkness  rested, 

And  silent  shadow  from  the  trees 

Upon  the  victim's  hidden  face 

Fell  o'er  him  like  a  slumber. 

No  love  was  manifested  ? 

What  frantic  hands  outstretched  have  e'er 

The  very  Avorld,  by  God's  constraint, 
From  falsehood's  chill  removing. 

Its  women  and  its  men  became, 
Beside  him,  true  and  loving! — 

The  atoning  drops  averted — 
What  tears  have  washed  them  from  the 
soul — 
That  one  should  be  deserted? 

And  timid  hares  were  drawn  from  woods 

To  share  his  home-caresses, 
Uplooking  to  his  human  eyes 

With  sylvan  tendernesses. 

Deserted !  God  could  separate 
From  His  own  essence  rather; 

And  Adam's  sins  have  swept  between 
The  righteous  Son  and  Father — 

But  while  in  blindness  he  remained 

Yea !  once,  Immanuel's  orphaned  cry 
His  universe  hath  shaken — 

Unconscious  of  the  guiding. 

It  went  up  single,  echoless. 

And  things  provided  came  without 

"  My  God,  I  am  forsaken ! " 

The  sweet  sense  of  providing, 

He  testified  this  solemn  truth. 

It  went  up  from  the  holy  lips 

Though  frenzy  desolated — 

Amid  His  lost  creation, 

Nor  man  nor  nature  satisfy. 

That  of  the  lost  no  son  should  use 

When  only  God  created  ! 

Those  words  of  desolation ; 

That  earth's  worst  frenzies,  marring  hope, 

Like  a  sick  child  that  knoweth  not 

Should  mar  not  hope's  fruition ; 

His  mother  while  she  blesses. 

And  I,  on  Cowper's  grave,  should  see 

And  droppeth  on  his  burning  brow 

His  rapture,  in  a  vision ! 

The  coolness  of  her  kisses  • 

EUZABETH  BAEKETT  BeOWNINOv 

THE     VISION. 


641 


THE  VISION". 

DUAN   FIRST. 

The  suu  Lad  closed  the  winter  day, 
The  curlers  quat  their  roaring  play, 
An'  hungered  maukin  ta'en  her  way 

To  kail-yards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray 

Whar  she  has  been. 

The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me ; 
And  whan  the  day  had  closed  his  ee, 

Far  i'  the  west, 
Ben  i'  the  spence  right  pensivelie 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

There,  lanely,  by  the  ingle-cheek, 
I  sat  and  eyed  the  spewing  reek, 
That  filled,  wi'  hoast-provoking  sraeek. 

The  auld  clay  biggin ; 
An'  heard  the  restless  rattons  squeak 

About  the  riggin'. 

All  in  this  mottie,  misty  clime, 

I  backward  mused  on  wasted  time — 

How  I  had  spent  my  youthfu'  prime, 

An'  dono  nae  thing 
But  etringin'  blethers  up  in  rbyme. 

For  fools  to  sing. 

Had  I  to  guid  advice  but  harkit, 
I  might,  by  this,  hae  led  a  market. 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank  and  clarkit 

My  cash-account ; 
While  here,  half-mad,  half-fed,  half-sarkit, 

Is  a'  th'  amount. 

I  started,  muttering,  "blockhead!  coof!" 
And  heaved  on  high  my  waukit  loof. 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  root^ 

Or  some  rash  aith. 
That  I,  henceforth,  would  be  rhyme  proof 

Till  my  last  breath — 

When  click!  the  string  the  snick  did  draw; 
And  jee !  the  door  gaed  to  the  Ava' ; 
An'  by  my  ingle  lowe  I  saw. 

Now  bleezin'  briglit, 
A  tight,  outlandish  hizzie,  braw. 

Come  full  in  sight. 


Ye  need  na  doubt  I  held  my  whist 

The  infant  aith,  half-formed,  was  crusht , 

I  glowered  as  eerie 's  I  'd  been  dush't 

In  some  wild  glen, 
When  sweet,  like  modest  worth,  she  blusht, 

And  stepped  ben , 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 
Were  twisted,  gracefu',  round  her  brows ; 
I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  muse 

By  that  same  token, 
An'  come  to  stop  those  reckless  vows, 

Wou'd  soon  been  broken. 

A  "  hair-brained  sentimental  trace  " 
Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face ; 
A  wildy- witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her ; 
Her  eye,  ev'n  turned  on  empty  space. 

Beamed  keen  with  honor. 

Down  flowed  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen, 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply  seen ;. 
And  such  a  leg ! — my  bonnie  Jean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sae  straught,  sae  taper,  tight,  and  clean, 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

Her  mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue. 

My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew  ; 

Deep  lights  and  shades,  bold-mingling,  throw 

A  lustre  grand, 
And  seemed,  to  my  astonished  view, 

A  well-known  land. 

Here  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 
There  mountains  to  the  skies  were  tost ; 
Here  tumbling  billows  marked  the  coast 

With  surging  foam; 
There  distant  shone  art's  lofty  boast, 

The  lordly  dome. 

Here  Doon  poured  down  his  far-fetched  floods ; 
There  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds; 
Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods, 

On  to  tlie  shore ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds, 

Willi  seeming  roar. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  sjjread, 

An  ancient  borougli  reared  her  head; 


G4S 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read, 

She  boasts  a  race 
To  every  nobler  virtue  bred, 

Aud  polished  grace. 

By  stately  tower  or  palace  fair, 

Or  ruins  i)endent  in  the  air. 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern ; 
Some  seemed  to  muse — some  seemed  to  dare. 

With  feature  stern. 

My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel. 

To  see  a  race  heroic  Avheel, 

And  brandish  round  the  deep-dyed  steel 

In  sturdy  blows ; 
While  back-recoiling  seemed  to  reel 

Their  Suthron  foes. 

His  country's  saviour,  mark  him  well! 
Bold  Richardton's  heroic  swell ; 
The  chief  on  Sark  who  glorious  fell, 

In  high  command ; 
And  he  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  sceptered  Pictish  shade 
Stalked  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
I  marked  a  martial  race,  portrayed 

In  colors  strong ; 
Bold,  soldier-featured,  undismayed, 

They  strode  along. 

Through  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove, 
ISTear  many  a  hermit-fancied  cove 
(Fit  haunts  for  friendship  or  for  love), 

In  musing  mood, 
An  aged  judge,  I  saw  him  rove, 

Dispensing  good. 

With  deep-struck  reverential  awe 
The  learned  sire  and  son  I  saw : 
To  nature's  God  and  nature's  law 

They  gave  their  lore ; 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw — 

That,  to  adore. 

Brydone's  brave  ward  I  well  could  spy 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye. 
Who  called  on   fame,  low  standing  by 

To  hand  him  on 
Where  many  a  patriot-name  on  high. 

And  hero  shone. 


UXJAN    SECOND. 

With  musing  deep,  astonished  stare, 
I  viewed  the  heavenly-seeming  fair ; 
A  Avhispering  throb  did  witness  bear 

Of  kindred  sweet. 
When,  with  an  elder  sister's  air, 

She  did  me  greet : — 

All  hail !  my  own  inspired  bard 
In  me  thy  native  muse  regard  j 
Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

Thus  poorly  low  I 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 

Know  the  great  genius  of  this  land 
Has  many  a  light  aerial  band. 
Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  arms  they  understand, 

Their  labors  ply. 

They  Scotia's  race  among  them  share : 
Some  fire  the  soldier  on  to  dare ; 
Some  rouse  the  patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart ; 
Some  teach  the  bard — a  darling  care — 

The  tuneful  art. 

'Mong  swelling  floods  of  reeking  gore 
They  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour; 
Or  'mid  the  venal  senate's  roar 

They,  sightless,  stand, 
To  mend  the  honest  patriot  lore. 

And  grace  the  land. 

And  when  the  bard,  or  hoary  sage, 
Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age, 
They  bind  the  wild  poetic  rage 

In  energy. 
Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 

Full  on  the  eye. 

Hence  Fullarton,  the  brave  and  young ; 
Hence  Dempster's  zeal-inspired  tongue ; 
Hence  sweet  harmonious  Bcattie  sung 

His  minstrel  lays; 
Or  tore,  with  noble  ardor.stung, 

The  sceptic's  bays. 


THE    VISION 


649 


To  lower  orders  are  assigned 

The  humbler  ranks  of  human  kind : 

The  rustic  hard,  the  lah'riug  hind, 

The  artisan — 
All  choose,  as  Tarious  they  "re  inclined, 

The  various  man. 

When  yellow  waves  the  heavy  grain, 
The  threat'ning  storm  some  strongly  rein ; 
Some  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain 

With  tillage  skill; 
And  some  insti-uct  the  shepherd  train, 

Blythe  o'er  the  hill. 

Some  hint  the  lover's  harmless  wile ; 
Some  gi-ace  the  maiden's  artless  smile ; 
Some  sooth  the  lab'rer's  weary  toil 

For  humble  gains. 
And  mate  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

His  cares  and  pains. 

Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space. 
Explore  at  large  man's  infant  race. 
To  mark  the  embryotic  trace. 

Of  rustic  bard ; 
And  careful  note  each  op'ning  grace — 

A  guide  and  guard. 

Of  these  am  I — Ooila  my  name ; 

And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim. 

Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of  fame. 

Held  ruling  pow'r ; 
I  marked  thy  embryo  tuneful  flame. 

Thy  natal  hour. 

With  future  hope  I  oft  would  gaze, 
Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways. 
Thy  rudely  carolled,  chiming  phrase 

In  uncouth  rhymes. 
Fired  at  the  simple  artless  lays 

Of  other  times, 

I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar; 
Or  when  the  north  his  lieecy  store 

Drove  through  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  nature's  visage  hoar 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 

Or  when  the  deep  green-mantled  earth 
Warm  cherished  every  flow'ret's  birth, 
86 


And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  every  grove, 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  general  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

When  ripened  fields  and  azure  skies 
Called  forth  the  reapers'  rustling  noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  evening  joys, 

And  lonely  stalk 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  ri<e 

In  pensive  walk. 

When  youthful  love,  warm-blushing,  strong, 
Keen-shivering  shot  thy  nerves  along, 
Those  accents  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Til'  adored  name, 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song. 

To  sooth  thy  flame, 

I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play 
Wild  send  thee  pleasure's  devious  way, 
Misled  by  fancy's  meteor  ray. 

By  passion  driven ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  heaven. 

I  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains, 
The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains — 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends, 
And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains, 

Become  tliy  friends. 

Tliou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show. 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape  glow ; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  tliroe, 

With  Shenstone's  art ; 
Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 

Warm  on  the  heart. 

Yet  all  beneath  th'  unrivalled  rose 

The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows ; 

Though  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws 

His  army  shade, 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grt)ws 

Adown  the  glade. 

Then  never  murmur  nor  repine ; 
Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine; 
And  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine, 

Nor  kings'  regard, 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

A  rustic  bard. 


650 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one — 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan ; 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  man, 

"With  soul  ei'ect; 
And  trust  the  universal  plan 

Will  all  protect. 

And  wear  thou  this ! — she  solemn  said, 

And  bound  the  holly  round  my  head; 

Tlie  polished  leaves  and  berries  red 

Did  rustling  play — 

And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled 

In  light  away. 

EoBEET  Burns. 


ON  THE  DExiTH  OF  BUENS. 

Rear  liigli  thy  bleak  majestic  hills, 

Thy  sheltered  valleys  proudly  spread — 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills, 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blossoms  red ; 
But,  ah !  what  poet  now  shall  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign, 
Since  he,  the  sweetest  bard,  is  dead. 

That  ever  breathed  the  soothing  strain  ? 

As  green  thy  towering  pines  may  grow. 

As  clear  tliy  streams  may  speed  along. 
As  bright  thy  summer  suns  may  glow, 

As  gayly  charm  thy  feathery  throng ; 
But  now  unheeded  is  the  song, 

And  dull  and  lifeless  all  around — 
For  his  wild  harp  lies  all  unstrung. 

And  cold  the  hand  that  waked  its  sound. 


"What  though  thy  vigorous  offspring  rise — 

In  arts,  in  arms,  thy  sons  excel ; 
Though  beauty  in  thy  daughters'  eyes, 

And  health  in  every  feature  dwell ; 
Yet  who  shall  now  their  praises  tell 

In  strains  impassioned,  fond,  and  free, 
Since  he  no  more  the  song  shall  swell 

To  love,  and  liberty,  and  thee ! 

With  step-dame  eye  and  frown  severe 
Uis  hapless  youth  why  didst  thou  view  ? 

For  all  thy  joys  to  him  were  dear. 
And  all  his  vows  to  thee  were  due ; 


Nor  greater  bliss  his  bosom  knew. 
In  opening  youth's  delightful  prime, 

Than  when  thy  favoring  ear  he  drew 
To  listen  to  his  chanted  rhyme. 

Thy  lonely  wastes  and  frowning  skies 

To  him  were  all  with  rapture  fraught ; 
He  heard  with  joy  the  tempest  rise 

That  waked  him  to  sublimer  thought ; 
And  oft  thy  winding  dells  he  souglit. 

Where  wild  flowers  poured  their  rathe  per- 
fume. 
And  with  sincere  devotion  brought 

To  thee  the  summer's  earliest  bloom. 

But  ah !  no  fond  maternal  smile 

His  unprotected  youth  enjoyed — 
His  limbs  inured  to  early  toil. 

His  days  with  early  hardships  tried ! 
And  more  to  mark  the  gloomy  void, 

And  bid  him  feel  his  misery, 
Before  his  infant  eyes  would  glide 

Day-dreams  of  immortality. 

Yet,  not  by  cold  neglect  depressed. 

With  sinewy  arm  he  turned  the  soil. 
Sunk  with  the  evening  sun  to  rest, 

And  met  at  morn  his  earliest  smile. 
Waked  by  his  rustic  pipe  meanwhile. 

The  powers  of  fancy  came  along, 
And  soothed  his  lengthened  hours  of  toil 

With  native  wit  and  sprightly  song. 

Ah !  days  of  bliss  too  swiftly  fled. 

When  vigorous  health  from  labor  springs. 
And  bland  contentment  soothes  the  bed. 

And  sleep  his  ready  opiate  brings ; 
And  hovering  round  on  airy  wings 

Float  the  light  forms  of  young  desire, 
That  of  unutterable  things 

The  soft  and  shadowy  hope  inspire. 

Now  spells  of  mightier  power  prepare — 

Bid  brighter  phantoms  round  him  dance ; 
Let  flattery  spread  her  viewless  snare, 

And  fame  attract  his  vagrant  glance ; 
Let  sprightly  pleasure  too  advance, 

Unveiled  her  eyes,  unclasped  her  zone — 
Till,  lost  in  love's  delirious  trance. 

He  scorn  the  joys  his  youth  has  known. 


AT     THE    GRAVE    OF    BURNS. 


65] 


Let  friendship  pour  her  brightest  blaze, 

Expaiidiog  all  the  bloom  of  soul ; 
And  mirth  concentre  all  her  rays, 

And  point  them  from  the  spai'kling  bowl ; 
And  let  the  careless  moments  roll 

In  social  pleasures  uncoufined. 
And  confidence  that  spurns  control. 

Unlock  the  inmost  springs  of  mind  ! 

And  lead  his  steps  those  bowers  among, 

TVhere  elegance  with  splendor  vies, 
Or  science  bids  her  favored  throng 

To  more  refined  sensations  rise  ; 
Beyond  the  peasant's  humbler  joys, 

And  freed  from  each  laborious  strife. 
There  let  him  learn  the  bliss  to  prize 

That  waits  the  sons  of  polished  life. 

Then,  whilst  his  throbbing  veins  beat  high 

"With  every  impulse  of  delight, 
Dash  fi-om  his  lips  the  cup  of  joy. 

And  shroud  the  scene  in  shades  of  night ; 
And  let  despair  with  wizard  light 

Disclose  the  yawning  gulf  below. 
And  pour  incessant  on  his  sight 

Her  spectred  ills  and  shapes  of  woo  ; 

And  show  beneath  a  cheerless  shed, 

With  sorrowing  heart  and  streaming  eyes, 
In  silent  grief  where  droops  her  head 

The  partner  of  his  early  joys ; 
And  let  his  infants'  tender  cries 

His  fond  parental  succor  claim, 
And  bid  him  hear  in  agonies 

A  husband's  and  a  father's  name. 

'T  is  done — the  powerful  charm  succeeds  ; 

His  high  reluctant  spirit  bends ; 
In  bitterness  of  soul  he  bleeds, 

Nor  longer  with  his  fate  contends. 
An  idiot  laugh  the  welkin  rends 

As  genius  thus  degraded  lies ; 
Till  pitying  heaven  the  veil  extends 

That  shrouds  the  poet's  ardent  eyes. 

Rear  high  thy  bleak  majestic  liills, 
Thy  sheltered  valleys  proudly  spread. 

And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills. 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blossoms  red ; 


But  never  more  shall  poet  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign — 

Since  he,  the  sweetest  bard,  is  dead 
That  ever  breathed  the  soothing  strain. 

William  Koscoh 


AT    THE    GRAVE   OF   BURNS. 

SEVEX  TEARS  AFTER  HIS  DEATH. 

I  snivEE,  spirit  fierce  and  bold, 

At  thought  of  what  I  now  behold : 

As  vapors  breathed  from  dungeons  cold 

Strike  pleasure  dead, 
So  sadness  comes  from  out  the  mould 

"Where  Burns  is  laid. 

And  have  I  then  thy  bones  so  near, 
And  thou  forbidden  to  appear  ? 
As  if  it  were  thyself  that 's  here, 

I  slirink  with  pain  ; 
And  both  my  wishes  and  my  feai* 

Alike  are  vain. 

Off"  weight, — nor  press  on  weight  I — away 
Dark  thoughts! — they  came,  but  not  to  stay ; 
With  chastened  feelings  would  I  pay 

The  tribute  due 
To  him,  and  aught  that  hides  his  clay 

From  mortal  view. 

Fresh  as  the  flower  whose  modc^t  worth 
He  sang,  his  genius  "glinted"  forth — 
Rose  like  a  star  that,  touching  earth, 

(For  so  it  seems) 
Doth  glorify  its  humble  birth 

AVith  matchless  beams. 

The  piercing  eye,  the  thoughtful  brow. 
The  struggling  heart,  where  be  tlioy  now  ?— 
Full  soon  the  aspirant  of  the  plougii, 

Tlio  prompt,  the  brave. 
Slept,  with  the  obscurest,  in  the  low 

And  silent  grave. 

I  mourned  with  thousands— but  as  ono 
More  deeply  grieved  ;  for  he  was  gone 
"Whoso  light  I  liailcd  when  first  it  shone, 

And  showed  my  youth 
How  verse  may  build  a  princely  throne 

On  humble  truth. 


fi.')2 


rOEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND  RErLECTION. 


Alas !  where'er  the  current  tends 
Regret  pursues  and  with  it  blends ! 
Huge  Criffers  hoary  top  ascends 

By  Skiddaw  seen ; 
ITeighhors  we  were,  and  loving  friends 

"We  might  Jiave  been — 

True  friends,  though  diversely  inclined ; 
But  heart  with  heart  and  mind  with  mind, 
Where  the  main  fibres  are  entwined 

Througii  nature's  skill, 
May  even  by  contraries  be  joined 

More  closely  stiU. 

The  tear  will  start,  and  let  it  flow ; 
Thou  "poor  inhabitant  below," 
At  this  dread  moment — even  so — 

Might  we  together 
Have  sat  and  talked  where  gowans  blow. 

Or  on  Avild  heather. 

"What  treasures  would  have  then  been  placed 
"Within  my  reach,  of  knowledge  graced 
By  fancy,  what  a  rich  repast! 

But  why  go  on  ? — 
Oh !  spare  to  sweep,  thou  mournful  blast, 

Uis  grave  grass-grown. 
There,  too,  a  son,  his  joy  and  pride, 
(ISTot  three  weeks  past  the  stripling  died). 
Lies  gathered  to  his  father's  side — 

Soul-moving  sight ! 
Yet  one  to  which  is  not  denied 

Some  sad  delight. 

For  he  is  safe,  a  quiet  bed 

Hath  early  found  among  the  dead — 

Harbored  where  none  can  be  misled, 

Wronged,  or  distrest ; 
And  surely  here  it  may  be  said 

That  such  are  blest. 

And  oh !  for  thee,  by  pitying  grace 
Checked  ofttimes  in  a  devious  race — 
May  He  who  halloweth  the  place 

Where  man  is  laid. 
Receive  thy  spirit  in  the  embrace 

For  which  it  prayed ! 

Sighing,  I  turned  away ;  but  ere 
Night  fell  I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 
Music  that  sorrow  comes  not  near — 

A  ritual  hymn. 
Chanted,  in  love  that  casts  out  fear, 

By  seraphim. 


THOUGHTS, 

SUGGESTED  THE  DAY  FOLLOWING,  ON  THE  BANKS 
OF  XITU,  NEAR  THE  POET's  EESIDENOE. 

Too  frail  to  keep  the  lofty  vow 
That  must  have  followed  when  his  brow 
W"as    wreathed — "The    Vision"    tells   us 
how — 

With  holly  spray. 
He  faltered,  drifted  to  and  fro, 

And  passed  away. 

Well  might  such  thoughts,   dear    sister, 

throng 
Our  minds  when,  lingering  all  too  long, 
Over  the  grave  of  Burns  we  hung 

In  social  grief, — 
Indulged  as  if  it  were  a  wrong 

To  seek  relief. 

But,  leaving  each  unquiet  theme 
Where  gentlest  judgments  may  misdeem, 
And  prompt  to  welcome  every  gleam 

Of  good  and  fair, 
Let  us  beside  this  limpid  stream 

Breathe  hopeful  air. 

Enough  of  sorrow,  wreck,  and  blight ! 
Think  rather  of  those  moments  bright 
When  to  the  consciousness  of  right 

His  course  was  true— 
When  wisdom  prospered  in  his  sight, 

And  virtue  grew. 

Yes,  freely  let  our  hearts  expand. 
Freely  as  in  youth's  season  bland, 
When,  side  by  side,  his  book  in  hand, 

We  wont  to  stray, 
Our  pleasure  varying  at  command 

Of  each  sweet  lay. 

How  oft,  inspired,  must  he  have  trod 
These  pathways,  yon  far-stretching  road  ! 
There  lurks  his  home ;  in  that  abode, 

With  mirth  elate. 
Or  in  his  nobly  pensive  mood, 

The  rustic  sate. 

Proud  thoughts  that  image  overawes ; 
Before  it  humbly  let  us  pause. 
And  ask  of  nature  from  what  cause. 

And  by  what  rules. 
She  trained  her  Burns  to  win  applause 

That  shames  the  schools. 


BURNS. 


653 


Through  busiest  street  and  loneliest  glen 

Are  felt  the  flashes  of  his  pen ; 

He  rules  'mid  ■n'inter  snows,  and  when 

Bees  fill  their  hives ; 
Deep  in  the  general  heart  of  men 

His  power  survives. 

What  need  of  fields  in  some  far  clime 
"Where  heroes,  sages,  bards  sublime, 
And  all  that  fetched  the  flowing  rhvme 

From  genuine  springs. 
Shall  dwell  together  till  old  time 

Folds  up  bis  wings  ? 

Sweet  mercy  !  to  the  gates  of  heaven 
This  minstrel  lead,  his  sins  forgiven — 
The  rueful  conflict,  the  heart  riven 

"With  vain  endeavor. 
And  memory  of  earth's  bitter  leaven 

Eff'aced  for  ever. 

But  why  to  him  confine  the  prayer. 
When  kindred  thoughts  and  yearnings  bear 
On  the  frail  heart  the  purest  share 

With  all  that  live?— 
The  best  of  what  we  do  and  are, 

Just  God,  forgive ! 

William  "Woedswoeth. 


BUEXS. 


No  more  these  simple  flowers  belong 

To  Scottish  maid  and  lover- 
Sown  in  the  common  soil  of  song. 
They  bloom  the  wide  world  over. 

In  smiles  and  tears,  in  sun  and  showers. 
The  minstrel  and  the  heatlier — 

The  deathless  singer  and  the  flowers 
He  sang  of — live  together. 

Wild  heather  bells  and  Robert  Burns! 

The  moorland  flower  and  peasant! 
How,  at  their  mention,  memory  turns 

Her  pages  old  and  pleasant ! 

The  gray  sky  wears  again  its  gold 

And  purple  of  adorning, 
And  manliood's  noonday  shadows  liold 

The  dews  of  boyhood's  morning — 

The  dews  that  washed  tlie  dust  and  soil 
From  off  the  wings  of  pleasure — 


The  sky  that  flecked  the  ground  of  toil 
With  golden  threads  of  leisure. 

I  call  to  mind  the  summer  day— 

The  early  harvest  mowing, 
The  sky  with  sun  and  cloud  at  play, 

And  flowers  with  breezes  blowing. 

I  hear  the  blackbird  in  the  corn, 

The  locust  in  the  haying ; 
And,  like  the  fabled  hunter's  horn, 

Old  tunes  my  heart  is  playing. 

How  oft  that  day,  with  fond  delay, 

I  sought  the  maple's  shadow, 
And  sang  with  Burns  the  hours  away, 

Forgetful  of  the  meadow ! 

Bees  hummed,  birds  twittered,  overhead 
I  heard  the  squirrels  leaping — 

The  good  dog  listened  while  I  read, 
And  wagged  his  tail  in  keeping. 

I  watched  him  while  in  sportive  mood 
I  read  "  The  Twa  Dogs' "  story. 

And  half  believed  he  understood 
The  poet's  allegory. 

Sweet  day,  sweet  songs ! — The  golden  hour? 

Grew  brighter  for  that  singing. 
From  brook  and  bird  and  meadow  flowers 

A  dearer  Avelcome  bringing. 

New  light  on  home-seen  natm-e  beamed, 

New  glory  over  woman ; 
And  daily  life  and  duty  seemed 

No  longer  poor  and  common, 

I  Woke  to  find  the  simple  truth 

Of  fact  and  feeling  better 
Than  all  the  dreams  that  held  my  youth 

A  still  repining  debtor — 

That  nature  gives  her  handmaid,  art, 
Tlie  themes  of  sweet  discoursing, 

The  tender  idyls  of  the  heart 
In  every  tongue  rehearsing. 

Why  dream  of  lands  of  gold  and  pearl, 

Of  loving  kniglit  and  lady. 
When  farmer  boy  and  barefoot  girl 

Were  wandering  there  already  ? 

I  saw  through  all  I'amilfar  things 
The  romance  underlying — 


654 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION, 


The  joys  and  griefs  that  plume  the  wings 
Of  fancy  skyward  flying. 

I  saw  the  same  blithe  day  return, 

The  same  sweet  fall  of  even, 
That  rose  on  wooded  Craigie-burn, 

And  sank  on  crystal  Devon. 

I  Hatched  with  Scotland's  heathery  hills 
The  sweet-brier  and  the  clover — 

With  Ayr  and  Doon  my  native  rills, 
Their  wood  hymns  chanting  over. 

O'er  rank  and  pomp,  as  he  had  seen, 

I  saw  the  man  uprising — 
Xo  longer  common  or  unclean, 

The  child  of  God's  baptizing. 

With  clearer  eyes  I  saw  the  worth 

Of  life  among  the  lowly  ; 
The  bible  at  his  cotter's  hearth 

Had  made  my  own  more  holy. 

And  if  at  times  an  evil  strain. 

To  lawless  love  appealing. 
Broke  in  upon  the  sweet  refrain 

Of  pure  and  healthful  feeling, 

It  died  upon  the  eye  and  ear, . 

Xo  inward  answer  gaining  ; 
iSTo  lieart  had  I  to  see  or  hear 

The  discord  and  the  staining. 

Let  those  who  never  erred  forget 
His  worth,  in  vain  bewailings ; 

Sweet  soul  of  song  I — I  own  my  debt 
Uncancelled  by  his  failings ! 

Lament  who  will  the  ribald  line 
Which  tells  his  lapse  from  duty — 

How  kissed  the  maddening  lips 'of  wine. 
Or  wanton  ones  of  beauty — 

But  think,  while  falls  that  shade  between 

The  erring  one  and  heaven. 
That  he  who  loved  like  Magdalen, 

Like  her  may  be  forgiven. 

Xot  his  tiie  song  whose  thunderous  chime 

Eternal  echoes  render — 
The  mournful  Tuscan's  haunted  rhyme, 

And  Milton's  starry  splendor ; 

But  who  his  hurakn  heart  has  laid 
To  nature's  bosom  nearer  ? 


Who  sweetened  toil  like  him,  or  paid 
To  love  a  tribute  dearer  ? 

Through  all  his  tuneful  art  how  slronp 

The  human  feeling  gushes ! 
The  very  moonlight  of  his  song 

Is  warm  with  smiles  and  blushes. 

Give  lettered  pomp  to  teeth  of  time, 
So  "Bonnie  Doon "  but  tarry ; 

Blot  out  the  epic's  stately  rhyme, 
But  spare  his  Highland  Mary ! 

John  Geeenleaf  Whittiek. 


ON  FIRST  LOOKING  INTO  CHAPMAN'S 
HOMER. 

Much  have  I  travelled  in  the  realms  of  gold, 
And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen ; 
Round  many  western  islands  have  I  been 
Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 
Oft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told 
That  deep-browed  Homer  ruled  as  his  de- 
mesne; 
Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 
Till  I  heard  Chapman  speak  out  loud  and 

bold: 
Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken ; 
Or  like  stout  Cortez,  when  with  eagle  eyes 
He  stared  at  the  Pacific — and  all  his  men 
Looked  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise — 
Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 

John  Keats. 


UHLAND. 

It  is  the  poet  Uhland,  from  whose  wreath- 
ings 
Of  rarest  harmony  I  here  have  drawn. 
To  lower  tones  and  less  melodious  breathings. 
Some  simple  strains,  of  youth  and  passion 
born. 

His  is  the  poetry  of  sweet  expression — 
Of  clear,    unfaltering    tune,    serene    and 
strong — 
Where  gentlest  thoughts  and  words,  in  soft 
procession, 
Move  to  the  even  measures  of  his  song. 


UHLAND. 


655 


Delighting  ever  in  his  own  cahn  fancies, 
He  sees  much  heauty  where  most  men  see 
naught — 
Looking  at  mature  with  famihar  glances, 
And  weaving  garlands  in  the   groves  of 
thought. 

He  sings  of  youth,  and  hope,  and  high  en- 
deavor ; 

He  sings  of  love — oh  crown  of  poesy  ! — 
Of  fate,  and  sorrow,  and  the  grave — forever 

The  end  of  strife,  the  goal  of  destiny. 

He  sings  of  fatherland,  the  minstrel's  glory — 
High  theme  of  memory  and  hope  divine — 

Twining  its  fame  with  gems  of  antique  story, 
In  Suahian  songs  and  legends  of  the  Rhine ; 

In  ballads  breathing  many  a  dim  tradition, 

Nourished  in  long  beUef  or  minstrel  rhymes. 
Fruit  of  the  old  romance,  whose  gentle  mis- 
sion 
Passed  from  the  earth   before  our  wiser 
times. 

Well  do  they  know  his  name  among  the 
mountains, 
And  plains  and  valleys,  of  his  native  land ; 
Part  of  their  nature  are  the  sparkling  foun- 
tains 
Of  his  clear  thought,  with  rainbow  fancies 

spanned. 

His  simple  lays  oft  sings  the  mother,  cheerful. 
Beside  the  cradle  in  the  dim  twilight ; 

His  plaintive  notes  low  breathes  the  maiden, 
tearful, 
With  tender  murmurs  in  the  ear  of  night. 

The  hillside  swain,  the  reaper  in  the  mead- 
ows, 

Carol  his  ditties  through  the  toilsome  day ; 
And  the  lone  hunter  in  the  Alpine  shadows 

Eecalls  his  ballads  by  some  ruin  gray. 

Oh  precious  gift !  oh  wondrous  inspiration  ! 

Of  all  high  deeds,  of  all  harmonious  things. 
To  be  the  oracle,  while  a  wliole  nation 

Catches  the  echo  from  the  sounding  strings ! 

Out  of  the  depths  of  feeling  and  emotion 
Piises  the  orb  of  song,  serenely  bright — 


As  who  beholds,  across  the  tracts  of  ocean. 
The  golden  sum-ise  bursting  into  light. 

Wide  is  its  magic  world — divided  neither 

By  continent,  nor  sea,  nor  narrow  zone  : 
Who  would  not  wish   sometimes  to  travel 
thither, 
In  fancied  fortunes  to  forget  his  own  ? 

William  Allen  Butlee. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  A  POETESS. 

Let  her  be  laid  within  a  silent  dell, 

Where  hanging  trees  throw  round  a  twilight 

gleam — 
Just  within  hearing  of  some  vUlage-bell, 
And  by  the  margin  of  a  low-voiced  stream ; 
For  these  were  sights  and  sounds  she  once 

loved  well. 

Then  o'er  her  grave  the  star-paved  sky  will 
beam ; 

While  aU.  around  the  fragrant  wild-flowers 
blow. 

And  sweet  birds  sing  her  requiem  to  the  wa- 
ter's flow. 

Thomas  Milleb, 


SONNET. 

The  nightingale  is  mute — and  so  art  thou, 
Whose  voice  is  sweeter  than  the  nightin- 
gale ; 

While  every  idle  scholar  makes  a  vow 
Above  thy  worth  and  glory  to  prevail. 

Yet  shall  not  envy  to  that  level  bring 

The  true  precedence  which  is  born  in  thee ; 

Thou  art  no  less  the  prophet  of  the  spring, 
Though  in  the  woods  thy  voice  now  silent 
be. 

For  silence  may  impair  but  cannot  kill 
The  nnisic  that  is  native  to  thy  soul ; 

Nor  thy  sweet  mind,  in  this  thy  froward  will, 
Upon  thy  purest  honor  have  control ; 

But,  since  thou  wilt  not  to  our  wishes  sing, 

This  truth  I  speak — thou  art  of  poets  king. 

LoKD  Thuklow. 


65G 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


CHARADE. 

Come  from  my  first,  ay,  come ! 

T]ie  battle  dawn  is  uigh  ; 
And  the  screaming  trump  and  the  thundering 
drum. 

Are  calling  thee  to  die ! 

Figlit  as  thy  father  fought; 

Fall  as  thy  father  fell ; 
Thy  task  is  taught ;  thy  shroud  is  wrought ; 

So  forward  and  farewell! 

Toll  ye  my  second !  toll ! 

Fling  high  the  flambeau's  light : 
And  sing  the  hymn  for  a  parted  sou] 

Beneath  the  silent  night! 

The  wreath  upon  his  head. 

The  cross  upon  his  breast. 
Let  the  prayer  be  said,  and  the  tear  be  shed, 

So, — take  him  to  his  rest! 

Call  ye  my  whole,  ay,  call 

The  lord  of  lute  and  lay ; 
And  let  him  greet  the  sable  pall 

"^'ith  a  noble  song  to-day  ; 

Go,  call  him  by  his  name ! 

No  fitter  hand  may  crave 
To  light  the  fiame  of  a  soldier's  fame 

On  the  turf  of  a  soldier's  grave. 

WlNTHKOP  MAOKWORTU   PeAED. 


TO  MACAULAY. 

The  dreamy  rhymer's  measured  snore 
Falls  heavy  on  our  ears  no  more ; 
And  by  long  strides  are  left  behind 
The  dear  delights  of  womankind, 
Who  wage  their  battles  like  their  loves, 
In  satin  waistcoats  and  kid  gloves, 
And  have  achieved  the  crowning  work 
When  they  have  trussed  and  skewered  a  Turk. 
Anotlier  comes  with  stouter  tread, 
And  stalks  among  the  statelier  dead : 
He  rushes  on,  and  hails  by  turns 
High-crested  Scott,  broad-breasted  Burns ; 


And  shows  the  British  youth,  who  ne'er 
Will  lag  behind,  what  Piomans  were. 
When  all  the  Tuscans  and  their  Lars 
Shouted,  and  shook  the  towers  of  Mars. 

Waltek  Savage  Landob. 


ODE. 


Bakds  of  passion  and  of  mirth. 
Ye  have  left  your  souls  on  earth ! 
Have  ye  souls  in  heaven  too. 
Double-lived  in  regions  new  ? 
Yes,  and  those  of  heaven  commune 
With  the  spheres  of  sun  and  moon  ; 
With  the  noise  of  fountains  "wondi'ous, 
And  the  parle  of  voices  thund'rous  ; 
With  the  wliisper  of  heaven's  trees 
And  one  another,  in  soft  ease 
Seated  on  Elysian  lawns 
Browsed  by  none  but  Dian's  fawns  ; 
Underneath  large  blue-bells  tented. 
Where  the  daisies  are  rose-scented, 
And  the  rose  herself  has  got 
Perfume  which  on  earth  is  not ; 
Where  the  nightingale  doth  sing 
Not  a  senseless,  tranced  thing, 
But  divine,  melodious  truth — 
Philosophic  numbers  smooth — 
Tales  and  golden  histories 
Of  heaven  and  its  mysteries. 

Thus  ye  live  on  high,  and  then 
On  the  earth  ye  Jive  again ; 
And  the  souls  ye  left  behind  yon 
Teach  us  here  the  way  to  find  you, 
Where  your  other  souls  are  joying, 
Never  slumbered,  never  cloying. 
Here  your  earth-born  souls  still  speak 
To  mortals,  of  tlieir  little  week  ; 
Of  their  sorrows  and  dehghts ; 
Of  their  passions  and  tlieir  spites ; 
Of  their  glory  and  their  shame ; 
What  doth  strengthen  and  what  maim 
Thus  ye  teach  us,  every  day, 
Wisdom,  though  fled  far  away. 

Bards  of  passion  and  of  mirth. 
Ye  have  lel't  your  souls  on  earth! 
Ye  have  souls  in  heaven  too, 
Double-lived  in  regions  new ! 

John  Keats 


A    POET'S    THOUGHT. 


651 


THE  MIXSTREL. 

'•  What  voice,  "what  liarp,  are  those  we  hear 

Beyond  the  gate  in  chorus? 
Go,  page ! — the  lay  delights  our  ear ; 

We  '11  have  it  sung  before  us !  " 
So  speaks  the  king :  the  stripling  flies — 
He  soon  returns ;  his  master  cries — 

"  Bring  in  the  hoary  minstrel !  " 

"  Hail,  princes  mine !     Hail,  noble  knights ! 

All  hail,  enchanting  dames! 
"What  starry  heaven!     What  blinding  lights! 

Whose  tongue  may  tell  their  names? 
In  this  bright  hall,  amid  this  blaze, 
Close,  close,  mine  eyes !     Ye  may  not  gaze 

On  such  stupendous  glories! " 

The  minnesinger  closed  his  eyes ; 

He  struck  his  mighty  lyre : 
Then  beauteous  bosoms  heaved  with  sighs. 

And  warriors  felt  on  fire ; 
The  king,  enraptured  by  the  strain, 
Commanded  that  a  golden  chain 

Be  given  the  bard  in  guerdon, 

"  ISTot  so !     Reserve  thy  chain,  thy  gold. 
For  those  brave  knights  whose  glances. 

Fierce  flashing  through  the  battle  bold, 
Might  shiver  sharpest  lances ! 

Bestow  it  on  thy  treasurer  there — 

The  golden  burden  let  him  bear 
With  other  glittering  burdens. 

"  I  sing  as  in  the  greenwood  bush 

The  cageless  wild-bird  carols — 
The  tones  that  from  the  full  heart  gush 

Themselves  are  gold  and  laurels ! 
Yet  might  I  ask,  then  thus  I  ask — 
Let  one  bright  cup  of  wine,  in  flask 

Of  glowing  gold,  be  brought  me  !  " 

They  set  it  down ;  he  quaflts  it  all — 

"  Oil  I  draught  of  richest  flavor! 
Oh !  tlirice  divinely  happy  hall 

Wliere  that  is  scarce  a  favor! 
if  heaven  shall  bless  ye,  think  on  me  ; 
A.nd  thank  your  God  as  I  thank  ye 

For  this  delicious  wine-cup!" 

JouANN  AVoLFOANG  VON  GoETiiE  (German). 

Translation  of  James  Clarence  Mangan. 

87 


SONKET. 

Wno  beat  can  paint  th'  enamelled  robe  of 

spring. 

With  flow'rets  and  fair  blossoms  well  be- 

dight ; 

Who  best  can  her  melodious  accents  sing, 

With  which  she  greets  the  soft  return  of 

light; 

Who  best  can  bid  the  quaking  tempest  rage. 

And  make  th'  imperial  arch  of  heav'n  to 

groan — 

Breed  warfare  with  the  winds,  and  finely 

wage 

Great  strife  with  Neptune  on  his  rocky 

throne — 

Or  lose  us  in  those  sad  and  mournful  days 

With  which  pale  autumn  crowns  the  misty 

year, 

Shall  bear  the  I'rize,  and  in  his  true  essays 

A  poet  in  our  awful  eyes  appear ; 

For  whom  let  wine  his  mortal  woes  beguile, 

Gold,  praise,  and  woman's  thrice-endearing 

smile. 

Lord  Thuklow. 


A  POET'S  THOUGHT. 

Tell  me,  what  is  a  poet's  thought  ? 

Is  it  on  the  sudden  born  ? 
Is  it  from  the  starlight  caught  ? 
Is  it  by  tlie  tempest  taught  ? 

Or  by  whispering  morn  ? 

Was  it  cradled  in  the  brain  i 

Chained  awhile,  or  nursed  in  night? 
Was  it  wrought  Avith  toil  and  pain  ? 
Did  it  bloom  and  fade  again, 

Ere  it  burst  to  light? 

No  more  question  of  its  birth : 
Rather  love  its  better  part! 
'T  is  a  thing  of  sky  and  earth, 
Gathering  all  its  golden  wortli 
From  the  poet's  heart. 

Baret  Cobnwai.1. 


658 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION, 


PvESOLUTION"  AND  INDEPENDENCE. 


There  was  a  roaring  in  tlie  wind  all  night — 

The  rain  came  heavily  and  fell  in  floods  ; 

But  now  the  sua  is  rising  calm  and  bright — 

The  birds  are  singing  in  the  distant  woods ; 

Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  stook-dove 
broods ; 

The  jay  makes  answer  as  the  magpie  chat- 
ters ; 

And  all  the  air  is  filled  with  pleasant  noise  of 
waters. 

II. 

All  things  that  love  the  sun  are  out  of  doors ; 
The  sky  rejoices  in  the  morning's  birth ; 
The  grass  is  bright  with  rain-drops ;  on  the 

moors 
The  hare  is  running  races  in  her  mirth ; 
And  with  her  feet  she  from  the  plashy  earth 
Raises  a  mist  that,  glittering  in  the  sun, 
Runs  with  her  all  the  way,  wherever  she 

doth  run. 

III. 

I  was  a  traveller  then  upon  the  moor ; 
I  saw  the  hare  that  raced  about  with  joy ; 
I  heard  the  woods  and  distant  waters  roar— 
Or  heard  them  not,  as  happy  as  a  boy. 
The  pleasant  season  did  my  heart  employ  ; 
My  old  remembrances  went  from  me  wholly — 
And  all  the  ways  of  men,  so  vain  and  melan- 
choly. 

IV. 

But,   as    it  sometimes  chanceth,   from    the 

might 
Of  joy  in  minds  that  can  no  further  go, 
As  high  as  we  have  mounted  in  delight 
In  our  dejection  do  we  sink  as  low — 
To  me  that  morning  did  it  happen  so ; 
And  fears  and  fancies  thick  upon  me  came — 
Dim  sadness,  and  blind  thoughts,  I  knew  not, 
nor  could  name. 


I  heard  the  skylark  warbling  in  the  sky ; 
And  I  bethought  me  of  the  playful  hare : 


Even  such  a  happy  child  of  earth  am  I ; 
Even  as  these  blissful  creatures  do  I  fare ; 
Far  from  the  world  I  walk,  and  from  all  care. 
But  there  may  come  another  day  to  me — 
Solitude,  pain  of  heart,  distress,  and  poverty. 

VI. 

My  whole    life  I    have    lived    in    pleasant 

thought, 
As  if  life's  business  were  a  summer  mood — 
As  if  all  needful  things  would  come  unsought 
To  genial  faith,  still  rich  in  genial  good; 
But  how  can  he  expect  that  others  should 
Build  for  him,  sow  for  him,  and  at  his  call 
Love  him,  who  for  himself  will  take  no  heed 
at  all? 

VII. 

I  thought  of  Chatterton,  the  marvellous  boy. 

The  sleepless  soul  that  perished  in  his  pride ; 

Of  him  who  Avalked  in  glory  and  in  joy, 

Following  his  plough,  along  the  mountain 

side. 
By  our  own  spirits  we  are  deified ; 

We  poets  in  our  youth  begin  in  gladness, 

But  thereof  come  in  the  end  despondency 

and  madness. 

VIII. 

Now,  whether  it  were  by  peculiar  grace, 
A  leading  from  above,  a  something  given, 
Yet  it  befell  that,  in  this  lonely  place, 
"When  I  with  these  untoward  thoughts  had 

striven. 
Beside  a  pool  bare  to  the  eye  of  heaven 
I  saw  a  man  before  me  unawares — 
The  oldest  man  he  seemed  that  ever  wore 

gray  hairs. 

IX. 

As  a  huge  stone  is  sometimes  seen  to  lie 
Couched  on  the  bald  top  of  an  eminence, 
Wonder  to  all  who  do  the  same  espy 
By  what  means  it  could  hither  come,  and 

whence ; 
So  that  it  seems  a  thing  endued  with  sense — 
Like  a  sea-beast  crawled  forth,  that  on  a  shelf 
Of  rock  or  sand  reposeth,  there  to  sun  it- 
self— 


RESOLUTION    AND     IX DEPENDENCE. 


659 


Such  seemed  this  man,  not  all  alive  nor  dead, 
Nor  all  asleep,  in  his  extreme  old  age. 
His  body  was  bent  double,  feet  and  head 
Coming  together  in  life's  pilgrimage, 
As  if  some  dire  constraint  of  pain,  or  rage 
Of  sickness,  felt  by  him  in  times  long  past, 
A  more  than  human  weight  upon  his  frame 
had  cast. 

XI. 

niraself  he  propped,  limbs,  body,  and  pale  face. 
Upon  a  long  gray  staif  of  shaven  wood ; 
And  still,  as  I  drew  near  with  gentle  pace, 
Upon  the  margin  of  that  moorish  flood 
Motionless  as  a  cloud  the  old  man  stood, 
Tliat  heareth  not  the  loud  winds  when  they 

call, 
And  moveth  all  together,  if  it  move  at  all. 

XII. 

At  length,  himself  unsettling,  he  the  pond 
Stirred  with  his  staff,  and  fixedly  did  look 
Upon  that  muddy  water,  which  he  conned 
As  if  he  had  been  reading  in  a  book. 
And  now  a  stranger's  privilege  I  took ; 
And,  drawing  to  his  side,  to  him  did  say 
"  This  morning  gives  us  promise  of  a  glorious 
day." 

XIII. 

A  gentle  answer  did  the  old  man  make, 

In  courteous  speech  which  forth  he  slowly 

drew ; 
And  him  with  further  words  I  thus  bespake : 
"  What  occupation  do  you  there  pursue  ? 
This  is  a  lonesome  place  for  one  like  you." 
Ere  he  replied,  a  flash  of  mild  surprise 
Broke  from  the  sable  orbs  of  his  yet  vivid 

eyes. 

XIV. 

His  words  came  feebly,  from  a  feeble  chest ; 
But  each  in  solemn  order  followed  each, 
With  something  of  a  lofty  utterance  drest, — 
Choice  word  and  measured  phrase,  above  the 

reach 
Of  ordinary  men,  a  stately  speech, 
Such  as  grave  livers  do  in  Scotland  use — 
Religious  men,  Avho  give  to  God  and  man 

their  dues. 


XV. 

He  told  that  to  these  waters  he  had  come 

To  gather  leeches,  being  old  and  poor — 

Employment  hazardous  and  wearisome ! 

And  he  had  many  hardships  to  endure ; 

From  pond  to  pond  he  roamed,  from  moor 
to  moor — 

Housing,  with  God's  good  help,  by  choice  or 
chance ; 

And  in  this  way  he  gained  an  honest  mainte- 
nance, 

XVI. 

The  old  man  still  stood  talking  by  my  side ; 
But  now  his  voice  to  me  was  like  a  stream 
Scarce  heard,  nor  word  from  word  could  I 

divide ; 
And  the  whole  body  of  the  man  did  seem 
Like  one  whom  I  had  met  with  in  a  dream — 
Or  like  a  man  from  some  far  region  sent 
To  give  me  human  strength  by  apt  admonish- 
ment. 

XVII. 

My  former  thoughts  returned :  the  fear  that 

kills. 
And  hope  that  is  unwilling  to  be  fed; 
Cold,  pain,  and  labor,  and  all  fleshly  ills ; 
And  mighty  poets  in  their  misery  dead. 
—  Perplexed,  and  longing  to  be  comforted, 
My  question  engerly  did  I  renew — 
"How  is  it  that  you  live,  and  what  is  it  yon 

do?" 

XVIII. 

lie  with  a  smile  did  then  his  words  repeat; 
And  said  that,   gathering  leeches,  far  and 

wide 
lie  travelled,  stirring  thus  about  his  feet 
The  waters  of  the  pools  where  they  abide. 
"  Once  I  could  meet  with  them  on  every  side, 
But  tliey  have  dwindled  long  by  slow  decay  ; 
Yet  still  I  persevere,  and  find  them  wliere  1 

may." 

XIX. 

While  he  was  talking  thus,  the  lonely  place. 
The  old  man's  shape  and  spcecli — ail  troubled 

me; 
In  ray  mind's  eye  I  seemed  to  see  him  pace 


G(50 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


About  the  weary  moors  continually, 
Wandering  about  alone  and  silently. 
While  I  these  thoughts  within  myself  pursued, 
He,  having  made  a  pause,  the  same  discourse 
renewed. 

sx. 

And  soon  with  this  he  other  matter  blend- 
ed— 
Cheerfully  uttered,  with  demeanor  kind, 
But  stately  in  the  main;  and  when  he  ended 
I  could  have  laughed  myself  to  scorn,  to  find 
In  that  decrepit  man  so  firm  a  mind. 
"  God,"  said  I,  "  be  my  help  and  stay  secure  ; 
I  '11  think  of  the  leech-gatherer  on  the  lonely 

moor!  "" 

William   Wokds-wokth. 


AN  EXHORTATION 

Chameleons  feed  on  light  and  air — 

Poets'  food  is  love  and  fame ; 
If  in  this  wide  world  of  care 

Poets  could  but  find  the  same 
With  as  little  toil  as  they. 

Would  they  ever  change  their  hue 

As  the  light  chameleons  do. 
Suiting  it  to  every  ray 
Twenty  times  a-day  ? 

Poets  are  on  'his  cold  earth 

As  chameleons  might  be, 
Hidden  from  their  early  birth 

In  a  cave  beneath  the  sea ; 
Where  light  is,  chameleons  change — 

Where  love  is  not,  poets  do. 

Fame  is  love  disguised ;  if  few 
Find  either,  never  think  it  strange 
That  poets  range. 

Yet  dare  not  stain  with  wealth  or  power 

A  poet's  free  and  heavenly  mind ; 
If  bright  chameleons  should  devour 

Any  food  but  beams  and  wind. 
They  would  grow  as  earthly  soon 

As  their  brother  lizards  are : 

Children  of  a  sunnier  star, 
Spirits  from  beyond  the  moon. 
Oh,  refuse  the  boon ! 

Peecy  Bysshb  Shellet. 


ODE  ON  A  GRECIAN  URN. 

Thotj  still  unravished  bride  of  quietness! 

Thou  foster-child  of  silence  and  slow  time ! 
Sylvan  historian,  who  canst  thus  express 
A  flowery   tale    more   sweetly   than   our 
rhyme ! 
What  leaf-fringed  legend  haunts  about  thy 
shape 
Of  deities  or  mortals,  or  of  both. 

In  Tempe  or  the  dales  of  Arcady  ? 
What  men  or  gods  are  these  ?  what  maid- 
ens loath  ? 
What  mad  pursuit?  What  struggle  to  escape  ? 
What  pipes  and  timbrels?     What  wild 
ecstasy  ? 

Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard 
Are  sweeter ;  therefore,  ye  soft  pipes,  play 
on — 
Not  to  the  sensual  ear,  but,  more  endeared, 

Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone ! 
Fair  youth  beneath  the  trees,  thou  canst  not 
leave 
Thy  song,  nor  ever  can  those  trees  be  bare ; 
Bold  lover,  never,  never,  canst  thou  kiss, 
Though  winning  near  the  goal ;  yet  do  not 
grieve — 
She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not 
thy  bliss ; 
For  ever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair ! 

Ah,  happy,  happy  boughs !  that  cannot  shed 
Your  leaves  nor  ever  bid  the  spring  adieu : 
And  happy  melodist,  unwearied, 

For  ever  piping  songs  for  ever  new  ; 
More  happy  love !  more  happy,  happy  love  I 
For  ever  warm  and  stiU  to  be  enjoyed, 
For  ever  panting  and  for  ever  young ; 
All  breatliing  human  passion  far  above. 
That  leaves  a  heart  high  sorrowful  and 
cloyed, 
A    burning    forehead    and   a   parching 
tongue. 

Who  are  these  coming  to  the  sacrifice  ? 

To  what  green  altar,  O  mysterious  priest, 
Lead'st  thou  that  heifer  loAving  at  the  skies, 

And  all  her  silken  flanks  Avith  garlands 
drest? 


L'ALLEGRO, 


661 


What  little  town  by  river  or  sea  shore, 
Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel, 
Is  emptied  of  its  folk,  this  pious  morn  ? 
And,  little  town,  thy  streets  for  evermore 
"Will  silent  be ;  and  not  a  soul,  to  tell 
Why  thou  art  desolate,  can  e'er  return. 


0  Attic  shape !  Fair  attitude !  with  brede 

Of  marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought, 

With  forest  branches  and  the  trodden  weed ! 

Thou,   silent    form!    dost  tease  us    out  of 

thought, 

As  doth  eternity.     Cold  pastoral ! 

When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste. 

Thou  shalt  remain,  in  midst  of  other  woe 

Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou 

say'st 

"Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty," — that  is  all 

Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to 

know. 

John  Kkats. 


THE  MEAXS  TO  ATTAIN  HAPPY  LIFE. 

Maetial,  the  things  that  do  attain 
The  happy  life  be  these,  I  find — 

The  riches  left,  not  got  with  pain  ; 
The  fruitful  ground,  the  quiet  mind. 

The  equal  friend ;  no  grudge,  no  strife ; 

No  charge  of  rule,  nor  governance ; 
Without  disease,  the  healthful  life; 

The  household  of  continuance  ; 

The  mean  diet,  no  delicate  fare  ; 

True  wisdom  joined  with  simpleness ; 
The  night  discharged  of  all  care, 

W'here  wine  the  wit  may  not  oppress; 

The  faithful  wife,  without  debate  ; 

Such  sleeps  as  may  beguile  tlie  night ; 
Contented  with  thine  own  estate, 

Ne  wish  for  death,  ne  fear  his  might. 

LOED    SUKKEY. 


L'ALLEGRO. 

Hexce,  loathed  Melancholy, 

Of    Cerberus    and    blackest    midnight 
born ! 
In  Stygian  cave  forlorn, 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and 
sights  unholy. 
Find  out  some  uncouth  cell. 

Where  brooding    darkness  spreads  his 
jealous  wings. 
And  the  night-raven  sings ; 

There,   under    ebon   shades,    and    low- 
browed rocks. 
As  ragged  as  thy  locks, 

In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 
But  come,  thou  goddess  fair  and  free. 
In  heav'n  y-cleped  Euphrosyne, 
And,  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth ! 
Whom  lovely  Yenus,  at  a  birth 
With  two  sister  graces  more. 
To  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore ; 
Or  whether  (as  some  sages  sing) 
The  frolic  wind  that  breathes  the  spring. 
Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing — 
As  he  met  her  once  a-Maying — 
There,  on  beds  of  violets  blue 
And  fresh-blown  roses  Avashed  in  dew. 
Filled  her  with  thee,  a  daughter  fair. 
So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair. 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  theo 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity — 
Quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles, 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek — 
Sport,  that  wrinkled  care  derides. 
And  laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come !  and  trip  it,  as  you  go, 
On  tlie  light  fantastic  toe ; 
And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
Tlie  mountain  nymph,  sweet    liberty ; 
And  if  I  give  thee  honor  due, 
^lirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew. 
To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreproved  pleasures  free — 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight. 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  night 


6G2 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


From  his  watcli-tow'r  iu  tho  skies, 
Till  tbe  dappled  dawn  dotli  rise ; 
Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
Aud  at  my  window  bid  good  morrow. 
Through  the  sweet-brier,  or  the  vine. 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine; 
"While  the  cock  with  lively  din 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn  door. 
Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before  ; 
Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill ; 
Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  hedge-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 
Right  against  the  eastern  gate, 
Where  the  great  sun  begins  his  state, 
Eobed  in  flames,  and  amber  light. 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight ; 
While  the  ploughman  near  at  hand 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe. 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe. 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 


Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleas- 
ures, 
Whilst  the  landscape  round  it  measures 
Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray. 
Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray — 
Mountains,  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  laboring  clouds  do  often  rest — 
Meadows  trim  with  daisies  pied, 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide. 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees. 
Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies. 
The  cynosure  of  neigboring  eyes. 
Hard  by,  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks. 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  met, 
Are  at  their  savory  dinner  set 
Of  herbs,  and  otlier  country  messes. 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses ; 
And  then  in  haste  her  bower  she  leaves, 
With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  sheaves  ; 
Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead, 
To  tlie  tanned  haycock  in  the  mead. 


Sometimes  with  secure  deliglit 

The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 

When  the  merry  bells  ring  round. 

And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 

To  many  a  youth,  and  many  a  maid. 

Dancing  in  the  chequered  shade  ; 

And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 

On  a  sunsliine  holiday. 

Till  the  live-long  daylight  fail ; 

Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale 

With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat: 

IIow  fairy  Mab  the  junkets  eat — 

She  Avas  pinched  and  pulled,  she  said, 

And  he  by  friar's  lantern  led ; 

Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 

To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 

AVhen  in  one  niglit,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 

Ilis  shadowy  flail  hath  threshed  the  corn 

That  ten  day-laborers  could  not  end ; 

Then  lies  him  down  the  lubber  fiend, 

And  stretched  out  all  the  chimney's  length. 

Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength. 

And,  crop-full,  out  of  doors  he  flings 

Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep. 

By  whispering  winds  soon  lulled  asleep. 

Towered  cities  please  us  then, 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men. 
Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold 
In  weeds  of  peace  high  triumphs  hold — 
With  store  of  ladies,  Avhose  bright  eyes 
Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 
Of  wit  or  arms,  while  both  contend 
To  win  her  grace  whom  all  commend. 
There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 
In  saflfron  robe,  with  taper  clear. 
And  pomp  and  feast  and  revelry. 
With  mask,  and  antique  pageantry — 
Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream : 
Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on. 
Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,   fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

And  ever,  against  eating  cares. 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs. 
Married  to  immortal  verse. 
Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce, . 


IL  PENSEROSO. 


663 


la  notes  -with  many  a  winding  bout 

Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out, 

With  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 

Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 

The  hidden  soul  of  harmony — 

That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 

From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 

Of  heaped  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 

Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 

Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 

His  half  regained  Eurydice, 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 


IL  PEifSEROSO. 

Hence,  vain  deluding  joys, 

The  brood  of  folly  without  father  bred ! 
How  little  you  bestead, 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys  I 
Dwell  in  some  idle  brain. 

And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  pos- 
sess. 
As  thick  and  numberless 

As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sun- 
beams— 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams. 

The  fickle  pensioners  of  Morpheus'  train. 
But  hail,  thou  goddess,  sage  and  holy  ! 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy ! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  wisdom's  hue — 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister  might  beseem. 
Or  that  starred  Ethiop  queen  that  strove 
To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 
The  sea-nymphs,  and  their  powers  offended. 
Yet  thou  art  higher  far  descended  ; 
Thee  bright-haired  Vesta,  long  of  yore, 
To  solitary  Saturn  bore — 
His  daughter  she  (in  Saturn's  reign 
Such  mixture  was  not  held  a  stain). 
Oft  in  glimmering  bowers  and  glades 
He  met  her,  and  in  secret  shades 
Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove, 
While  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  Jove, 


Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure, 
Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain 
Flowing  with  majestic  train. 
And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn  ! 
Come  !  but  keep  thy  wonted  state, 
"With  even  step  and  musing  gait. 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies. 
Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes ; 
There,  held  in  holy  passion  still. 
Forget  thyself  to  marble,  till 
With  a  sad,  leaden,  downward  cast 
Thou  fix  them  on  tlie  earth  as  fast; 
And  join  with  thee  calm  peace,  and  quiet — 
Spare  fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet. 
And  hears  the  muses  in  a  ring 
Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing ; 
And  add  to  these  retired  leisure. 
That  in  trim  gardens  takes  his  pleasure ; 
But  first,  and  chiefest,  with  thee  bring 
Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 
Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne — 
The  cherub  contemplation ; 
And  the  mute  silence  hist  along, 
'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song 
In  her  sweetest,  saddest  plight. 
Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  night. 
While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke 
Gently  o'er  the  accustomed  oak. 
Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  fol- 
ly- 
I^fost  musical,  most  melancholy ! 
Thee,  chauntress,  oft  the  woods  among 
I  woo,  to  hear  thy  even-song ; 
And,  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 
On  the  dry,  smooth-shaven  green, 
To  behold  the  wandering  moon 
Riding  near  her  highest  noon. 
Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 
Through  the  heav'n's  wide  pathless  way ; 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bowed, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 
Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound 
Over  some  wide-watered  shore, . 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar  ; 
Or  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 
Some  still  removed  place  will  fit, 
Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 
Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom— 


664 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 
Save  tlie  cricket  on  tlie  hearth, 
Or  tlio  bellman's  drowsy  cliarm, 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm  ; 
Or  let  my  lamj)  at  midnight  hour 
Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower, 
Where  I  may  oft  ont-watch  the  Lear 
With  thrice-great  Hermes,  or  unsphere 
The  spirit  of  Plato,  to  unfold 
TVhat  -worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
The  immortal  mind  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook ; 
And  of  those  demons  that  are  found 
In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground, 
Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent 
"Witli  planet  or  with  element. 
Sometime  let  gorgeous  tragedy 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by. 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine. 
Or  what  (thougb  rare)  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskined  stage. 

But,  oh,  sad  virgin,  that  thy  power 
Might  raise  Musseus  from  his  bower ! 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 
Such  notes  as,  warbled  to  the  string, 
Drew  iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek, 
And  made  hell  grant  what  love  did  seek ! 
Or  call  up  him  that  left  half- told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold — 
Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife — 
And  who  had  Canace  to  wife, 
That  owned  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass — 
And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass, 
On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride ! 
And,  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside 
In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung — 
Of  tourneys  and  of  trophies  hung. 
Of  forests,  and  enchantments  drear. 
Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear. 

Thus,    night,    oft  see   me   in  thy  pale 
career. 
Till  civil-suited  morn  appear — 
Xot  tricked  and  flounced,  as  she  was  wont 
With  the  Attic  boy  to  hunt, 
But  kerchiefed  in  a  comely  cloud 
While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 
Or  ushered  with  a  shower  still 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill. 


Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves. 

With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves. 

And  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 

His  flaring  beams,  me,  goddess,  bring 

To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves. 

And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 

Of  pine  or  monumental  oak. 

Where  the  rude  axe  with  heaved  stroke 

Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt. 

Or  fright  them  from  their  hallowed  haunt. 

There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook, 

Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look. 

Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye. 

While  the  bee  with  honied  thigh, 

That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing. 

And  the  waters  murmuring 

With  such  consort  as  they  keep. 

Entice  the  dewy-feathered  sleep ; 

And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 

Wave  at  his  wings,  in  airy  stream 

Of  lively  portraiture  displayed, 

Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid ; 

And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good. 

Or  th'  unseen  genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fi\il 
To  walk  the  studious  cloisters  pale, 
And  love  the  high  embowed  roof. 
With  antic  pillars  massy  proof, 
And  storied  windows,  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light. 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 
In  service  high,  and  anthems  clear, 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 
And  bring  all  heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage. 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell. 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 
Of  every  star  that  heav'n  doth  show. 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew. 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures.  Melancholy,  give, 

And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 

JouK  Milton. 


A    CONTENTED    MIND. 


6fio 


SONG. 

Sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  savor  of  con- 
tent— 
The  quiet  mind  is  richer  than  a  crown ; 

Sweet  are  the  nights  in  careless    slumber 
spent — 
The  poor   estate  scorns    fortune's  angry 
frown  : 

Such  sweet  content,  such  minds,  such  sleep, 
such  bliss. 

Beggars  enjoy,  when  princes  oft  do  miss. 

The  homely  house  that  harbors  quiet  rest, 
The  cottage  that  affords  no  pride  or  care. 

The  mean  that  'grees  with  country  music  best, 
The  sweet  consort  of  mirth  and  music's  fare. 

Obscured  life  sets  down  a  type  of  bliss : 

A  mind  content  both  crown  and  kingdom  is. 

EOBEKT    GeEENE. 


THE  EEPLY. 


SiifOE  you  desire  of  me  to  know 
"Who's  the  wise  man,  I'  11  tell  you  who  : 
Not  he  whose  rich  and  fertile  mind 
Is  by  the  culture  of  the  arts  refined ; 
"Who  has  the  chaos  of  disordered  thought 
By    reason's    light     to    form    and    method 

brought ; 
"Who  with  a  clear  and  piercing  sight 
Can  see  through  niceties  as  dark  as  night — 
You  err  if  you  think  this  is  he, 
Tliough  seated  on  the  top  of  the  Porphyrian 

tree. 

n. 

Nor  is  it  he  to  whom  kind  heaven 

A  secret  cabala  has  given 

T'  unriddle  the  mysterious  text 

Of  nature,  with  dark  comments  more  x*cr- 

plext — 
Or  to  decipher  her  clean-writ  and  fair, 
But  most  confounding,  puzzling  character — 
That  can  through  all  her  windings  trace 
This  slippery  wanderer,  and  unveil  her  face, 
88 


Her  inmost  mechanism  view, 

Anatomize  each  part,  and  see  her  through 


and  through. 


III. 


Nor  he  that  does  the  science  know 
Our  only  certainty  below — 
That  can  from  problems  dark  and  nice 
Deduce  truths  worthy  of  a  sacrifice. 
Nor  he  that  can  confess  the  stars,  and  see 
"What 's  writ  in  the  black  leaves  of  destiny — 
That  knows  their  laws,  and  how  the  sun 
His  daily  and  his  annual  stage  does  run. 
As  if  he  did  to  them  dispense 
Their  motions  and  their  fate — supreme  intel- 
ligence ! 

IV. 

Nor  is  it  he  (although  he  boast 
Of  wisdom,  and  seem  wise  to  most,) 
Yet 't  is  not  he  whose  busy  pate 
Can  dive  into  the  deep  intrigues  of  state- 
That  can  the  great  leviathan  control. 
Manage  and  rule  it,  as  if  he  were  its  soul ; 
The  wisest  king  thus  gifted  Avas, 
And  yet  did  not  in  these  true  wisdom  place. 
"Who  then  is  by  the  wise  man  meant  ? 
He  that  can  want  all  this,  and  yet  can  be 

content. 

John  Nobris. 


A  CONTENTED  MIND. 

I  WEIGH  not  fortune's  frown  or  smile  ; 

I  joy  not  much  in  earthly  joys ; 
I  seek  not  state,  I  reck  not  style ; 

I  am  not  fond  of  fancy's  toys  : 
I  rest  so  pleased  with  wiiat  I  have 
I  wish  no  more,  no  more  I  crave. 

I  quake  not  at  the  thunder's  crack ; 

I  tremble  not  at  noise  of  war ; 
I  swound  not  at  tlie  news  of  wi-ack ; 

I  shrink  not  at  a  blazing  star  ; 
I  fear  not  loss,  I  hope  not  gain  , 
I  envy  none,  I  none  disdain. 

I  see  ambition  never  pleased  ; 

I  see  some  Tantals  starved  in  store ; 
I  see  gold's  dropsy  seldom  eased ; 

I  see  even  Midas  gape  lor  more : 


600                       rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 

I  neitlicr  want,  nor  yet  abound — • 

Enougli  's  a  feast,  content  is  crowned. 

THE  LYE. 

I  feign  not  friendsliip  where  I  hate  ; 

GoE,  soule,  the  bodie's  guest. 

I  fawn  not  on  the  great  (in  show) ; 

Upon  a  thanklesse  arran-t ; 

I  prize,  I  i)raise  a  mean  estate — 

Feare  not  to  touche  the  best — 

Neitlior  too  lofty  nor  too  low  : 

The  truth  shall  be  thy  warrant ! 

This,  this  is  all  my  choice,  my  cheer — 

Goe,  since  I  needs  must  dye, 

A  mind  content,  a  conscience  clear. 

And  gire  the  world  the  lye. 

Joshua  Sylvester. 

\ 

Goe  tell  the  court  it  glowes 
And  shines  like  rotten  wood ; 

SONG. 

Goe  tell  the  church  it  showes 

What 's  good,  and  doth  no  good ; 

What  pleasure  have  great  princes, 

If  church  and  court  reply, 
Then  give  them  both  the  lye. 

More  dainty  to  their  choice 

Than  herdsmen  wild,  who,  careless, 

In  quiet  life  rejoice, 

Tell  potentates  they  live 

And  fortune's  fate  not  fearing, 

Acting  by  others  actions — 

Sing  sweet  in  summer  morning. 

Not  loved  unlesse  they  give. 

Not  strong  but  by  their  factions ; 

Their  dealings,  plain  and  rightful, 

If  potentates  reply. 

O     1     i               ■                               O                     7 

Are  void  of  all  deceit ; 

Give  potentates  the  lye. 

They  never  know  how  spiteful 

It  is  to  feel  and  wait 

Tell  men  of  high  condition, 

On  favorite  presumptuous, 

That  rule  affairs  of  state, 

"Whose  pride  is  vain  and  sumptuous. 

Their  purpose  is  ambition. 

Their  practice  only  hate ; 

All  day  their  flocks  each  tendeth ; 

And  if  they  once  reply. 

AH  night  they  take  their  rest — 

Then  give  them  all  the  lye. 

More  quiet  than  who  sendeth 

His  ship  into  the  east, 

Tell  them  that  brave  it  most 

Where  gold  and  pearls  are  plenty, 

They  beg  for  more  by  spending, 

But  getting  very  dainty. 

Who  in  their  greatest  cost 

Seek  nothing  but  commending ; 

For  lawyers  and  their  pleading. 

And  if  they  make  reply. 

They  esteem  it  not  a  straw  ; 

Spare  not  to  give  the  lye. 

They  think  that  honest  meaning 

Is  of  itself  a  law ; 

Tell  zcale  it  lacks  devotion  ; 

Where  conscience  judge th  plainly, 

Tell   love  it  is  but  lust ; 

They  spend  no  money  vainly. 

Tell  time  it  is  but  motion  ; 

Tell  flesh  it  is  but  dust ; 

Oh  happy  who  thus  liveth, 

And  wish  them  not  reply, 

Not  caring  much  for  gold. 

For  thou  must  give  the  lye. 

With  clothing  which  sufEceth 

To  keep  him  from  the  cold  ; 

Tell  age  it  daily  wasteth  ; 

Though  poor  and  plain  his  diet, 

TeU  honour  how  it  alters ; 

Yet  merry  it  is  and  quiet. 

Tell  beauty  how  she  blasteth ; 

William  Bted. 

Tell  favour  how  she  falters ; 

TO     THE     LADY    MARGARET. 


667 


And  as  they  then  reply, 
Give  each  of  them  the  lye. 

Tell  wit  how  much  it  wrangles 
In  tickle  points  of  nicenesse ; 
Tell  wisedorae  she  entangles 
Herselfe  in  over  wisenesse ; 
And  if  they  do  reply, 
Straight  give  them  both  the  lye. 

Tell  physicke  of  her  boldnesse ; 

Tell  skill  it  is  pretension  ; 
Tell  charity  of  coldnesse ; 
Tell  law  it  is  contention ; 
And  as  they  yield  reply, 
So  give  them  still  the  lye. 

Tell  fortune  of  her  hlindnesse ; 

Tell  nature  of  decay  ; 
Tell  friendship  of  unkindnesse ; 
Tell  justice  of  delay ; 
And  if  they  dare  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lye. 

Tell  arts  they  have  no  soundnesse, 

But  vary  by  esteeming ; 
Tell  schooles  they  want  profoundnesse, 
And  stand  too  much  on  seeming ; 
If  arts  and  schooles  reply, 
Give  arts  and  schooles  the  lye. 

Tell  faith  it's  fled  the  citie; 

Tell  how  the  country  erreth  ; 
Tell,  manhood  shakes  off  pitic  ; 
Tell,  vertue  least  preferreth  ; 
And  if  they  doe  reply. 
Spare  not  to  give  the  lye. 

So,  when  thou  hast,  as  I 

Commanded  thee,  done  blabbing — 
Although  to  give  the  lye 

Deserves  no  less  than  stabbing — 
Yet  stab  at  thee  who  will, 
No  stab  the  soule  can  kill. 

Anoxymous. 


TO  THE  LADY  MARGARET,  COUXTESS 
OF  CUMBERLAND. 

He  that  of  such  a  height  hath  built  his  mind, 
And  reared  the  dwelling  of  his  thoughts  so 

strong, 
As  neither  fear  nor    hope   can   shake  the 

frame 
Of  his  resolved  powers ;  nor  all  the  wiud 
Of  vanity  or  malice  pierce  to  wrong 
His  settled  peace,  or  to  disturb  the  same ; 
What  a  fair  seat  hath  he,  from  whence  he 

may 
The  boundless  wastes  and  weilds  of  man 

survey? 

And  with  how  free  an  eye  doth  he  look  down 
Upon  these  lower  regions  of  turmoil  ? 
Where  all  the  storms  of  passions  mainly  beat 
On  flesh  and  blood,  where  honor,  power, 

renown, 
Are  only  gay  afiiictions,  golden  toil ; 
Where  greatness  stands  upon  as  feeble  feet 
As  frailty  doth ;  and  only  great  doth  seem 
To  httle  minds,  who  do  it  so  esteem. 

He  looks  upon  the  mightiest  monarch's  wars 
But  only  as  on  stately  robberies ; 
Where  evermore  the  fortune  that  prevails 
Must  be  the  right ;  the  ill-succeeding  Mars 
The  fairest  and  the  best  fiiced  enterprise. 
Great  pirate  Pompey  lesser  pirates  quails ; 
Justice,  he  sees  (as  if  seduced),  still 
Conspires  with  power,  whose  cause  must  not 
be  ill. 

He  sees  the  face  of  right  to  appear  as  mani- 
fold 
As  are  the  passions  of  uncertain  man  ; 
Who  puts  it  in  all  colors,  all  attires, 
To  serve  his  ends,  and  make  his  courses  hold. 
He  sees,  that  let  deceit  work  what  it  can. 
Plot  and  contrive  base  ways  to  high  desires; 
That  the  all-guiding  providence  doth  yet 
All  disappoint,  and  mocks  the  smoke  of  wit. 

Nor  is  ho  moved  with  all  the  thunder-cracks 
Of  tyrants'  threats,  or  with  the  surly  brow 
Of  power,  that  proudly  sits  on  others'  crimes ; 
Charged  Avith  more  crying  sins  than  those  he 
checks. 


6G8 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


The  storms  of  sad  confusion,  that  may  grow 
Up  in  tlie  present  for  tlie  coming  times, 
Appall  not  him,  that  hath  no  side  at  all. 
But  of  himself,  and  knows  the  Avorst  can  fall. 

Although  his  heart  (so  near  allied  to  earth) 
Cannot  but  pity  the  perplexed  state 
Of  troublous  and  distressed  mortality, 
That  thus  make  way  unto  the  ugly  birth 
Of  their  own  sorrows,  and  do  still  beget 
AtHiction  upon  imbecUity ; 
Yet  seeing  thus  the  course  of  things  must  run, 
He  looks  thereon  not  strange,  but  as  fore- 
done. 

And  whilst  distraught  ambition  compasses 
And  is  encompassed ;  whilst  as  craft  deceives. 
And  is  deceived;  whUst  man  doth  ransack 

man. 
And  builds  on  blood,  and  rises  by  distress. 
And  the  inheritance  of  desolation  leaves 
To  great-expecting  hopes  ;  he  looks  thereon, 
As  from  the  shore  of  peace,  with  unwet  eye. 
And  bears  no  venture  in  impiety. 

Thus,  madam,  fares  that  man,  that  hath  pre- 
pared 
A  rest  for  his  desires,  and  sees  all  things 
Beneath  him ;  and  hath  learned  this  book  of 

man. 
Full  of  the  notes  of  frailty;  and  compared 
The  best  of  glory  with  her  sufferings ; 
By  whom,  I  see,  you  labor  all  you  can 
To  plant  your  heart ;  and  set  your  thoughts  as 

near 
His  glorious  mansion  as  your  powers  can 
bear. 

"Which,  madam,  are  so  soundly  fashioned 

By  that  clear  judgment  that  hath  carried  you 

Beyond  the  feebler  limits  of  your  kind, 

As  they  can  stand  against  the  strongest  head 

Passion  can  make ;  inured  to  any  hue 

The  world  can  cast;   that  cannot  cast  that 

mind 
Out  of  her  form  of  goodness,  that  doth  see 
Both  what  the  best  and  worst  of  earth  can  be. 

"Which  makes  that  whatsoever  here  befalls. 
You  in  the  region  of  yourself  remain, 
AVhere  no  vain  breath  of  th'  impudent  molests, 
That  hath  secured  within  the  brazen  walls 


Of  a  clear  conscience,  that  (without  all  stain) 

Rises  in  peace,  in  innocency  rests ; 

"Whilst  all  what  malice  from  without  pro- 
cures. 

Shows  her  own  ugly  heart,  but  hurts  not 
yours. 

And  whereas  none  rejoice  more  in  revenge, 
Than  women  used  to  do ;  yet  you  well  know. 
That  wrong  is  better  checked  by  being  con- 
temned. 
Than  being  pursued ;  leaving  to  him  to  avenge 
To  whom  it  appertains.    "Wherein  you  show 
How  worthily  your  clearness  hath  condemned 
Base  malediction,  living  in  the  dark. 
That  at  the  rays  of  goodness  still  doth  bark. 

Knowing  the  heart  of  man  is  set  to  be 
The  centre  of  this  world,  about  the  which 
These  revolutions  of  disturbances 
Still  roll ;  where  all  the  aspects  of  misery 
Predominate ;  whose  strong  effects  are  such 
As  he  must  bear,  being  powerless  to  redress ; 
And  that  unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  poor  a  thing  is  man ! 

And  how  turm  oiled  they  are  that  level  lie 
"With  earth,  and  cannot  lift  themselves  from 

thence ; 
That  never  are  at  peace  with  their  desires. 
But  work  beyond  their  years ;  and  even  deny 
Dotage  her  rest,  and  hardly  will  dispense 
"With  death  :  that  when  ability  expires. 
Desire  lives  still — so  much  delight  they  have 
To  carry  toil  and  travel  to  the  grave. 

"Whose  ends  you  see ;  and  what  can  be  the 

best 
They  reach  unto,  when  they  have  cast  the 

sum 
And  reckonings  of  their  glory?  And  you  know, 
This  floating  life  hath  but  this  port  of  rest, 
A  heart  prepared,  that  fears  no  ill  to  come ; 
And  that  man's  greatness  rests  but  in  his 

show. 
The  best  of  all  whose  days  consumed  are, 
Either  in  war,  or  peace  conceiving  war. 

This  concord,  madam,  of  a  well-tuned  mind, 
Hath  been  so  set  by  that  all-working  hand 


MY    MIXDE    TO     ME    A    KINGDOM    IS. 


669 


Of  lieaven,  that  though  the  world  hath  done 

Ills  worst 
To  put  it  out  by  discords  most  unkind, 
Yet  doth  it  still  in  perfect  union  stand 
With  God  and  man ;  nor  ever  will  be  forced 
From  that  most  sweet  accord,  but  still  agree. 
Equal  in  foi'tunes  in  equality. 

And  this  note,  madam,  of  your  worthiness 
Remains  recorded  in  so  many  hearts, 
As  time  nor  malice  cannot  wrong  your  right. 
In  th'  inheritance  of  fame  you  must  possess : 
You  that  have  built  you  by  your  great  deserts 
(Out  of  small  means)  a  far  more  exquisite 
And    glorious    dwelling  for   your  honored 

name 
Than  all  the  gold  that  leaden  minds  can 

frame. 

Samuel  Daniel. 


MY  MINDE  TO  ME  A  KINGDOM  IS. 

Mt  minde  to  me  a  kingdom  is ; 

Such  perfect  joy  therein  I  finde 
As  farre  exceeds  all  eartldy  blisse 

That  God  or  nature  hath  assignde  ; 
Though  much  I  want,  that  most  would  have, 
Yet  still  my  minde  forbids  to  crave. 

Content  I  live ;  this  is  my  stay — 
I  seek  no  more  than  may  suffice. 

I  presse  to  beare  no  haughtie  sway ; 
Look,  what  I  lack  my  mind  supplies. 

Loe,  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king, 

Content  with  that  my  mind  doth  bring. 

I  see  how  plcntie  surfets  oft. 
And  hastie  clymbers  soonest  fall ; 

[  see  that  such  as  sit  aloft 
Mishap  doth  threaten  most  of  all. 

These  get  with  toile,  and  keepe  with  feare  ; 

Such  cares  my  mind  could  never  beare. 

Xo  princely  pompe  nor  wolthie  store, 

No  force  to  win  the  victor ie, 
No  wylie  wit  to  salve  a  sore, 

No  shape  to  Avinne  a  lover's  eye — 
To  none  of  these  I  yeeld  as  thrall ; 
For  why,  my  mind  despiscth  all. 


Some  have  too  much,  yet  still  they  crave ; 

I  little  have,  yet  seek  no  more. 
They  are  but  poore,  though  much  they  have 

And  I  am  rich  with  little  store. 
They  poor,  I  rich ;  they  beg,  I  give ; 
They  lacke,  I  lend ;  they  pine,  I  live, 

I  laugh  not  at  another's  losse, 
I  grudge  not  at  another's  gaine  ; 

No  worldly  wave  my  mind  can  tosse; 
I  brooke  that  is  another's  bane. 

I  feare  no  foe,  nor  fawne  on  friend ; 

I  lothe  not  life,  nor  dread  mine  end. 

I  joy  not  in  no  earthly  blisse ; 

I  weigh  not  Cresus'  wealth  a  straw ; 
For  care,  I  care  not  what  it  is ; 

I  feare  not  fortune's  fatal  law ; 
My  mind  is  such  as  may  not  move 
For  beautie  bright,  or  force  of  love. 

I  wish  but  what  I  have  at  will ; 

I  wander  not  to  seeke  for  more ; 
I  like  the  plaine,  I  clime  no  hiU  ; 

In  greatest  stormes  I  sitte  on  shore. 
And  laugh  at  them  that  toile  in  vaine 
To  get  what  must  be  lost  againe. 

I  kisse  not  where  I  wish  to  kill ; 

I  feigne  not  love  where  most  I  hate  ; 
I  breake  no  sleepe  to  winne  my  will ; 

I  wayte  not  at  the  mightie's  gate. 
I  scorne  no  poore,  I  feare  no  rich ; 
I  feele  no  want,  nor  have  too  much. 

The  court  ne  cart  I  like  ne  loath — 
Extreames  are  counted  worst  of  ah , 

The  golden  meane  betwixt  them  both 
Doth  surest  sit,  and  feares  no  fall ; 

This  is  my  choyce ;  for  why,  I  finde 

No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  minde. 

My  wealth  is  health  and  perfect  ease ; 

My  conscience  clero  my  chiefe  defence ; 
I  never  seeke  by  bribes  to  please. 

Nor  by  desert  to  give  offence. 
Thus  do  I  live,  thus  will  I  die ; 
Would  all  did  so  as  well  as  I ! 

WiLLI'.M   BtRD, 


670                      rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 

Sad  discontent  and  murmurs 

THE  WINTER  BEING  OVER. 

To  him  are  incident ; 

Were  he  possessed  of  honors, 

The  winter  being  over, 

He  could  not  be  content. 

In  order  comes  the  spring, 

Sparks  of  joy 

Which  doth  green  herbs  discover, 

Fly  away ; 

And  cause  the  birds  to  sing. 

Floods  of  care  arise; 

The  uight  also  expired, 

And  all  deliglitful  motion 

Then  comes  the  morning  bright, 

In  the  conception  dies. 

Which  is  so  much  desired 

i 

By  all  that  love  the  light. 
Til  is  may  learn 

But  those  that  are  contented 
However  things  do  fall. 

Them  that  mourn. 

To  put  their  grief  to  flight : 
The  spring  succeedeth  winter, 

Much  anguish  is  prevented. 

And  they  soon  freed  from  aU. 

They  finish  all  their  labors 

And  day  must  follow  night. 

With  much  felicity ; 

Their  joy  in  trouble  savors 

He  therefore  that  sustaineth 

Of  perfect  piety. 

Affliction  or  distress 

Cheerfulness 

Which  every  member  paineth. 

Doth  express 

And  findeth  no  release — 

A  settled  pious  mind, 

Let  such  therefore  despair  not, 

Which  is  not  prone  to  grudging, 

But  on  firm  hope  depend. 

From  murmuring  refined. 

Whose  griefs  immortal  are  not. 

AnN  Collins. 

And  therefore  must  have  end. 
They  that  faint 

With  complaint 

Therefore  are  to  blame ; 

SONNETS. 

They  add  to  their  afflictions, 

And  amplify  the  same. 

Triumphixo  chariots,  statues,  crowns  of  bays, 

Sliy-threatening  arches,  the  rewards  of  worth ; 

Books  heavenly-wise  in   sweet    harmonious 

For  if  they  could  with  patience 

lays, 
Which  men  divine  unto  the  world  set  forth; 

Awhile  possess  the  mind, 

By  inward  consolations 

States  which  ambitious  minds,  in  blood,  do 

They  miglit  refreshing  find, 

raise 

To  sweeten  all  their  crosses 

From  frozen  Tanais  unto  sun-burnt  Gange ; 

That  little  time  they  'dui'e; 

Gigantic  frames  held  wonders  rarely  strange. 

So  might  they  gain  by  losses. 

Like  spiders'  webs,  are  made  the  sport  of  days. 

And  sharp  would  sweet  procure. 

Nothing  is  constant  but  in  constant  change. 

But  if  the  mind 
Be  inclined 

O                                                                                                                                       O      7 

What  's  done  still  is  undone,  and  when  undone 

Into  some  other  fashion  doth  it  range ; 

To  unquietness. 

Thus  goes   the  floating  world    beneath  the 

That  only  may  be  called 

moon ; 

The  worst  of  all  distress. 

Wherefore,  my  mind,    above  time,   motion. 

place. 

He  that  is  melancholy. 

Rise  up,  and  steps  unknown  to  nature  trace. 

Detesting  all  delight. 

His  wits  by  sottish  folly 

Are  ruinated  quite. 

ODE    TO    BEAUTY. 


671 


A  GOOD  that  never  satisfies  the  mind, 
A  beauty  fading  like  the  April  showers, 
A  sweet  with  floods  of  gall  that  runs  com- 
bined, 
A  pleasure  passing  ere  in  thought  made  ours, 
A  honor  that  more  fickle  is  than  wind, 
A  glory  at  opinion's  frown  that  lowers, 
A  treasury  which  bankrupt  time  devours, 
A  knowledge  than    grave  ignorance   more 

blind, 
A  vain  delight  our  equals  to  command, 
A  style  of  greatness  in  eiFect  a  dream, 
A  swelling  thought  of  holding  sea  and  land, 
A  servile  lot,  decked  with  a  pompous  name : 
Are  the  strange  ends  we  toil  for  here  below 
Till  wisest  death  makes  us  our  errors  know. 

■WiiLiMi  Druiimond. 


A  SWEET  PASTOEAL. 

Good  muse,  rock  me  asleep 
With  some  sweet  harmony ! 
The  weary  eye  is  not  to  keep 
Thy  wary  company. 

Sweet  love,  begone  awhile!  " 
Thou  know'st  my  heaviness  ; 
Beauty  is  born  but  to  beguUe 
My  heart  of  happiness. 

See  how  my  little  flock. 

That  loved  to  feed  on  high. 

Do  headlong  tumble  down  the  rock, 

And  in  the  vaUey  die. 

The  bushes  and  the  trees, 
That  were  so  fresh  and  green. 
Do  all  their  dainty  color  lease, 
And  not  a  leaf  is  seen. 

Sweet  Philomel,  the  bird 
That  hath  the  heavenly  throat, 
Doth  now,  alas !  not  once  afford 
Kecording  of  a  note. 

The  flowers  have  had  a  frost ; 
Each  herb  hath  lost  her  savor  ; 
And  Pliillida,  the  fair,  hath  lost 
The  comfort  of  her  favor. 


Now  all  these  careful  sights 
So  kill  me  in  conceit, 
That  how  to  hope  upon  delights 
Is  but  a  mere  deceit. 

And,  therefore,  my  sweet  muse. 
Thou  know'st  what  help  is  best ; 
Do  now  thy  heavenly  cunning  use 
To  set  my  heart  at  rest. 

And  in  a  dream  bewray 
What  fate  shall  be  my  friend — 
Whether  my  life  shall  still  decay, 
Or  when  my  sorrow  end. 

Nicholas  Bketcn. 


ODE  TO  BEAUTY. 

Who  gave  thee,  O  beauty, 
The  keys  of  this  breast, 
Too  credulous  lover 
Of  blest  and  unblest  ? 
Say,  when  in  lapsed  ages 
Thee  knew  I  of  old  ? 
Or  what  was  the  service 
Eor  which  I  was  sold? 
When  first  my  eyes  saw  tliee 
I  found  me  thy  thrall, 
By  magical  drawings, 
Sweet  tyrant  of  all ! 
I  drank  at  thy  fountain 
False  waters  of  thirst ; 
Thou  intimate  stranger, 
Thou  latest  and  first ! 
Thy  dangerous  glances 
Make  women  of  men ; 
Kew-born,  we  are  melting 
Into  nature  again. 

Lavish,  lavish  promisor. 
Nigh  persuading  gods  to  err ! 
Guest  of  million  painted  forms. 
Which  in  turn  thy  glory  warms  ! 
The  frailest  leaf,  the  mossy  bark, 
The  acorn's  cup,  the  rain  drop's  arc, 
The  swinging  spider's  silver  hue, 
The  ruby  of  the  drop  of  wine, 
Tlie  shining  pebble  of  tlie  pond, 
Tiiou  inscribest  with  a  bond, 


672 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION, 


Iq  thy  momentary  play, 

AVoiild  bankrupt  nature  to  repay. 

All,  Avhat  avails  it 

To  liido  or  to  slum 

Whom  the  Infinite  One 

Hath  granted  His  throne ! 

The  heaven  high  over 

Is  the  deep's  lover  ; 

The  sun  and  sea, 

Informed  by  thee, 

Before  me  run. 

And  draw  me  on, 

Yet  fly  me  still. 

As  fate  refuses 

To  me  the  heart  fate  for  me  chooses. 

Is  it  that  my  opulent  sonl 

"Was  mingled  from  the  generous  whole ; 

Sea-valleys  and  the  deep  of  skies 

Furnished  several  supplies ; 

And  the  sands  whereof  I  'm  made 

Draw  me  to  them,  self-betrayed  ? 

I  turn  the  proud  portfolios 

Which  hold  the  grand  designs 

Of  Salvator,  of  Guercino, 

And  Piranesi's  lines. 

I  hear  the  lofty  pteans 

Of  the  masters  of  the  shell, 

Who  heard  the  staiTy  music 

And  recount  the  numbers  well ; 

Olympian  bards  who  sung 

Divine  ideas  below, 

Which  always  find  us  young, 

And  always  keep  us  so. 

Oft,  in  streets  or  humblest  places, 

I  detect  far-wandered  graces, 

Which,  from  Eden  wide  astray, 

In  lowly  homes  have  lost  their  way. 

Tliee  gliding  through  the  sea  of  form, 
Like  the  lightning  through  the  storm, 
Somewhat  not  to  be  possessed, 
Somewhat  not  to  be  caressed, 
Xo  feet  so  fleet  could  ever  find, 
Ko  perfect  form  could  ever  bind. 
Thou  eternal  fugitive. 
Hovering  over  all  that  live. 
Quick  and  skilful  to  inspire 
Sweet,  extravagant  desire. 
Starry  space  and  lily-bell 
Filling  with  thy  roseate  smell, 


Wilt  not  give  the  lips  to  taste 
Of  the  nectar  which  thou  hast. 

All  that 's  good  and  great  with  thee 
Works  in  close  conspiracy ; 
Thou  hast  bribed  tlie  dark  and  lonely 
To  report  thy  features  only. 
And  the  cold  and  purple  morning. 
Itself  with  thoughts  of  thee  adorning ; 
The  leafy  dell,  the  city  mart. 
Equal  trophies  of  thine  art; 
E'en  the  flowing  azure  air 
Thou  hast  touched  for  my  despair ; 
And,  if  I  languish  into  dreams, 
Again  I  meet  the  ardent  beams. 
Queen  of  things!  I  dare  not  die 
In  being's  deeps  past  ear  and  eye  ; 
Lest  there  I  find  the  same  deceiver, 
And  be  the  sport  of  fate  forever. 
Dread  power,  but  dear !  if  God  thou  be. 
Unmake  me  quite,  or  give  thyself  to  me ! 
Ealph  Waldo  Emerson. 


SOXG. 


Eaeely,  rarely  comest  thou, 

Spirit  of  delight ! 
Wherefore  hast  thou  left  me  now 

Many  a  day  and  night  ? 
Many  a  weary  night  and  day 
'T  is  since  thou  art  fled  away. 

How  shall  ever  one  like  me 

Win  thee  back  again  ? 
With  the  joyous  and  the  free 

Thou  wilt  scoflf  at  pain. 
Spirit  false !  thou  hast  forgot 
All  but  those  who  heed  thee  not. 

As  a  lizard  with  the  shade     . 

Of  a  trembling  leaf, 
Thou  with  sorrow  art  dismayed  ; 

Even  the  signs  of  grief 
Reproach  thee,  that  thou  art  near, 
And  reproach  thou  wilt  not  hear. 

Let  me  set  my  mournful  ditty 

To  a  merry  measure : 
Thou  wilt  never  come  for  pity 

Thou  wilt  come  for  pleasure. 


HYMN    TO    INTELLECTUAL    BEAUTY.                                673 

Pity  then  will  cut  away 

Spirit  of  beauty,  tliat  dost  consecrate 

Those  cruel  wings,  and  thou  wilt  stay. 

With  thine  own  hues  all  thoii  dost  shine 

upon 

I  love  all  that  thou  lovest, 

Of  human  thought  or  form,  where  art  thou 

Spirit  of  delight ! 

gone? 

The  fresh  earth  in  new  leaves  drest, 

Why  dost  thou  pass  away  and  leave  our  state. 

And  the  starry  night ; 

This  dim,  vast  vale  of  tears,  vacant  and  deso- 

Autumn evening,  and  the  morn 

late? 

When  the  golden  mists  are  horn. 

Ask  why  the  sunlight  not  for  ever 

Weaves   rainbows  o'er    yon    mountain 

I  love  snow,  and  all  the  forms 

river ; 

Of  the  radiant  frost ; 

Why  aught  should  fail  and  fade  that  once  is 

I  love  waves  and  winds  and  streams, 

shown ; 

Everything  almost 

Why  fear,  and  dream,  and  death,  and 

"Which  is  nature's,  and  may  be 

birth 

Untainted  by  man's  misery. 

Cast  on  the  daylight  of  this  earth 

Such  gloom ;  why  man  has  such  a  scope 

I  love  tranquil  solitude. 

For  love  and  hate,  despondency  and  hope. 

And  such  society 

As  is  quiet,  wise,  and  good ; 

N"o  voice  from  some  sublimer  world  hath  ever 

Between  thee  and  me 

rn                                         j_  j_i                                                 • 

What  difference?  but  thou  dost  possess 

To  sage  or  poet  these  responses  given ; 
Therefore  the  names  of  demon,  ghost,  and 

The  things  I  seek,  not  love  them  less. 

7     O                  7 

heaven. 

Remain  the  records  of  their  vain  endeavor — 

I  love  love,  though  he  has  wings, 

Frail  spells,  whose  uttered  charm  might  not 

And  like  light  can  flee, 

avail  to  sever 

But,  above  all  other  things, 

From  all  we  hear  and  all  we  see 

Spirit,  I  love  thee : 

Doubt,  chance,  and  mutability. 

Thou  art  love  and  life  !  oh  come, 

Thy  light  alone,   like  mist  o'er  mountains 

Make  once  moi*e  my  heart  thy  home ! 

driven, 

Percy  Btsshe  Shelley. 

Or  music  by  the  night  wind  sent 

Through  strings  of  some  still  instrument 

Or  moonlitrht  on  a  midnijxht  stream. 

V_^    L         A  XX  V  \J  XX  A  X  ^^  Si  X  V       \J  XX       v%       *■*  *  *  ^-*  *           ?5                        f-f  ^  ^    ^m^  \^                J 

Gives  grace  and  truth  to  life's  unquiet  dream. 

HYMN"  TO  INTELLECTUAL  BEAUTY. 

Love,  hope,  and  self-esteem,  like  clouds  de- 

The awful  shadow  of  some  unseen  power 

part 

Floats,  though  unseen,  among  us — visiting 

And  come,  for  some  uncertain  moments 

This  various  world  with  as  inconstant  wing 

lent. 

As  summer  winds  that  creep  from  flower  to 

Man  were  immortal  and  omnipotent 

flower ; 

Didst  thou,  unknown  and  awful  as  thou  art, 

Like  moonbeams,   tliat    behind   some  piny 

Keep  with  thy  glorious  train  firm  state  with- 

mountain shower. 

in  his  heart. 

It  visits  with  inconstant  glance 

TIiou  messenger  of  sympathies 

Each  numan  heart  and  countenance, 

That  wax  and  wane  in  lover's  eyes ! 

Like  lines  and  harmonies  of  evening. 

Thou  tliat  to  human  thought  art  nourishment, 

Like  clouds  in  starlight  widely  spread. 

Like  darkness  to  a  dying. flame ! 

Like  memory  of  music  fled, 

Depart  not  as  thy  shadow  came ! 

Like  aught  that  for  its  grace  may  bo 

Dei)art  not,  lest  the  grave  should  be. 

Dear,  and  yet  dearer  for  its  mystery. 
89 

Like  life  and  fear,  a  dark  reality. 

6T-t 


POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND  REFLECTION, 


Wliile  yet  a  boy  I  sought  for  ghosts,  and  sped 
Through  many  a  listening  chamber,  cave 

and  ruin, 
And  starlight  wood,  Avith  fearful  steps  pur- 
suing 
Hopes  of  high  talk  witli  the  departed  dead. 
I  culled  on  poisonous  names  with  which  our 
youth  is  fed ; 
I  was  not  heard ;  I  saw  them  not. 
When  musing  deejily  on  the  lot 
Of  life,  at  that  sweet  time  when  winds  are 
wooing 
All  vital  things  that  wake  to  bring 
Xews  of  birds  and  blossoming, 
Sudden  thy  shadow  fell  on  me — 
I  shrieked,  and  clasped  my  hands  in  ecstasy  ! 

I  vowed  that  I  would  dedicate  my  powers 
To  thee  and  thine;  have  I  not  kept  the 

vow  ? 
With  beating  heart  and  streaming  eyes, 
even  now 
I  call  the  phantoms  of  a  thousand  hours 
Each  from  his  voiceless  grave.    They  have  in 
visioned  bowers 
Of  studious  zeal  or  love's  delight 
Outwatched  with  me  the  envious  night ; 
They  know  that  never  joy  illumed  my  brow 
Unhnked  with  hope  that  thou  wouldst 

free 
This  world  from  its  dark  slavery — 
That  thou,  O  awful  lovehness, 
Wouldst  give  whate'er  these  words  cannot 
express. 

The  day  becomes  more  solemn  and  serene 
When  noon  is  past ;  there  is  a  harmony 
In  autumn,  and  a  lustre  in  its  sky, 
Which  through  the  summer  is  not  heard  nor 

seen, 
As  if  it  could  not  be,  as  if  it  had  not  been ! 
Thus  let  thy  power,  which  like  the  truth 
Of  nature  on  my  passive  youth 
Descended,  to  my  onward  life  supply 

Its  calm — to  one  who  worships  thee. 
And  every  form  containing  thee — 
Whom,  spirit  fair,  thy  spells  did  bind 
To  fear  himself,  and  love  all  human  kind. 

Pekct  Bysshe  Shelley. 


SWEET  IS  THE  PLEASURE. 

Sweet  is  the  pleasure 

Itself  cannot  spoil ! 
Is  not  true  leisure 

One  with  true  toil  ? 

Thon  that  wouldst  taste  it. 

Still  do  thy  best ; 
Use  it,  not  waste  it — 

Else  't  is  no  rest. 

Wouldst  behold  beauty 
Near  thee  ?  all  round  ? 

Only  hath  dnty 
Such  a  sight  found. 

Eest  is  not  quitting 

The  busy  career ; 
Eest  is  the  fitting. 

Of  self  to  its  sphere. 

'T  is  the  brook's  motion, 

Clear  without  strife, 
Fleeing  to  ocean 

After  its  life. 

Deeper  devotion 

Nowhere  hath  knelt ; 

Fuller  emotion 
Heart  never  felt. 

'Tis  loving  and  serving 
The  highest  and  best ; 

'T  is  onwards !  unswerving — 
And  that  is  true  rest. 

John  Sullivak  Dwight, 


STANZAS. 

Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech, 
Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought ; 
Souls  to  souls  can  never  teach 
What  nnto  themselves  was  taught. 

We  are  spirits  clad  in  veils ; 
Man  by  man  was  never  seen ; 
All  our  deep  communing  fails 
To  remove  the  shadowy  screen. 


THE    FOUNTAIN. 


676 


Heart  to  heart  was  never  known ; 
Mind  with  mind  did  never  meet ; 
We  are  cohimns  left  alone 
Of  a  temple  once  complete. 

Like  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 
Far  apart  though  seeming  near, 
In  our  light  we  scattered  lie ; 
All  is  thus  but  starlight  here, 

"What  is  social  company 
But  a  babbling  summer  stream  ? 
What  our  wise  philosophy 
But  the  glancing  of  a  dream? 

Only  when  the  sun  of  love 

Melts  the  scattered  stai's  of  thought, 

Only  when  we  live  above 

What  the  dim-eyed  world  hath  taught, 

Only  when  our  souls  are  fed 

By  the  fount  which  gave  them  birth, 

And  by  inspiration  led 

Which  they  never  drew  from  earth, 

We,  like  parted  drops  of  rain, 
Swelling  till  they  meet  and  run, 
Shall  be  all  absorbed  again. 
Melting,  flowing  into  one. 

CHRI8T0PHEE  FeABSE   CkANCH. 


THE  TABLES  TURNED. 

Up  !  up,  my  friend !  and  quit  your  books. 
Or  surely  you  '11  grow  double  ; 

Up  !  up,  my  friend !  and  clear  your  looks ; 
Why  all  this  toil  and  trouble  ? 

The  sun,  above  the  mountain's  head, 

A  freshening  lustre  mellow 
Through  all  the  long  green  fields  has  spread, 

His  first  sweet  evening  yellow. 

Books !  't  is  a  dull  and  endless  strife ; 

Come,  hear  the  woodland  linnet — 
How  sweet  his  music !  on  my  life, 

There 's  more  of  wisdom  in  it ! 

And  hark!  how  blithe  the  throstle  sings! 

He,  too,  is  no  mean  preaclier; 
Come  forth  into  the  light  of  things — 

Let  nature  be  your  teacher. 


She  has  a  world  of  ready  wealth. 
Our  minds  and  hearts  to  bless, — 

Spontaneous  wisdom  breathed  by  health, 
Truth  breathed  by  cheerfulness. 

One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood 

May  teach  you  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good, 

Than  all  the  sages  can. 

Sweet  is  the  lore  which  nature  brings ; 

Our  meddling  intellect 
Misshapes  the  beauteous  forms  of  things- 

We  murder  to  dissect. 

Enough  of  science  and  or  art ; 

Close  up  those  barren  leaves ; 
Come  forth,  and  bring  with  you  a  heart 

That  watches  and  receives. 

William  Wokdswoeth. 


THE  FOUNTAIN. 


A  CONVEESATION. 


We  talked  with  open  heart,  and  tongue 

Afl:ectionate  and  true — 
A  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young 

And  Matthew  seventy-two. 

We  lay  beneath  a  spreading  oak, 

Beside  a  mossy  seat; 
And  from  the  turf  a  fountain  broke, 

And  gurgled  at  our  feet. 

"Now,  Matthew!  "  said  I,  "  let  us  match 

This  water's  pleasant  tune 
With  some  old  border-song  or  catch. 

That  suits  a  summer's  noon  ; 

"  Or  of  the  clnn-ch  clock  and  the  cliiracs 
Sing  here,  beneath  the  shade, 

That  half-mad  thing  of  witty  rhymes 
Which  you  last  April  made  !  " 

In  silence  Matthew  lay,  and  eyed 
The  spring  bencatli  the  tree ; 

And  thus  tlic  dear  old  man  replied, 
The  gray-Iiaired  man  of  glee  : 

"  No  check,. no  stay,  this  streamlet  fears; 

How  merrily  it  goes ! 
'Twill  murmur  on  a  thousand  years, 

And  flow  as  now  it  flows. 


CTf> 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


"  Aud  here,  on  this  delightful  day, 

I  cannot  choose  but  think 
How  oft,  a  vigorous  man,  I  lay 

Beside  this  fountain's  brink. 

"  My  eyes  are  dim  with  childish  tears, 

My  heart  is  idly  stirred ; 
For  the  same  sound  is  in  my  ears 

Which  in  those  days  I  heard. 

"  Thus  fares  it  still  in  our  decay ; 

And  yet  the  wiser  mind 
Mourns  less  for  what  age  takes  away 

Than  what  it  leaves  behind. 

"  The  blackbird  amid  leafy  trees, 

The  lark  above  the  hill, 
Let  loose  their  carols  when  they  please, 

Are  quiet  when  they  will. 

"  "With  nature  never  do  they  wage 

A  foolish  strife ;  they  see 
A  happy  youth,  and  their  old  age 

Is  beautiful  and  free. 

"  But  we  are  prest  by  heavy  laws ; 

And  often,  glad  no  more. 
We  wear  a  face  of  joy,  because 

We  have  been  glad  of  yore. 

"  If  there  be  one  who  need  bemoan 

His  kindred  laid  in  earth,  ' 
The  household  hearts  that  were  his  own, 

It  is  the  man  of  mirth. 

"  My  days,  my  friend,  are  almost  gone ; 

My  life  has  been  approved, 
And  many  love  me ;  but  by  none 

Am  I  enough  beloved  !  " 

"Now  both  himself  and  me  he  wrongs. 

The  man  who  thus  complains! 
I  live  and  sing  my  idle  songs 

Upon  these  happy  plains ; 

"  And,  Matthew,  for  thy  children  dead, 

I  '11  be  a  son  to  thee !  " 
At  this  he  grasped  my  hand,  and  said 

"Alas !  that  cannot  be." 


We  rose  up  from  the  fountain  side ; 

And  down  the  smooth  descent 
Of  the  green  sheep-track  did  we  glide, 

And  through  the  wood  we  went  ; 

And,  ere  we  came  to  Leonard's  rock, 

He  sang  those  witty  rhymes 
About  the  crazy  old  church  clock, 

And  the  bewildered  chimes. 

William  Words wobth 


THE  CROWDED  STREET. 

Let  me  move  slowly  through  the  street, 
Filled  with  an  ever-shifting  train. 

Amid  the  sound  of  steps  that  beat 

The  murmuring  walks  like  autumn  rain. 

How  fast  the  flitting  figures  come ! 

The  mild,  the  fierce,  the  stony  face — 
Some  bright  with  thoughtless  smiles,  and  som« 

Where  secret  tears  have  left  their  trace. 

They  pass  to  toil,  to  strife,  to  rest — 
To  halls  in  which  the  feast  is  spread — 

To  chambers  where  the  funeral  guest 
In  silence  sits  beside  the  dead. 

And  some  to  happy  homes  repair, 

Where  children  pressing  cheek  to  cheek. 

With  mute  caresses  shall  declare 
The  tenderness  they  cannot  speak. 

And  some,  who  walk  in  calmness  here,- 
Shall  shudder  as  they  reach  the  door 

Where  one  who  made  their  dwelling  dear. 
Its  flower,  its  light,  is  seen  no  more. 

Youth,  with  pale  cheek  and  slender  frame, 
And  dreams  of  greatness  in  thine  eye  ! 

Go'st  thou  to  build  an  early  name, 
Or  early  in  the  task  to  die  ? 

Keen  son  of  trade,  with  eager  brow  ! 

Who  is  now  fluttering  in  thy  snare? 
Thy  golden  fortunes,  tower  they  now. 

Or  melt  the  glittering  spires  in  air  ? 


THE    SUNKEN    CITY. 


677 


"Who  of  this  crowd  to-night  shall  tread 
The  dance  till  daylight  gleam  again  ? 

"Who  sorrow  o'er  the  untimely  dead  ? 
"Who  writhe  in  throes  of  mortal  pain? 

Some,  famine-struck,  shall  think  how  long 
The  cold,  dai-k  hours,  how  slow  the  light; 

And  some,  who  flaunt  amid  the  throng, 
Shall  hide  in  dens  of  shame  to-night. 

Each  where  his  tasks  or  pleasures  call, 
They  pass,  and  heed  each  other  not. 

There  is  who  heeds,  who  holds  them  all 
In  His  large  love  and  boundless  thought. 

These  struggling  tides  of  life,  that  seem 
In  wayward,  aimless  course  to  tend. 

Are  eddies  of  the  mighty  stream 
That  roUs  to  its  appointed  end, 

"William  Cullen  Bey  ant. 


GOOD-BYE. 

GooD-p,TE,  proud  world !  I  'ra  going  home ; 
Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I  'm  not  tliine. 
Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam  ; 
A  river-ark  on  the  ocean  brine, 
Long  I  've  been  tossed  like  the  driven  foam  ; 
But  now,  proud  world !  I  'm  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  flattery's  fawning  face  ; 

To  grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace ; 

To  upstart  wealth's  averted  eye ; 

To  supple  oSice,  low  and  high  ; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street ; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet ; 

To  those  who  go  and  those  who  come — 

Good-bye,  proud  world !  I  'm  going  home. 

I  am  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone — 
A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 
\\'hose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day. 
Echo  the  blackbird's  roundelay. 
And  vulger  feet  have  never  trod — 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  tliought  and  God. 


Oh,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome  ; 
And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  lioly  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools,  and  the  learned  clan; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
"When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet  ? 
Eali-h  "Waldo  Emeeson. 


THE  SUNKEJT  CITY. 

Haek  !  the  faint  bells  of  the  sunken  city 
Peal  once    more    their  wonted    evening 
chime ! 

From  the  deep  abysses  floats  a  ditty, 
"Wild  and  wondrous,  of  the  olden  time. 

Temples,  towers,  and  domes  of  many  stories 
There  lie  buried  in  an  ocean  grave — 

Undescried,  save  when  their  golden  glories 
Gleam,  at  sunset,  through  the  lighted  wave. 

And  the  mariner  who  had  seen  them  glisten. 
In  whose  ears  those  magic  bells  do  sound. 
Night  by  night  bides  there  to  watch  and  lis- 
ten, 
Though  death  lurks  behind  each  dark  rock 
round. 

So  the  beUs  of  memory's  wonder-city 
Peal  for  me  their  old  melodious  chime ; 

So  my  heart  pours  forth  a  changeful  ditty, 
Sad  and  pleasant,  from  the  bygone  time. 

Domes,  and  towers,  and  castl6s,  fancy-builded, 
There  lie  lost  to  daylight's  garish  beams  — 

There  lie  hidden,  till  unveiled  and  gilded. 
Glory-gilded,  by  my  nightly  dreams! 

And  then  hear  I  music  sweet  upknelling 

From  many  a  well-known  phantom  band. 
And,  through  tears,  can  sec  my  natural  dwell- 
ing 
Far  off  in  the  spirit's  luminous  land ! 

"WiTiirLM  MuKLi.ER.    (Gcrmaii.) 
Translation  of  James  Clauence  Manoan. 


GTS 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


GUY. 

Mortal  mixed  of  middle  clay, 
Attempered  to  the  night  and  day, 
Interchangeable  with  things, 
Needs  no  amulets  or  rings. 
Gny  possessed  the  talisman 
That  all  things  from  him  began  ; 
And  as,  of  old,  Polycrates 
Cliaincd  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze, 
So  did  Guy  betimes  discover 
Fortune  was  his  guard  and  lover — 
In  strange  junctures  felt,  with  awe, 
His  own  symmetry  witli  law ; 
So  that  no  mixture  could  withstand 
The  virtue  of  his  lucky  hand. 
He  gold  or  jewel  could  not  lose, 
Nor  not  receive  his  ample  dues. 
In  the  street,  if  he  turned  round. 
His  eye  the  eye  'twas  seeking  found. 
It  seemed  his  genius  discreet 
Worked  on  the  maker's  own  receipt, 
And  made  each  tide  and  element 
Stewards  of  stipend  and  of  rent ; 
So  that  the  common  waters  fell 
As  costly  wine  into  his  well. 

He  had  so  sped  his  wise  affairs 
That  he  caught  nature  in  his  snares; 
Early  or  late,  the  falhug  rain 
Arrived  in  time  to  swell  his  grain ; 
Stream  could  not  so  perversely  wind 
But  corn  of  Guy's  was  there  to  grind ; 
The  siroc  found  it  on  its  way 
To  speed  his  sails,  to  dry  his  hay ; 
And  the  world's  sun  seemed  to  risr^ 
To  drudge  all  day  for  Guy  the  wise. 
In  his  rich  nurseries  timely  skill 
Strong  crab  witli  nobler  blood  did  fill; 
The  zephyr  in  his  garden  rolled 
From  plum  trees  vegetable  gold ; 
And  all  the  hours  of  the  year 
With  their  own  harvests  honored  were. 
There  was  no  frost  but  welcome  came, 
Xor  freshet,  nor  midsummer  flame. 
Belonged  to  wind  and  world  the  toil 
And  venture,  and  to  Guy  the  oil. 

Ealph  "VValdo  Emerson. 


TEMPERANCE,  OR  THE  CHEAP  PHY- 
SICIAN. 

Go  now  !  and  with  some  darinffdrua: 
Bait  thy  disease  ;  and,  whilst  they  tug, 
Thou,  to  maintain  their  precious  strife, 
Spend  the  dear  treasures  of  thy  life. 
Go !  take  physic — dote  upon 
Some  big-named  composition, 
Tlie  oraculous  doctor's  mystic  bills — 
Certain  hard  words  made  into  jjills; 
And  what  at  last  shalt  gain  by  these  ? 
Only  a  costher  disease. 
That  which  makes  us  have  no  need 
Of  physic,  that  's  physic  indeed. 
Hark,  hither,  reader!  wilt  thou  see 
Nature  her  old  physician  be  ? 
Wilt  see  a  man  all  his  own  wealth. 
His  own  music,  his  own  health — 
A  man  whose  sober  soul  can  tell 
How  to  wear  her  garments  well — 
Her  garments  that  upon  her  sit 
As  garments  should  do,  close  and  fit — 
A  well-clothed  soul  that 's  not  oppressed 
Nor  choked  with  what  she  should  be  dressed— 
A  soul  sheathed  in  a  crystal  shrine. 
Through  which  all  her  bright  features  shine : 
As  when  a  piece  of  wanton  lawn, 
A  thin  aerial  veil  is  drawn 
O'er  beauty's  face,  seeming  to  hide, 
More  sweetly  shows  the  blushing  bride — 
A  soul  whose  intellectual  beams 
No  mists  do  mask,  no  lazy  streams — 
A  happy  soul,  that  all  the  way 
To  heaven  hath  a  summer's  day? 
Wouldst  see  a  man  whose  well-warmed  blood 
Bathes  him  in  a  genuine  flood  ? — 
A  man  whose  tuned  humors  be 
A  seat  of  rarest  harmony  ? 
Wouldst  see  blithe  looks,  fresh  cheeks,  be- 
guile 
Age  ?     Wouldst  see  December's  smile  ? 
Wouldst  see  nests  of  new  roses  grow 
In  a  bed  of  reverend  snow  ? 
Warm  tli  oughts,  free  spirits  flattering 
Winter's  self  into  a  spring  ? — 
In  sum,  wouldst  see  a  man  that  can 
Live  to  be  old,  and  still  a  man  ? 
Wliose  latest  and  most  leaden  hours 
Fall  with  soft  wings,  stuck  with  soft  flowers; 


SMOKING    SPIRITUALIZED. 


679 


And  wlien  life's  sweet  fable  ends, 
Soul  and  body  part  like  friends- 
No  quarrels,  murmurs,  no  delay — 
A  kiss,  a  sigh,  and  so  away  ? 
This  rare  one,  reader,  wouldst  tbou  see? 
Hark,  bitter!  and  thyself  be  be. 

ElCHAED   CeASHAW. 


BACCHUS. 

BiiiXG  me  wine,  but  wine  which  never  grew 

In  the  belly  of  the  grape, 

Or  grew  on  vines  whose  tap-roots,  reaching 

through 
Under  the  Andes  to  the  Cape, 
Suffered  no  savor  of  the  earth  to  'scape. 

Let  its  grapes  the  morn  salute 

From  a  nocturnal  root. 

Which  feels  the  acrid  juice 

Of  Styx  and  Erebus ; 

And  tarns  the  woe  of  night. 

By  its  own  craft,  to  a  more  rich  delight. 

"We  buy  ashes  for  bread, 

"We  buy  diluted  wine ; 

Give  me  of  the  true, — 

"Whose  ample  leaves  and  tendrils  curled 

Among  the  silver  hills  of  heaven, 

Draw  everlasting  dew ; 

"Wiue  of  wine. 

Blood  of  the  world, 

Form  of  forms  and  mould  of  statures. 

That  I  intoxicated. 

And  by  the  draught  assimilated, 

May  float  at  pleasure  through  all  natures; 

The  bird-language  rightly  spell. 

And  that  which  roses  say  so  well. 

Wine  that  is  shed 

Like  the  torrents  of  the  sun 

Up  the  horizon  walls, 

Or  like  the  Atlantic  streams,  wliich  run 

When  the  South  Sea  calls. 

Water  and  bread. 
Food  which  needs  no  transmuting, 
Rainbo w-flowering,  av isdom-fruiting 
Wine  which  is  already  man, 
Food  which  teach  and  reason  can. 


Wine  which  music  is,— 

Music  and  wine  are  one, — 

That  I,  drinking  this, 

Shall  hear  far  chaos  talk  with  me  ; 

Kings  unborn  shall  walk  with  me ; 

And  the  poor  grass  shall  plot  and  plan 

What  it  will  do  when  it  is  man. 

Quickened  so,  will  I  unlock 

Every  crypt  of  every  rock. 

I  thank  the  joyful  juice 
For  aU  I  know : — 
Winds  of  remembering 
Of  the  ancient  being  blow. 
And  seeming-solid  walls  of  use 
Open  and  flow. 

Pour,  Bacchus !  the  remembering  wine ; — 

Retrieve  the  loss  of  me  and  mine ! 

Vine  for  the  vine  be  antidote. 

And  the  grapes  requite  the  lote ! 

Haste  to  cure  the  old  despair, — 

Reason  in  nature's  lotus  drenched. 

The  memory  of  ages  quenched. 

Give  them  again  to  shine  ; 

Let  wine  repair  what  this  undid  ; 

And  where  the  infection  slid, 

A  dazzhng  memory  revive  ; 

Refresh  the  faded  tints, 

Recut  the  aged  prints. 

And  write  my  old  adventures  with  the  pen 

Which  on  the  first  day  drew. 

Upon  the  tablets  blue, 

The  dancing  Pleiads  and  eternal  men. 

Ealpu  "Waldo  Emerson. 


SMOKING  SPIRITUALIZED. 

PART  I. 

Tins  Indian  weed,  now  withered  quite. 
Though  green  at  noon,  cut  down  at  night, 

Shows  thy  decay — 

All  flesh  is  liay : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

The  pipe,  so  lily-like  and  weak, 
Docs  thus  thy  mortal  state  bespeak; 

Tliou  art  e'en  such — 

Gone  with  a  touch  : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 


GSO 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


And  when  tlio  smoke  ascends  on  liigli, 
Then  thou  behold'st  the  vanity 
Of  worldly  stuff- 
Gone  with  a  puff: 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

And  when  tlic  pipe  gi-ows  foul  within, 
Think  ou  thy  soul  doliled  with  sin  ; 

For  then  the  fire 

It  does  require : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

And  seest  the  ashes  cast  away, 
Then  to  thyself  thou  niayest  say 
That  to  the  dust 
Return  thou  must : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 


PART  II. 

Was  this  small  plant  for  thee  cut  down  ? 
So  was  the  plant  of  great  renown, 

Which  mercy  sends 

For  nobler  ends : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

Doth  juice  medicinal  proceed 
From  such  a  naughty  foreign  Aveed  ? 

Then  what's  the  power 

Of  Jesse's  flower?- 
Tlius  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

The  promise,  like  the  pipe,  inlays, 
And  by  the  mouth  of  faith  conveys 

What  virtue  flows 

From  Sharon's  rose : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

In  vain  the  unlightod  pipe  you  blow — 
Your  pains  in  outward  means  are  so, 

'Till  heavenly  fire 

Your  heart  inspire : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

The  smoke  like  burning  incense  towers ; 
So  should  a  praying  heai't  of  yours 
With  ardent  cries 
Surmount  the  skies : 
Thus  think,  and  smoke  tobacco. 

AxoNTMorrs. 


THE  CANITY  OF  HUMAN  WISHES. 

IN  IMITATION  OF  THE   TENTH   SATIRE  OP 
JUVENAL. 

Let  observation,  with  extensive  view, 
Survey  mankind  from  China  to  Peru  ; 
Remark  each  anxious  toil,  each  eager  strife, 
And  watch  the  busy  scenes  of  crowded  life ; 
Then  say  how  hope  and  fear,  desire  and  hate, 
O'erspread  with  snares  the  clouded  maze  of 

fate, 
Wliere  wavering  man,  betrayed  by  venturous 

pride 
To  chase  the  dreary  paths  without  a  guide, 
As  treacherous  phantoms  in  the  mist  delude. 
Shuns  fancied  ills,  or  chases  airy  good; 
IIow  rarely  reason  guides  the  stubborn  choice. 
Rules  the  bold  hand,  or  prompts  the  suppliant 

voice ; 
IIow   nations  sink,  by  darling  schemes  op- 
pressed. 
When  vengeance  listens  to  the  fool's  request. 
Fate  wings  with  every  wish  the  afflictive  dart, 
Each  gift  of  nature  and  each  grace  of  art  ; 
With  fatal  heat  impetuous  courage  glows, 
With  fatal  sweetness  elocution  flows. 
Impeachment  stops  the   speaker's  powerful 

breath. 
And  restless  fire  precipitates  on  death. 

But,  scarce  observed,  the  knowing  and  the 
bold 

Fall  in  the  general  massacre  of  gold; 

Wide  wasting  pest!  that  rages  unconfined 

And  crowds  with  crimes  the  records  of  man- 
kind ; 

For  gold  his  sword  the  hireling  rufiian  draws, 

For  gold  the  hireling  judge  distorts  the  laws; 

Wealth  heaped  on  wealth,  nor  trutli  nor 
safety  buys. 

The  dangers  gather  as  the  treasures  rise. 

Let  history  tell  where  rival  kings  command, 
And  dubious  title  shakes  the  madded  land, 
When  statutes  glean  the  refuse  of  the  sword, 
IIow  much  more  safe  the  vassal  than  the  lord ; 
Low  skulks  the  hind  below  the  rage  of  power, 
And  leaves  the  wealthy  traitor  in  the  Tower ; 


THE    VANITY    OF    HUMAN    WISHES. 


681 


Untouched   his    cottage,   and    his   slumbers 

sound, 
Thougli  confiscation's  vultures  hover  round. 

The  needy  traveller,  serene  and  gaj, 
"Walks  the  wild  heath,  and  sings  his  toil  away. 
Does  envy  seize  thee  ?  crush  the  upbraiding 

joy, 

Increase  his  riches,  and  his  peace  destroy : 

Now  fears  in  dire  vicissitude  invade, 

The  rustling  brake   alarms,   and   quivering 

shade, 
Nor  light  nor  darkness  brings  his  pain  relief, 
One  shows  the  plunder  and  one  hides  the 

thief. 

Yet  still  one  general  cry  the  skies  assails, 
And  gain  and  grandeur  load  the  tainted  gales ; 
Few  know  the  toiling  statesman's  fear  or 


care, 


The  insidious  rival  and  the  gaping  heir. 
Once  more,  Democritus,  arise  on  earth. 

With  cheerful  wisdom  and  instructive  mirth ; 

See  motley  life  in  modern  trappings  dressed, 

And  feed  with  varied  fools  the  eternal  jest: 

Thou  who   couldst  laugh,  where  want  en- 
chained caprice, 

Toil  crushed  conceit,  and  man  was  of  a  piece ; 

Where  wealth  unloved  without  a  mourner 
died. 

And  scarce  a  sycophant  was  fed  by  pride ; 

Where  ne'er  was  known  the  form  of  mock 
debate, 

Or  seen  a  new-made  mayor's  unwieldy  state ; 

Where  change  of  favorites  made  no  change 
of  laws, 

And   senates  heard    before  they  judged   a 
cause ; 

How  wouldst  thou  shake  at  Britain's  modish 
tribe, 

Dart  the  quick  taunt  and  edge  the  piercing 
gibe  ? 

Attentive  truth  and  nature  to  descry. 

And  pierce  each  scene  with  philosophic  eye, 

Tcf  thee  were  solemn  toys,  or  empty  show. 

The  rol)CS  of  pleasure,  and  the  veils  of  woe  : 

All  aid  the  farce,  and  all  thy  mirth  main- 
tain, 

Whose  joys  are  causeless,  or  whose  griefs  are 
vain. 

90 


Such  was  the  scorn  that  tilled  the  sage's 
mind, 
Eenewed  at  every  glance  on  human  kind; 
How  just  that  scorn  ere  yet  thy  voice  declare. 
Search  every  state,  and  canvass  every  prayer. 

Unnumbered  suppliants  crowd  preferment's 

gate, 
Athirst  for  wealth,  and  burning  to  be  great ; 
Delusive  fortune  hears  the  incessant  call. 
They  mount,  they  shine,  evaporate  and  fall. 
On  every  stage  the  foes  of  peace  attend, 
Hate  dogs  their  flight,  and  insult  mocks  theii 

end. 
Love  ends  with  hope,  the  sinking  statesman's 

door 
Pours  in  the  mourning  worshipper  no  more; 
For  growing  names  the  weekly  scribbler  lies, 
To  growing  wealth  the  dedicator  flies; 
From  every  room  descends  the  painted  face 
That  hung  the  bright  palladium  of  the  place. 
And,  smoked  in  kitchens,  or  in  auctions  sold. 
To  better  features  yields  the  frame  of  gold ; 
For  now  no  more  we  trace  in  every  line 
Heroic  worth,  benevolence  divine^ 
The  form  distorted  justifies  the  fall. 
And  detestation  rids  the  indignant  wall. 

But  will  not  Britain  hear  the  last  appeal, 
Sign  her  foes'  doom,  or  guard  the  favorite's 

zeal? 
Through  freedom's    sons  no    more   remon- 
strance rings, 
Degrading  nobles  and  controlling  kings; 
Our  supple  tribes  repress  their  patriot  tliroats. 
And  ask  no  questions  but  the  price  of  votes ; 
With  weekly  libels  and  septennial  ale. 
Their  wish  is  full  to  riot  and  to  rail. 


In  full-flown  dignity  see  Wolscy  stand. 
Law  in  his  voice,  and  fortune  in  his  hand  ; 
To  him  the  church,  tlie  realm,  their  powers 

consign. 
Through  him  the  rays  of  regal  bounty  shine. 
Turned  by  his  nod  the  stream  of  lionor  flows. 
His  smile  alone  security  bestows ; 
Still  to  new  heights  his  restless  wishes  tower, 
Claim  leads  to  claim,  and  power  advances 
power ; 


oS2 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Till  conquest  unresisted  ceased  to  please, 
And  rights  submitted  left  liini  none  to  seize ; 
At  length  his  sovereign  frowns — the  train  of 

state 
Mark  the  keen  glance,  and  watcli  the  sign  to 

hate ; 
Where'er  he  turns,  he  meets  a  stranger's  eye, 
Ilis  suppliants  scorn  him,  and  his  followers 

fly; 

Now  drops  at  once  the  pride  of  awful  state. 
The  golden  canopy,  the  glittering  plate. 
The  regal  palace,  the  luxurious  board, 
The  liveried  army,  and  the  menial  lord ; 
With  age,  with  cares,  with  maladies  oppressed. 
He  seeks  the  refuge  of  monastic  rest ; 
Grief  aids  disease,  remembered  folly  stings, 
And  his  last  sighs  reproach  the  faith  of  kings. 

Speak,   thou  whose  thoughts   at  humble 

peace  repine, 
Shall  Wolsey's  wealth  with  Wolsey's  end  be 

thine  ? 
Or  liv'st  thou  now,  with  safer  pi-ide  content. 
The  wisest  justice  on  the  banks  of  Trent? 
For  why  did  Wolsey,  near  the  steeps  of  fate, 
On  weak  foundations    raise  the  enormous 

weight  ? 
Why  but  to  sink  beneath  misfortune's  blow. 
With  louder  ruin  to  the  gulfs  below  ? 

What  gave  great  Villiers  to  the  assassin's 

knife. 
And  fixed  disease  on  ITarley's  closing  life  ? 
What  murdered  Wentworth,  and  what  exiled 

Hyde, 
B}''  kings  protected,  and  to  kings  allied  ? 
What  but  their  wish  indulged  in  courts  to 

shine. 
And  power  too  great  to  keep  or  to  resign  ? 

When  first  the   college  rolls  receive  his 

name. 
The  young  enthusiast  quits  his  ease  for  fame ; 
Resistless  burns  the  fever  of  renown, 
Caught  from  the   strong  contagion   of  the 

gown; 
O'er  Bodley's  dome  his  future  labors  spread. 
And  Bacon's  mansion  trembles  o'er  his  head. 
Are  these  thy  views?     Proceed,  illustrious 

youth, 
And  virtue  guard  thee  to  the  throne  of  truth ! 


Yet  should  thy  soul  indulge  the  generous  heat 
Till  captive  science  yields  her  last  retreat ; 
Should  reason  guide  thee  with  her  brightest 

i-ay, 

And  pour  on  misty  doubt  resistless  day  ; 
Should  no  false  kindness  lure  to  loose  delight. 
Nor  praise  relax,  nor  diSiculty  fright ; 
Should  tempting  novelty  thy  cell  refrain. 
And  sloth  eifuse  her  opiate  fumes  in  vain ; 
Should  beauty  blunt  on  fops  her  fatal  dart, 
Nor  claim  the  triumph  of  a  lettered  heart ; 
Should  no  disease  the  torpid  veins  invade, 
Nor  melancholy's  phantoms  haunt  thy  shade  ; 
Yet  hope  not  life  from  grief  or  danger  free. 
Nor  think  the  doom  of  man  reversed  for  thee. 
Deign  on  the  passing  world  to  turn   thine 

eyes. 
And  pause  awhile  from  letters  to  be  wise ; 
There  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail. 
Toil,  envy,  want,  the  patron,  and  the  jail. 
See  nations,  slowly  wise  and  meanly  just, 
To  buried  merit  raise  the  tardy  bust. 
If  dreams  yet  flatter,  yet  again  attend, 
Hear  Lydiat's  hfe,  and  Galileo's  end. 

Nor  deem,  when  learning  her  last  prize 

bestows. 
The  glittering  eminence  exempt  from  foes ; 
See,  when  the  vulgar  'scapes,  despised  or 

awed, 
Rebellion's  vengeful  talons  seize  on  Laud. 
From  meaner  minds  though  smaller   fines 

content. 
The  plundered  palace  or  sequestered  rent. 
Marked  out  by  dangerous  parts,  he  meets  the 

shock, 
And  fatal  learning  leads  him  to  the  block ; 
Around  his  tomb  let  art  and  genius  weep. 
But  hear  his  death,  ye  blockheads,  hear  and 

sleep. 

The  festal  blazes,  the  triumphant  show, 
The  ravished  standard,  and  the  captive  foe. 
The  senate's  thanks,  the  gazette's  pompous 

tale. 
With  force  resistless  o'er  the  brave  prevail. 
Such  bribes  the  rapid  Greek  o'er  Asia  whirled. 
For  such  the  steady  Roman  shook  the  world  ; 
For  such  in  distant  lands  the  Britons  shine. 
And  stain  with  blood  the  Danube  or  the 

Rhine; 


I 


THE     VANITY     OF    HUMAX     WISHES. 


683 


This  power  lias  praise,  that  virtue  scarce  can 

warm 
Till  fame  supplies  the  universal  charm. 
Yet  reason  fi'owns  on  war's  unequal  game, 
Where  wasted  nations  raise  a  single  name ; 
And  mortgaged  states  thei  r  grandsire's  wreaths 

regret, 
From  age  to  age  in  everlasting  debt ; 
Wreaths  which  at  last  the  dear-bought  right 

convey 
To  rust  on  medals,  or  on  stones  decay. 

On  what  foundation  stands  the  warrior's 
pride, 
llow  just  his  hopes,   let   Swedish   Charles 

decide : 
A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  fire, 
No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire ; 
O'er  love,  o'er  fear,  extends  his  wide  domain, 
Unconquercd  lord  of  pleasure  and  of  pain ; 
No  joys  to  him  pacific  sceptres  yield, 
War  sounds  the  trump,  he  rushes  to  the  field ; 
Behold  surrounding  kings  their  powers  com- 
bine. 
And  one  capitulate,  and  one  resign ; 
Peace  courts  his  hand,  but  spreads  her  charms 

in  vain ; 
"  Think  nothing  gained,"  he  cries,  "  till  naught 

remain, 
On  Moscow's  walls  till  Gothic  standards  fly. 
And  all  be  mine  beneath  the  polar  sky  !" 
TIjc  march  begins  in  military  state, 
And  nations  on  his  eye  suspended  wait ; 
Stern  famine  guards  the  solitary  coast. 
And  winter  barricades  the  realms  of  frost; 
He  comes,  nor  want  nor  cold  his  course  de- 
lay ;- 
Hide,  blushing  glory,  hide  Pultowa's  day: 
The  vanquished  hero  leaves  his  broken  bands. 
And  shows  his  miseries  in  distant  lauds ; 
Condemned  a  needy  suppliant  to  wait, 
While  ladies  interpose,  and  slaves  debate. 
But  did  not  chance  at  length  her  error  mend? 
Did  no  subverted  empire  mark  his  end  ? 
Did  rival  monarchs  give  the  fatal  wound? 
Or  liostile  millions  press  him  to  the  ground? 
His  fall  was  destined  to  a  barren  strand, 
A  petty  fortress,  and  a  dubious  hand ; 
He  left  the  name,  at  which  the  world  grew 

pale. 
To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale. 


All  times  their  scenes  of  pompous  woes 

afford, 
From  Persia's  tjTant  to  Bavaria's  lord. 
In  gay  hostility  and  barbarous  pride. 
With  half  mankind  embattled  at  his  side. 
Great  Xerxes    comes  to  seize    the  certain 

prey, 
And  starves  exhausted  regions  in  his  way ; 
Attendant  flattery  counts  his  myriads  o'er. 
Till   counted  myriads  soothe  his  pride  no 

more ; 
Fresh  praise  is  tried  till  madness  fires  his 

mind, 
The   waves    he    lashes,    and    enchains   the 

wind, 
N"ew  powers  he  claims,  new  powers  ai-e  stUl 

bestowed. 
Till  rude  resistance  lops  the  spreading  god. 
The  daring  Greeks  deride  the  martial  show, 
And  heap  their  valleys  with  the  gaudy  foe; 
The  insulted  sea  with  humbler  thought  ho 

gains, 
A  single  skiff  to  speed  his  flight  remains ; 
The  encumbered  oar  scarce  leaves  the  di-eaded 

coast 
Through  purple  billows  and  a  floating  host. 

The  bold  Bavarian,  in  a  luckless  hour, 
Tries  the  dread  summits  of  Ctesarean  power, 
With  unexpected  legions  bursts  away, 
And  sees  defenceless  realms  receive  his  sway ; 
Short  sway !  fair  Austria  spreads  her  mourn- 
ful charms. 
The  queen,  the  beauty,  sets  the  world  in  arms ; 
From  hill  to  hill  the  beacon's  rousing  blaze 
Spreads  wide  the  hope  of  plunder  and  of 

praise ; 
The  fierce  Croatian  and  the  wild  Hussar, 
With  all  the  sons  of  ravage  crowd  the  war; 
The  baflBed  prince,  in  honor's  flattering  bloom 
Of  hasty  greatness,  finds  the  fatal  doom, 
His  foes'  derision,  and  his  subjects'  blame, 
And  steals  to  death  from  anguish  and  fi-om 
shame, 

"Enlarge  my  life  with  multitude  of  days !  " 
In  health,   in  sickness,   thus  the  suppliant 

prays ; 
Hides  from  himself  its  state,  and  shuns  to 

know 
That  life  protracted  is  protracted  woe. 


684 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Time  hovers  o'er,  impatient  to  desti'oy, 
And  shuts  up  all  the  passages  of  joy. 
lu  vain  their  gifts  the  bounteous  seasons  pour, 
The  fruit  autumnal  and  the  vernal  tiower ; 
"With  listless  eyes  the  dotard  views  the  store, 
He  views,    and   wonders    tliat  they  please 

no  more ; 
Xow  pall  the  tasteless  meats,  and  joyless 

wines, 
And  luxury  with  sighs  her  slave  resigns. 
Approach,   ye  minstrels,   try  the    soothing 

strain. 
Diffuse  tlie  tuneful  lenitives  of  pain: 
No  soimds,  alas!  would  touch  the  impervious 

ear. 
Though  dancing  mountains  witnessed  Orpheus 

near ; 
Nor  lute  nor  lyre  his  feebler  powers  attend, 
Nor  sweeter  music  of  a  virtuous  friend ; 
But  everlasting  dictates  crowd  his  tongue. 
Perversely  grave,  or  positively  wrong. 
The  still  returning  tale,  and  lingering  jest 
Perplex  the  fawning  niece  and  pampered 

guest. 
While  growing  hopes  scarce  awe  the  gather- 
ing sneer, 
And  scarce  a  legacy  can  bribe  to  hear ; 
The  watchful  guests  still  hint  the  last  oflEence ; 
The  daughter's  petulance,  the  son's  expense  ; 
Improve  his  heady  rage  with  treacherous  skill, 
And  mould  his  passions  till  they  make  his 

will. 

Unnumbered  maladies  his  joints  invade. 
Lay  siege  to  life,  and  press  the  dire  blockade  ; 
But  unextinguished  avarice  still  remains. 
And  dreaded  losses  aggravate  his  pains  ; 
lie  turns,  with  anxious  heart  and  crippled 

hands. 
His  bonds  of  debt,  and  mortgages  of  lands ; 
Or  views  his  coffers  with  suspicious  eyes, 
Unlocks  his  gold,  and  counts  it  till  he  dies. 

But  grant,  the  virtues  of  a  temperate  prime 
Bless  with   an   age  exempt  from   scorn  or 

crime ; 
An  age  that  melts  with  unperceived  decay, 
And  ghdes  in  modest  innocence  away ; 
Whose  peaceful  day  benevolence  endears, 
Whose     night     congratulating     conscience 

cheers ; 


Tlie  general  favorite  as  the  general  friend ; 
Such  age  there  is,  and  who  shall  wish  its  end  ? 

Yet  even  on  this  her  load  misfortune  flings, 
To  press  the  weary  minutes'  flagging  wings; 
New  sorrow  rises  as  the  day  returns, 
A  sister  sickens,  or  a  daughter  mourna  ; 
Now  kindred  merit  fills  the  sable  bier, 
Now  lacerated  friendship  claims  a  tear  ; 
Year  chases  year,  decay  pursues  decay, 
Still  drops  some    joy  from  withering    life 

away ; 
New  forms   arise,   and   different  views  en- 

Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage, 
Till  pitying  nature  signs  the  last  release. 
And  bids  afflicted  worth  retire  to  peace. 

But  few  there  are  whom  hours  like  these 
await. 
Who  set  unclouded  in  the  gulfs  of  fate. 
From  Lydia's  monarch  should  the  search  de- 
scend, 
By  Solon  cautioned  to  regard  his  end. 
In  life's  last  scene  what  prodigies  surprise, 
Fears  of  tlie  brave,  and  follies  of  the  wise  : 
From  Marlborough's  eyes  the  streams  of  dotage 

flow, 
And  Swift  expires  a  driveler  and  a  show  I 

The  teeming  mother,  anxious  for  her  race. 
Begs  for  each  birth  the  fortune  of  a  face ; 
Yet  Vane  could  tell  what  ills  from  beauty 

spring; 
And  Sedley  cursed  the  form  that  pleased  a 

king. 
Ye  nymphs  of  rosy  lips  and  radiant  eyes, 
Whom  pleasure  keeps  too  busy  to  be  wise ; 
Whom  joys  with  soft  varieties  invite. 
By  day  the  frolic,  and  the  dance  by  night ; 
Who  frown  with  vanity,    who    smile  with 

art. 
And  ask  the  latest  fashion  of  the  heart ; 
What  care,  what  rules,  your  heedless  charms 

shall  save. 
Each  nymph  your  rival,  and  each  youth  your 

slave  ? 
Against  your  fiime  with  fondness  hate  com 

bines. 
The  rival  batters,  and  the  lover  mines  : 


DOWN    LAY    : 

[N    A    NOOK.                                              685 

With  distant  voice  neglected  virtue  calls, 

Less  heard  and  less,  the  faint  remonstrance 

falls ; 
Tired  Avith  contempt,  she  quits  the  slippery 

HENCE  ALL  YOU  VAIN  DELIGHTS. 

Hence  all  you  vain  delights, 

reign, 

As  short  as  are  the  nights 

And  pride  and  prudence  take  her  seat  in 

Wherein  you  spend  your  folly ! 

vain. 

There's  naught  in  this  life  sweet, 

[n  crowd  at  once,  where  none  the  pass  de- 

If man  were  wise  to  see  't, 

fend. 

But  only  melancholy ; 

The  harmless  freedom,  and  the  private  friend ; 

Oh  sweetest  melancholy ! 

The  guardians  yield,  by  force  superior  plied  : 

Welcome  folded  arms  and  fixed  eyes, 

To  interest,  prudence  ;  and  to  flattery,  pride. 

A  sigh  that,  piercing,  mortifies, 

Here  beauty  falls  betrayed,   despised,    dis- 

A look  that 's  fastened  to  the  ground. 

tressed, 

A  tongue  chained  up  without  a  sound ! 

^^d  hissing  infamy  proclaims  the  rest. 

Fountain  heads  and  pathless  groves ; 

Places  which  pale  passion  loves  ; 

Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 

"Where  then  shall  hope  and  fear  their  objects 

Are  warmly  housed,  save  bats  and  owls ; 

find? 

A  midnight  bell,  a  parting  groan — 

Must    dull  suspense  corrupt    the    stagnant 

These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon ; 

mind? 

Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still  gloomy 

]^[ust  helpless  man,  in  ignorance  sedate. 

valley. 

Koll  darkling  down  the  torrent  of  his  fate  ? 

Nothing's  so  dainty  sweet  as  lovely  mel- 

Must no  dislike  alarm,  no  wishes  rise. 

ancholy. 

No  cries  invoke  the  mercies  of  the  skies? 

Beatimont  and  Fletcubb. 

Inquirer,  cease ;  petitions  yet  remain 

Which  heaven  may  hear,  nor  deem  religion 

vain. 
Still  raise  for  good  the  supplicating  voice, 

But  leave  to  heaven  the  measure  and  the 

SONG. 

choice. 

Safe  in  His  power  whose  eyes  discern  afar 

Dowif  lay  in  a  nook  my  lady's  brach 

The  secret  ambush  of  a  specious  prayer. 

And  said,  my  feet  are  sore ; 

Implore  His  aid,  in  His  decisions  rest. 

I  cannot  follow  with  the  pack 

Secure,  whate'er  He  gives.  He  gives  the  best. 

A-hunting  of  the  boar. 

Yet,  when  the  sense  of  secret  presence  fires, 

And  strong  devotion  to  the  skies  aspires. 

Pour  forth  thy  fervors  for  a  healtliful  mind, 

And  though  the  horn  sounds  never  so  clear, 

Obedient  passions,  and  a  will  resigned ; 

With  the  hounds  in  loud  uproar, 

For  love,  which  scarce  collective  man  can 

Yet  I  must  stop  and  he  down  here, 

fill; 

Because  my  feet  are  sore. 

For  patience,  sovereign  o'er  transmuted  ill ; 

For  faith,  that,  panting  for  a  happier  seat, 

Counts  death  kind  nature's  signal  of  retreat. 

The  huntsman,  when  he  heard  the  same, 

These  goods  for  man  the  laws  of  heaven  or- 

What answer  did  he  give  ? 

dain  ; 

The  dog  that 's  lame  is  much  to  blame. 

These  goods  he  grants,  who  grants  the  power 

lie  is  not  fit  to  live. 

Henry  Taylob. 

to  gain ; 

With  these  celestial  wisdom  calms  the  mind, 
And  makes  the  happiness  she  does  not  find. 

Sajifel  John-son. 

6  So 


POEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


DEJECTIO]S":   AN  ODE, 

Late,  late  yestreen  I  saw  the  new  moon, 
"With  the  old  moon  in  her  arm ; 
And  I  fear,  I  fear,  my  master  dear  I 
We  shall  have  a  deadly  storm. 

Ballad  of  Sir  Pateick  Spexce. 


I. 

Well!   if  the  bard  was  weather-wise,  who 
made 
The  prandold  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spence, 
This  night,  so  tranquil  now,  will  not  go 
hence 
Cnronsed  by  winds  that  ply  a  busier  trade 
Than  those  which  mould  yon  cloud  in  lazy 

flakes, 
Or  the  dull  sobbing   draft  that  moans    and 
rakes 
Upon  the  strings  of  the  Eolian  lute, 
.    Which  better  far  were  mute. 
For  lo  !  the  new-moon,  winter-bright. 
And  overspread  with  phantom  light — 
With  swimming  phantom  light  overspread. 
But  rimmed  and  circled  by  a  silver  thi-ead ! 
I  see  the  old  moon  in  her  lap,  foretelling 

The  coming  on  of  rain  and  squally  blast. 
And  oh !  that  even  now  the  gust  were  swell- 
ing 
And  the  slant  night-shower  driving  loud 
and  fast ! 
Those  sounds,  which  oft  have  raised  me  whilst 
they  awed. 
And  sent  my  soul  abroad. 
Might  now  perhaps  their  wonted    impulse 

give — 
Might  startle  this  dull  pain,  and  make  it  move 
and  live. 


n. 

A  grief  without  a  pang, void,  dark,  and  drear — 
A  stifled,  drowsy,  unimpassioned  grief. 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet,  no  relief. 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear — 

0  lady !  in  this  wan  and  heartless  mood, 

To  other  thoughts  by  yonder  throstle  wooed, 
All  this  long  eve,  so  balmy  and  serene. 

Have  I  been  gazing  on  the  western  sky. 
And  its  peculiar  tint  of  yellow  green ; 

And  still  I  gaze — and  with  how  blank  an  eye ! 


And  those  thin  clouds  above,  in  flakes  and 

bars, 
Tliat  give  away  their  motion  to  the  stars — 
Those  stars,  that  glide  behind  them  or  be- 
tween, 
Now  sparkling,  now  bedimmed,  but  always 

seen — 
Yon  crescent  moon,  as  fixed  as  if  it  grew 
In  its  own  cloudless,  starless  lake  of  blue : 
I  see  them  all  so  excellently  fair — 
I  see,  not  feel,  how  beautiful  they  are  ! 

III. 
My  genial  spirits  fail ; 
And  what  can  these  avail 
To  lift  the  smothering  weight  from  oS  my 
breast? 
It  were  a  vain  endeavor. 
Though  I  should  gaze  forever 
On  that  green  light  that  lingers  in  the  west ; 
I  may  not  hope  from  outward  forms  to  win 
The  passion  and  the  life  whose  fountains  are 
within. 

IV. 

O  lady!  we  receive  but  what  we  give. 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live ; 
Ours    is    her  wedding-garment,     ours    her 
shroud ! 
And  would  we   aught  behold  of  higher 
worth 
Than  that  inanimate  cold  world  allowed 
To  the  poor,  loveless,  ever-anxious  crowd — 
Ah !  from  the  soul  itself  must  issue  forth 
A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  cloud 

Enveloping  the  earth ; 
And  from  the  soul  itself  must  there  be  sent 

A  sweet  and  potent  voice  of  its  own  birth, 
Of  all  sweet  sounds  the  life  and  element ! 

T. 

O  pure  of  heart !  thou  need'st  not  ask  of  me 
What  this  strong  music  in  the  soul  may  be — 
What,  and  wherein  it  doth  exist — 
This  light,  this  glory,  this  fair  luminous  mist, 
This  beautiful  and  beauty-making  power. 
Joy,  virtuous  lady!     Joy  that  ne'er  was 
given 
Save  to  the  pure,  and  in  their  purest  hour — 
Life,  and  life's  efiBuence,  cloud  at  once  and 
shower 


DEJECTION  — AN    ODE. 


687 


Joy,  lady,  is  the  spirit  and  the  power 
Which,  wedding  nature  to  us,  gives  in  dower 

A  new  earth  and  new  heaven, 
Undreamt  of  by  the  sensual  and  the  proud — 
Joy  is  the  sweet  voice,  joy  the  luminous 
cloud — 
^Ve  in  ourselves  rejoice  ! 
And  thence  flows  all  that  charms  our  ear  or 
sight — 
All  melodies  the  echoes  of  that  voice, 
All  colors  a  suffusion  from  that  light. 

VI. 

There  was  a  time  when,  though  my  path  was 
rough. 
This  joy  within  me  dallied  with  distress ; 
And  all  misfortunes  were  but  as  the  stuff 
Whence  fancy  made  me  dreams  of  happi- 
ness. 
For  hope  grew  round  me  like  the  twining 

vine ; 
And  fruits  and  foliage,  not  my  own,  seemed 

mine. 
But  now  afflictions  bow  me  down  to  earth, 
ISTor  care  I  that  they  rob  me  of  my  mirth ; 

But  oh !  each  visitation 
Suspends  what  nature  gave  me  at  my  birth. 

My  shaping  spirit  of  imagination. 
For  not  to  think  of  what  I  needs  must  feel. 

But  to  be  still  and  patient,  all  I  can ; 
And  liaply  by  abstruse  research  to  steal 
From  my  own  nature  all  the  natural  man — 
This  was  my  sole  resource,  my  only  plan  ; 
Till  that  which  suits  a  part  infects  the  whole, 
And  now  is  almost  grown  the  habit  of  my 
soul. 

vn. 
Hence,  viper  thoughts,  that  coil  around  my 
mind  — 
Reality's  dark  dream ! 
I  turn  from  you,  and  listen  to  the  wind, 
Which  long  has  raved  unnoticed.     What  a 
scream 
Of  agony,  by  torture  lengthened  out. 
That  lute  sent  forth !  Thou  wind,  that  ravest 
without  I 
Bare  crag,  or  raountain-tairn,  or   blasted 
tree, 
Or  pine-grove  whither  woodman  never  clomb, 
Or  lonely  house,  long  hold  the  witches'  home, 


Methinks  were  titter  instruments  for  thee, 
Mad  lutanist !  who,  in  this  month  of  showers. 
Of   dark   brown  gardens,    and  of  peeping 

flowers, 
Mak'st  devils'  yule,  with  worse  than  wintry 

song, 
The   blossoms,   buds,  and    timorous    leaves 
among ! 
Thou  actor,  perfect  in  all  tragic  sounds! 
Thou  mighty  poet,  e'en  to  frenzy  bold ! 
What  tell'stthou  now  about? 
'T  is  of  tlie  rushing  of  a  host  in  rout. 
With  groans  of  trampled  men,  with  smart- 
ing wounds — 
At  once  they  groan  with  pain,  aJjd  shudder 

with  the  cold. 
But  hark !  there  is  a  pause  oi  deepest  silence ! 
And  all  that  noise,  as  of  a  rushing  crowd. 
With  groans,  and  tremulous  shudderings — all 
is  over — 
It  tells  another  tale,  with  sounds  less  deep 
and  loud  ; 
A  tale  of  less  affright, 
And  tempered  with  delight. 
As  Otway's  self   had    framed    the  tender 
lay: 
'T  is  of  a  little  child 
Upon  a  lonesome  wUd — 
Not  far  from  home,  but  she  hath  lost  her 

way ; 
And  now  moans  low  in  bitter  grief   and 

fear — 
And  now  screams  loud,  and  hopes  to  make 
her  mother  hear. 

VIII. 

'Tis  midnight,  but  small  thoughts  have  I  of 

sleep  ; 
Full    seldom    may    my    friend    such  vigils 

keep! 
Visit  her,  gentle  sleep,  with  wings  of  heal- 
ing! 
And  may  this  storm  be  but  a  mountain- 
birth  ; 
May   all  tlie  stars  hang  bright  above  her 
dwelling, 
Silent  as  though  they  watched  the  sleejjing 
earth ! 
With  light  heart  may  she  rise. 
Gay  fancy,  cheerful  eyes — 


688 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Joy  lift  her  spii-it,  joy  attune  her  voice  ! 
To  her  may  all  things  live,  from  pole  to  pole — 
Their  life  the  eddying  of  her  living  soul ! 

0  simple  spirit,  guided  from  above! 
Deal'  lady!  friend  devoutest  of  my  choice! 
Thus  may  est  thou  ever,  evermore  rejoice. 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleeidge. 


SIR  MARMADUKE. 

SiE  Maemaditke  was  a  liearty  knight — 

Good  man !  old  man ! 
He 's  painted  standing  bolt  upright. 

With  his  hose  rolled  over  his  knee ; 
His  periwig 's  as  white  as  chalk. 
And  on  his  fist  he  holds  a  hawk ; 

And  he  looks  hke  the  head 
Of  an  ancient  family. 

His  dining-room  was  long  and  wide — 

Good  man !  old  man  ! 
His  spaniels  lay  by  the  fireside ; 

And  in  other  parts,  d'  ye  see, 
Cross-bows,  tobacco  pipes,  old  hats, 
A  saddle,  his  wife,  and  a  litter  of  cats ; 

And  he  looked  like  the  head 
Of  an  ancient  family. 

He  never  turned  the  poor  from  the  gate — 

Good  man !  old  man ! 
But  was  always  ready  to  break  the  pate 

Of  his  country's  enemy. 
"What  knight  could  do  a  better  thing 
Than  serve  the  poor,  and  fight  for  his  king? 
And  so  may  every  head 
Of  an  ancient  family. 

GEOsaE  CoLMAN,  "  the  younger." 


I  AM  A  FRIAR  OF  ORDERS  GRAY. 

I  AM  a  friar  of  orders  gray. 
And  down  in  the  valleys  I  take  my  way  ; 
I  pull  not  blackberry,  haw,  or  hip — 
Good  store  of  venison  fills  my  scrip ; 
My  long  bead-roll  I  merrily  chant ; 
"Where'er  I  walk  no  money  I  want ; 


And  why  I'm  so  plump  the  reason  I  tell — 
Who  leads  a  good  life  is  sure  to  live  well. 

"What  baron  or  squire. 

Or  knight  of  the  shire. 

Lives  half  so  Avell  as  a  holy  friar  I 

After  supper  of  heaven  I  dream, 
But  that  is  a  pullet  and  clouted  cream  ; 
Myself,  by  denial,  I  mortify — 
With  a  dainty  bit  of  a  warden  pie ; 
I  'm  clothed  in  sackcloth  for  my  sin — 
With  old  sack  wine  I  'm  lined  within ; 
A  chirping  cup  is  my  matin  song, 
And  the  vesper's  bell  is  my  bowl,  ding  dong. 
What  baron  or  squire. 
Or  knight  of  the  shire. 
Lives  half  so  well  as  a  holy  friar  ? 
John  O'KEnrB. 


THE  AGE  OF  WISDOM. 

Ho  !  pretty  page,  with  the  dimpled  chin, 
That  never  has  known  the  barber's  shear, 

All  your  wish  is  woman  to  win ; 

Tliis  is  the  way  that  boys  begin — 
Wait  till  you  come  to  forty  year. 

Curly  gold  locks  cover  foolish  brains; 

Billing  and  cooing  is  all  your  cheer — 
Sighing,  and  singing  of  midnight  strains, 
Under  Bonnybell's  window  panes — 

Wait  till  you  come  to  forty  year. 

Forty  times  over. let  Michaelmas  pass; 

Grizzling  hair  the  brain  doth  clear; 
Then  you  know  a  boy  is  an  ass, 
Then  you  know  the  worth  of  a  lass — 

Once  you  have  come  to  forty  year. 

Pledge  me  round ;  I  bid  ye  declare, 

All  good  fellows  whose  beards  are  gray- 
Did  not  the  fairest  of  the  fair 
Common  grow  and  wearisome  ere 
Ever  a  month  was  past  away  ? 

The  reddest  lips  that  ever  have  kissed, 

The  brightest  eyes  that  ever  have  shone, 
May  pray  and  whisper  and  we  not  list, 
Or  look  away  and  never  be  missed — 
Ere  yet  ever  a  month  is  gone. 


THE     LAST     LEAF.                                                        689 

Gilliua  's  dead !  God  rest  her  bier — 

Alas !  and  I  have  not 

How  I  loved  her  twenty  years  syne ! 

The  pleasant  hour  forgot, 

Marian 's  married  ;  but  I  sit  here, 

Wlien  one  pert  lady  said — 

Alone  and  merry  at  forty  year, 

"  0,  Landor !  I  am  quite 

Dipping  my  nose  in  the  Gascon  Avine. 

Bewildered  with  affright ; 

William  Makepeace  Thackeeat. 

I  see  (sit  quiet  now !)  a  white  hair  on  your 

head ! " 

Another,  more  benign, 
Drew  out  that  hair  of  mine, 

TO  PERITTA. 

Ah,  my  Perilla !  dost  thou  grieve  to  see 

And  in  her  own  dark  hair 

Me,  day  by  day,  to  steal  away  from  thee  ? 

Pretended  she  had  found 

Age  calls  me  hence,  and  my  gray  hairs  bid 

That  one,  and  twirled  it  round. — 

come. 

Fair  as  she  was,  she  never  was  so  fair. 

And  haste  away  to  mine  eternal  home ; 

Waltee  Savage  Lakdos. 

'T  will  not  be  long,  Perilla,  after  this 

That  I  must  give  thee  the  supremest  Idss. 

Dead  when  I  am,  first  cast  in  salt,  and  bring 

Part  of  the  cream  from  that  religious  spring, 

THE  LAST  LEAF. 

With  which,  Perilla,  wash  my  hands  and  feet ; 

* 

That  done,  then  wind  me  in  that  very  sheet 

I  SAW  him  once  before. 

Which  wrapped  thy  smooth  limbs  when  thou 

As  he  passed  by  the  door ; 

didst  implore 

And  again 

The  gods'  protection,  but  the  night  before ; 

The  pavement-stones  resound 

Follow  me  weeping  to  my  turf,  and  there 

As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

Let  fall  a  primrose,  and  with  it  a  tear. 

With  his  cane. 

Then  lastly,  let  some  weekly  strewings  be 

Devoted  to  the  memory  of  me ; 

They  say  that  in  his  prime. 

Then  shall  my  ghost  not  walk  about,   but 

Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  time 

keep 

Cut  him  down. 

Still  in  the  cool  and  silent  shades  of  sleep. 

Not  a  better  man  was  found 

EOBEET   HeEEIOK. 

By  the  crier  on  his  round 

Through  tlie  town. 
But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 

THE  ONE  GRAY  HAIR. 

The  wisest  of  the  wise 
Listen  to  pretty  lies, 

And  love  to  hear  them  told ; 
Doubt  not  that  Solomon 
Listened  to  many  a  one — 

And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

So  forlorn; 
And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone." 

Some  in  his  youth,  and  more  when  he  grew 
old. 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  pressed 

1  never  sat  among 

In  their  bloom ; 

The  choir  of  wisdom's  song, 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 

But  pretty  lies  loved  I 

Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

As  much  as  any  king — 

On  the  tomb. 

When  youth  was  on  the  wing, 

And  (must  it  then  be  told?)  when  youth  had 

My  grandmamma  has  said — 

quite  gone  by. 
91 

Poor  old  lady !  slie  is  dead 

690 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


Long  age 
That  ho  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  chock  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow. 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff; 
And  a  crook  is  in  his  hack, 
And  a  melancholy  crack 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here. 
But  the  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches — and  aU  that. 

Are  so  queer ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be  * 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring. 
Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

"Where  I  cling. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


MEMORY. 

The  mother  of  the  muses,  we  are  taught. 
Is  memory;  she  has  left  me ;  they  remain. 
And  shake  my  shoulder,  urging  me  to  sing 
About  the  summer  days,  my  loves  of  old. 
"  Alas !  alas !  "  is  all  I  can  reply. 
Memory  has  left  with  me  that  name  alone, 
Harmonious  name,  which  other  bards  may 

sing. 
But  her  bright  image  in  my  darkest  hour 
Comes  back,  in  vain  comes  back,  called  or 

uncalled. 
Forgotten  are  the  names  of  visitors 
Ready  to  press  my  hand  but  yesterday ; 
Forgotten  are  the  names  of  earlier  friends 
"Whose  genial  converse  and  glad  countenance 
Are  fresh  as  ever  to  mine  ear  and  eye ; 
To  these,  when  I  have  written,  and  besought 
Remembrance  of  me,  the  word  "Dear"  alone 
Hangs  on  the  upper  verge,  and  waits  in  vain. 
A  blessing  wert  thou,  O  oblivion. 


If  thy  stream  carried  only  weeds  away, 
But  vernal  and  autumnal  flowers  alike 
It  hurries  down  to  wither  on  the  strand. 

Walter  Savage  Lanuob. 


WAITING  BY  THE  GATE. 

Beside  a  massive  gateway  built  up  in  years 

gone  by. 
Upon  whose  top  the  clouds  in  eternal  shadow 

lie, 
"While  streams  the  evening  sunshine  on  quiet 

wood  and  lea, 
I  stand  and  calmly  wait  till  the  hinges  turn 

for  me. 

The  tree    tops  faintly  rustle    beneath    the 

breeze's  flight, 
A  soft  and  soothing  sound,  yet  it  whispers  of 

the  night; 
I  hear  the  woodthrush  piping  one  mellow 

descant  more. 
And  scent  the  flowers  that  blow  when  the 

heat  of  day  is  o'er. 

Behold  the  portals  open,  and  o'er  the  thresh- 
old, now. 

There  steps  a  weary  one  with  a  pale  and  fur- 
rowed brow ; 

His  count  of  years  is  full,  his  allotted  task  is 
wrought ; 

lie  passes  to  his  rest  from  a  place  that  needs 
him  not. 

In  sadness  then  I  ponder  how  quickly  fleets 

the  hour 
Of  human  strength  and  action,  man's  courage 

and  his  power. 
I  muse  while  still  the  woodthrush  sings  down 

the  golden  day. 
And  as  I  look  down  and  listen  the  sadness 

wears  away. 

Again  the  hinges  turn,  and  a  youth,  depart- 
ing, throws 

A  look  of  longing  backward,  and  sorrowfid- 
ly  goes ; 

A  blooming  maid,  unbinding  the  roses  from 
her  hair, 

Moves  mournfully  away  from  amidst  the 
young  and  fair. 


THE    END    OF    THE    PLAY, 


691 


Oh  glory  of  our  race  tliat  so  suddenly  decays  ! 
Oh  crimson  flash  of  morning  that  darkens  as 


we  gaze ! 


Oh  breath  of  summer  blossoms  that  on  the 

restless  air 
Scatters  a  moment's  sweetness  and  flies,  we 

know  not  where ! 

I  grieve  for  life's  bright  promise,  just  shown 
and  then  withdrawn ; 

But  still  the  sun  shines  round  me;  the  even- 
ing bird  sings  on. 

And  I  again  am  soothed,  and,  beside  the  an- 
cient gate, 

In  this  soft  evening  sunlight,  I  calmly  stand 
and  wait. 

Once  more  the  gates  are  opened ;  an  infant 
group  go  out. 

The  sweet  smile  quenched  forever,  and  stilled 
the  sprightly  shout. 

Oh  frail,  frail  tree  of  life,  that  upon  the  green- 
sward strows 

Its  fair  young  buds  unopened,  with  every 
wind  that  blows ! 

So  come  from  every  region,  so  enter,  side  by 

side, 
The  strong  and  faint  of  spirit,  the  meek  and 

men  of  pride, 
Steps  of  earth's  great  and  mighty,  between 

those  pillars  gray. 
And  prints  of  little  feet,  mark  the  dust  along 

the  way. 

And  some  approach  the  threshold  whose  looks 

are  blank  with  fear. 
And  some  whose  temples  brighten  with  joy 

in  drawing  near. 
As  if  they  saw  dear  faces,  and  caught  tlie 

gracious  eye 
Of  him,  the  sinless  teacher,  who  came  for  us 

to  die. 

[  mark  the  joy,  the  terror ;  yet  these,  within 

my  heart. 
Can  neither  wake  the  dread  nor  the  longing 

to  depart ; 
And,   in   the   sunshine   streaming  on  quiet 

wood  and  lea, 
I  stand  and  calmly  wait  till  the  hinges  turn 

for  me. 

"William  Cclleji  Bryant. 


THE  EXD  OF  THE  PLAY. 

The  play  is  done — the  curtain  drops, 

Slow  falling  to  the  prompter's  bell ; 
A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops. 

And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task ; 

And,  when  he  's  laughed  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 

A  face  that 's  any  thing  but  gay. 

One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends — ■ 

Let 's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme ; 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends, 

As  fits  the  merry  Christmas  time  ; 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have  parts, 

That  fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play ; 
Good-night ! — with  honest  gentle  hearts 

A  kindly  greeting  go  alway ! 

Good-night! — I'd  say  the  griefs,  the  joys. 

Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page. 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys, 

Are  but  repeated  in  our  age ; 
I  'd  say  your  woes  were  not  less  keen. 

Your  hopes  more  vain,  than  those  of  men — 
Your  pangs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen 

At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 

I  'd  say  we  suffer  and  we  strive 

Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys — 
With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five. 

As  erst  at  twelve  in  corduroys  ; 
And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  youth, 

"We  learned  at  home  to  love  and  pray, 
Pray  heaven  that  early  love  and  truth 

May  never  wholly  pass  away. 

And  in  the  world,  as  in  the  school, 

I  'd  say  how  fate  may  change  and  shift — 
The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool. 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift ; 
Tlie  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may  fall, 

Tb.c  great  man  be  a  vulgar  clown. 
The  knave  be  lifted  over  all, 

The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down. 

Wlio  knows  the  inscrutable  design? 

Blessed  be  He  wlio  took  and  gave ! 
Wliy  should  yonr  mother,  Charles,  not  mine, 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  grave? 


1 

f,92                      rOEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 

We  bow  to  heaven  tliat  willed  it  so, 

That  darkly  rules  the  fate  of  all, 

TIME'S  CUEE. 

Tliat  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow. 

That 's  free  to  give  or  to  recall. 

MouRX,  0  rejoicing  heart ! 

The  hours  are  flying; 

This  crowns  his  feast  with  wine  and  wit — 

Each  one  some  treasure  takes. 

Who  brought  hioi  to  that  mirth  and  state  ? 

Each  one  some  blossom  breaks. 

His  betters,  sec,  below  him  sit. 

And  leaves  it  dying; 

Or  hunger  hopeless  at  the  gate. 

The  chill,  dark  night  draws  near — 

Wlio  bade  the  mud  ft-om  Dives'  wheel 

The  sun  will  soon  depart. 

To  spurn  the  rags  of  Lazarus? 

And  leave  thee  sighing; 

Come,  brother,  in  that  dust  we  '11  kneel. 

Then  mourn,  rejoicing  heart ! 

Confessing  heaven  that  ruled  it  thus. 

The  liour  s  are  flying ! 

So  each  shall  mourn,  in  life's  advance, 

Dear  hope?;,  dear  friends,  untimely  killed — 

Eejoice,  0  grieving  heart ! 

Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance, 

Tlie  hours  fly  fast — 

And  longing  passion  unfulfilled. 

With  each  some  sorrow  dies, 

Amen ! — whatever  fate  be  sent. 

*^ith  each  some  shadow  flies ; 

Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly  glow, 

Until  at  last 

Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent. 

The  red  dawn  in  the  east 

And  whitened  with  the  winter  snow. 

Bids  weary  night  depart. 

And  pain  is  fftist ; 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill. 

Eejoice  then  grieving  heart! 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part. 

The  hours  fly  fast ! 

And  bow  before  the  awful  will, 

Anontmods. 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 
Who  misses,  or  who  wins  the  prize- 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can ; 

But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 

A  PETITION"  TO  TIME. 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

Touch  us  gently,  time! 

A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young ! 

Let  us  glide  adown  thy  stream 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays  ;) 

Gently — as  we  sometimes  glide 

The  sacred  chorus  first  was   sung 

Through  a  quiet  dream. 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days ; 

Humble  voyagers  are  we. 

The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead — 

Husband,  wife,  and  children  three — 

The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then : 

(One  is  lost — an  angel,  fled 

Glory  to  heaven  on  high,  it  said. 

To  the  azure  overhead !) 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men ! 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth  ; 

Touch  us  gently,  time  ! 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 

We've  not  proud  nor  soaring  wings ; 

And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth. 

Our  ambition,  our  content, 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide. 

Lies  in  simple  things. 

As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth, 

Humble  voyagers  are  we, 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still — 

O'er  life's  dim,  unsounded  sea. 

Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth. 

Seeking  only  some  calm  clime  ; — 

To  men  of  gentle  will. 

Touch  us  gently,  gentle  time  ! 

Wri-LiAM  Makepeace  Thaokekat. 

Bakky  Cobnwalx,. 

THE    SOUL'S    DEFIANCE. 


693 


SOJTG. 

Time  is  a  feathered  thing, 

And  whilst  I  pi-ai.^e 

The  sparklings  of  thy  looks,  and  call  them 

rays, 
Takes  wing — 

Leaving  behind  him,  as  he  flies. 
An  unperceived  dimness  in  thine  eyes. 

His  minutes,  whilst  they  are  told. 
Do  make  us  old; 
And  every  sand  of  his  fleet  glass, 
Increasing  age  as  it  doth  pass. 
Insensibly  sows  wrinkles  here, 
Where  flowers  and  roses  did  appear. 

Whilst  we  do  speak,  our  fire 
Doth  into  ice  expire ; 
Flames  tui-n  to  frost ; 
And  ere  we  can 

Know  how  our  crow  turns  swan, 
Or  liow  a  silver  snow 
Springs  there  where  jet  did  grow. 
Our  fading  spring  is  in  dull  winter  lost. 

ANONTMora. 


THERE  ARE  GAINS  FOR  ALL  OUR 

LOSSES. 

Thep.e  are  gains  for  all  our  losses — 
There  are  balms  for  all  our  pain ; 
But  when  youth,  the  dream,  departs. 
It  takes  something  from  our  hearts, 
And  it  never  comes  again. 

We  are  stronger  and  are  better. 

Under  manhood's  sterner  reign  ; 
Still  wc  feel  that  something  sweet 
Followed  youth,  with  flying  feet. 
And  will  never  come  again. 

Something  beautiful  has  vanished. 
And  we  sigh  for  it  in  vain ; 

Wo  behold  it  everywhere, 

On  the  earth,  and  in  the  air. 
But  it  never  comes  again. 

Richard  IIenrt  Stoddaud. 


SOXNET. 

Sad  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going, 
Crumbling  away  beneath  our  very  feet ; 
Sad  is  our  life,  for  onward  it  is  flowing 
In  current  unperceived,  because  so  fleet; 
Sad  are  our  hopes,  for  they  were  sweet  in 

sowing — 
But  tares,   self-sown,  have  overtopped  the 

wheat ; 
Sad  are  our  joys,  for  they  were  sweet  in 

blowing — 
And  still,  oh  still,  their  dying  breath  is  sweet ; 
And  sweet  is  youth,  although  it  hath  bereft 

us 
Of  that  which  made  our  childhood  sweeter 

still; 
And  sweet  is  middle  life,  for  it  hath  left  us 
A  nearer  good  to  cure  an  older  ill ; 
And  sweet  are  all  things,  when  we  learn  to 

prize  them 
Not  for  their  sake,  but  His  who  grants  them 

or  denies  them ! 

AlTBKEY  DE   YEKB. 


THE  SOUL'S  DEFIANCE. 

I  SAID  to  sorrow's  awful  storm, 

That  boat  against  my  breast, 
Rage  on ! — thou  may'st  destroy  this  form, 

And  lay  it  low  at  rest ; 
But  still  the  spirit  that  now  brooks 

Thy  tempest,  raging  high, 
Undaunted  on  its  fury  looks, 

With  steadfast  eye. 

I  said  to  penury's  meagre  train, 

Come  on !  your  threats  I  brave ; 
My  last  poor  life-drop  you  may  drain, 

And  crush  me  to  the  grave ; 
Yet  still  the  spirit  that  endures 

Shall  mock  your  force  the  while. 
And  meet  each  cold,  cold  grasp  of  yours 

With  bitter  smile. 

I  said  to  cold  neglect  and  scorn, 

Pass  on !  I  heed  you  not ; 
Ye  may  pursue  me  till  my  form 

And  being  arc  forgot ; 


69-4 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Yet  still  the  spirit  wliicli  vou  see 

Undaunted  by  your  wiles, 
Draws  from  its  own  nobility 

Its  liigh-born  smiles. 

I  said  to  friendship's  menaced  blow, 

Strike  deep  !  my  heart  shall  bear  ; 
Thou  canst  but  add  one  bitter  woe 

To  those  already  there ; 
Yet  still  the  spirit  that  sustains 

This  last  severe  distress, 
Shall  smile  upon  its  keenest  i>alns, 

And  scorn  redress. 

I  said  to  death's  uplifted  dart. 

Aim  sure!  oh,  why  delay? 
Thou  wilt  not  find  a  fearful  heart — 

A  weak,  reluctant  prey ; 
For  still  the  spirit,  firm  and  free. 

Unruffled  by  this  last  dismay. 
Wrapt  in  its  own  eternity, 

Shall  pass  away. 

Layinia  Stoddakd. 


MUTABILITY. 

The  flower  that  smiles  to-day 

To-morrow  dies ; 
All  that  we  wish  to  stay 

Tempts,  and  then  flies ; 
What  is  this  world's  delight  ? 
Lightning  that  mocks  the  night, 
Brief  even  as  bright. 

Virtue,  how  fi*ail  it  is! 

Friendship  too  rare ! 
Love,  how  it  sells  poor  bliss 

For  proud  despair ! 
But  we,  though  soon  they  fall, 
Survive  their  joy,  and  aU 
Which  ours  we  call. 

Whilst  skies  are  blue  and  bright. 
Whilst  flowers  are  gay. 

Whilst  eyes  that  change  ere  night 
Make  glad  the  day. 

Whilst  yet  the  calm  hours  creep. 

Dream  thou !  and  from  thy  sleep 

Then  wake  to  weep. 

Peect  Btsshe  Shelley. 


STANZAS. 

My  life  is  like  the  summer  rose 

That  opens  to  the  morning  sky, 
But,  ere  the  shades  of  evening  close, 

Is  scattered  on  the  ground — to  die  1 
Yet  on  the  rose's  humble  bed 
The  sweetest  dews  of  night  are  shed, 
As  if  she  wept  the  waste  to  see — 
But  none  shall  weep  a  tear  for  me  I 

My  life  is  like  the  autumn  leaf 

That  trembles  in  the  moon's  pale  ray ; 
Its  hold  is  frail — its  date  is  brief, 

Restless — and  soon  to  pass  away ! 
Yet,  ere  that  leaf  shall  fall  and  fade, 
Tlie  parent  tree  will  mourn  its  shade, 
The  winds  bewail  the  leafless  tree — 
But  none  shall  breathe  a  sigh  for  me ! 

My  life  is  like  the  prints  which  feet 

Have  left  on  Tampa's  desert  strand ; 
Soon  as  the  rising  tide  shall  beat. 

All  trace  wiil  vanish  from  the  sand ; 
Yet,  as  if  grieving  to  efface 
All  vestige  of  the  human  race. 
On  that  lone  shore  loud  moans  the  sea— 
But  none,  alas!  shall  mourn  for  me! 

ElCHAKD    HeSET  WrLDE. 


NO  MORE. 

Mt  wind  has  turned  to  bitter  north, 

That  was  so  soft  a  south  before ; 
My  sky,  that  shone  so  sunny  bright. 

With  foggy  gloom  is  clouded  o'er ; 
My  gay  green  leaves  are  yellow-black 

Upon  the  dank  autumnal  floor ; 
For  love,  departed  once,  comes  back 

No  more  again,  no  more. 

A  roofless  ruin  lies  my  home, 

For  winds  to  blow  and  rains  to  poor; 
One  frosty  night  befell — and  lo! 

I  flnd  my  summer  days  are  o'er. 
The  heart  bereaved,  of  why  and  how 

Unknowing,  knows  that  yet  before 
It  had  what  e'en  to  memory  now 

Returns  no  more,  no  more. 

AkTHTTR  IltTGH   ClOTTGH. 


ODE    TO    DUTY 


695 


SOXG. 

Oh  say  not  that  my  heart  is  cold 

To  aught  that  once  could  warm  it — 
That  nature's  form,  so  dear  of  old, 

Jfo  more  has  power  to  charm  it ; 
Or  that  the  ungenerous  world  can  chill 

One  glow  of  fond  emotion 
For  those  who  made  it  dearer  still, 

And  shared  my  wild  devotion. 

Still  oft  those  solemn  scenes  I  view 

Iq  rapt  and  dreamy  sadness — 
Oft  look  on  those  who  loved  them  too, 

With  fancy's  idle  gladness ; 
Again  I  longed  to  view  the  light 

In  nature's  features  glowing, 
Again  to  tread  the  mountain's  height. 

And  taste  the  soul's  o'erflowing. 

Stern  duty  rose,  and,  frowning,  flung 

His  leaden  chain  around  me ; 
With  iron  look  and  sullen  tongue 

He  muttered  as  he  hound  me  : 
"The    mountain    breeze,    the    boundless 
heaven, 

Unfit  for  toil  the  creature ; 
These  for  the  free  alone  are  given — 

But  what  have  slaves  with  nature  ? " 

Chakles  Wolfe. 


ODE  TO  DUTY. 

Stesx  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God  ! 
O  duty !  if  that  name  thou  love 
Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 
To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove — 
Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law 
When  empty  terrors  overawe ; 
From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free, 
And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  hu- 
manity ! 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  trutli, 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth : 
Glad  hearts !  without  reproach  or  blot, 
Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not; 


Long  may  the  kindly  impulse  last ! 
But  thou,  if  they  should  totter,  teach  them 
to  stand  fast ! 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright, 
And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 
When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  own  security. 
And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 
Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 
Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed ; 
Yet  find  that  other  strength,  according  to 
their  need. 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried, 
No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 
Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 
Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust ; 
And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 
Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 
The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray  ; 
But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly, 
if  I  may. 

Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul. 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 

I  supplicate  for  thy  control, 

But  in  the  quietness  of  thouglit; 

Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires ; 

I  feel  the  weight  of  chance  desires. 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name, 

I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  lawgiver !  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace ; 
Nor  know  we  any  thing  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face ; 
Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds. 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads ; 
Thou  dost  preserve  tlie  stars  from  wrong ; 
And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through 
thee,  are  fresh  and  strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  power ! 
I  call  thee  :  I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour; 
Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end! 
Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise. 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrilice ; 
The  confidence  of  reason  give; 
And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  bondman  let 
me  live ! 

William  Wor.DSwORTH. 


696 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


WHY  THUS  LODGING. 

Why  thus  longing,  thus  for  evei-  sigliing, 
For  the  far-oft"  unattained  and  dim, 

While  the  heaiitiful,  all  round  thee  lying, 
Otters  up  its  low,  perpetual  hymn  ? 

Wouldst  thou  listen  to  its  gentle  teaching, 
All  thy  restless  yearnings  it  would  still ; 

Leaf  and  flower  and  laden  hee  are  preaching 
Thine  own  sphere,  though  humble,  first  to 
fill. 

Poor  indeed  thou  must  be,  if  around  thee 
Thou  no  ray  of  light  and  joy  canst  throw — 

If  no  silken  cord  of  love  hath  bound  thee 
To  some  little  world  through  weal  and  woe ; 

If  no  dear  eyes  thy  fond  love  can  brighten — 
No  fond  voices  answer  to  thine  own ; 

If  no  brother's  sorrow  thou  canst  lighten, 
By  daily  sympathy  and  gentle  tone. 

Not  by  deeds  that  win  the  crowd's  applauses, 
Not  by  works  that  give  thee  world-renown, 

Not  by  martyrdom  or  vaunted  crosses, 
Canst  thou  win  and  wear  the  immortal 
crown. 

Daily  struggling,  though  unloved  and  lonely. 
Every  day  a  rich  reward  will  give ; 

Thou  wilt  find,  by  hearty  striving  only, 
And  truly  loving,  thou  canst  truly  live. 

Dost  thou  revel  in  the  rosy  morning, 
"When  all  nature  hails  the  lord  of  light, 

And  his  smile,  the  mountain-tops  adorning, 
Eobes    yon    fragrant  fields    in    radiance 
bright  ? 

Other  hands  may  grasp  the  field  and  forest. 
Proud  proprietors  in  pomp  may  shine; 

But  with  fervent  love  if  thou  adorest. 
Thou  ai't  wealthier — all  the  world  is  thine. 

Yet  if  through  earth's  wide  domains  thou 
rovest, 

Sighing  that  they  art  not  thine  alone. 
Not  tliose  fair  fields,  but  thyself  thou  lovest. 

And  their  beauty,  and  thy  wealth  are  gone. 


Nature  wears  the  color  of  the  spirit; 

Sweetly  to  her  worshipper  she  sings; 
All  the  glow,  the  grace  she  doth  inherit, 

Eouud  her  trusting  child  she  fondly  flings, 

HaEKIET   WIK8LOW. 


LOSSES. 

Upon  the  white  sea-sand 

There  sat  a  pilgrim  band, 
Telling  the  losses  that  their  lives  had  known ; 

"While  evening  waned  away 

From  breezy  cliff  and  bay. 
And  the  sti'ong  tides  went  out  with  weary 
moan. 

One  spake,  with  quivering  lip, 

Of  a  fair  freighted  ship, 
With  all  his  household  to  the  deep  gone  down ; 

But  one  had  wilder  woe — 

For  a  fair  face,  long  ago 
Lost  in  the  darker  depths  of  a  great  town. 

There  were  who  mourned  their  youth 

With  a  most  loving  ruth, 
For  its  brave  hopes  and  memories  ever  green ; 

And  one  upon  the  west 

Turned  an  eye  that  would  not  rest, 
For  far-off"  hills  whereon  its  joy  had  been. 

Some  talked  of  vanished  gold, 

Some  of  proud  honors  told, 
Some  spake  of  friends  that  were  their  trust 
no  more ; 

And  one  of  a  green  grave 

Beside  a  foreign  wave, 
That  made  him  sit  so  lonely  on  the  shore. 

But  when  their  tales  were  done, 

There  spalvC  among  them  one, 
A  stranger,  seeming  from  all  sorrow  free : 

"  Sad  losses  have  ye  met, 

But  naine  is  heavier  yet ; 
For  a  believing  heart  hath  gone  from  me." 

''  Alas !  "  these  pilgrims  said, 

"For  the  living  and  the  dead — 
For  fortune's  cruelty,  for  loYe's  sure  cross, 

For  the  wrecks  of  land  and  sea! 

But,  however  it  came  to  thee, 
Thine,  stranger,  is  life's  last  and  heaviest  loss." 

Fkanoes  Bkown. 


SONNETS. 


697 


HUMAN  FEAILTY. 

"Weak  and  irresolute  is  man ; 

The  purpose  of  to-daj, 
"Woven  with  pains  into  his  plan, 

To-morrow  rends  away. 

The  how  well  hent,  and  smart  the  spring, 

Yice  seems  already  slain ; 
But  pQ^sion  rudely  snaps  the  string. 

And  it  revives  again. 

Some  foe  to  his  upright  intent 

Finds  out  his  weaker  part ; 
"Virtue  engages  his  assent, 

But  pleasure  wins  his  heart. 

'T  is  here  the  folly  of  the  wise 
Through  all  his  art  we  view ; 

And  while  his  tongue  the  charge  denies, 
His  conscience  owns  it  true. 

Bound  on  a  voyage  of  awful  length 

And  dangers  little  known, 
A  stranger  to  superior  strength, 

Man  vainly  trusts  his  own. 

But  oars  alone  can  ne'er  prevail 

To  reach  the  distant  coast ; 
The  hreath  of  heaven  must  swell  the  sail. 

Or  all  the  toil  is  lost. 

"William  Cowpee. 


THE  GOOD  GREAT  MAN. 

How  seldom,  friend,  a  good  great  man  in- 
herits 
Honor  and  wealth,  with  all  his  worth  and 


pams 


It  seems  a  story  from  the  world  of  spirits 
"When    any    man    obtains    that    which    he 
merits. 
Or  any  merits  that  which  he  obtains. 

For  shame,  my  friend !    renounce  tliis  idle 

strain  ! 
What  wouldst  thou  have  a  good  great  man 

obtain  ? 

92 


"Wealth,  title,  dignity,  a  golden  chain. 
Or  heap  of  corses  which  his  sword  hath  slain? 
Goodness  and  greatness  are  not  means,  but 
ends. 

Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends, 
The  great  good  man  ?    Three  treasures — love, 
and  light. 
And  calm  thoughts,   equable  as  infant's 
breath ; 
And  three  fast  friends,  more  sure  than  day  oi 
night — 
Himself,  his  maker,  and  the  angel  death. 
Samuel  Tayloe  Coleridge. 


SONNETS. 

ON  HIS  BEING  ARKIVED   TO  THE   AGE   OF 
TWENTT-THEEE. 

How  soon  hath  time,  the  subtle  thief  of 

youth, 
Stolen  on  his  wing  my  three-and-twentieth 

year! 
My  hasting  days  fly  on  with  full  career. 
But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom 

showeth. 
Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the 

truth, 
That  I  to  manhood  am  arrived  so  near; 
And  inward  ripeness  doth  much  less  appear 
That  some  more  timely-happy  spirits  in- 

du'th. 
Yet  be  it  less  or  more,  or  soon  or  slow, 
It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even 
To  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high. 
Toward  which  time  loads  me,  and  the  will 

of  heaven : 
All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so. 
As  ever  in  my  great  task-master's  eye. 


ox  THE  LATE  MAS8ACKE  IX  PIEDMONT. 

Avenge,   O  Lord,   thy  slaughtered    saints, 

whose  bones 
Lie  scattered  on    the  Alpine  mountaing 

cold ! 
Even  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of 

old. 


698 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


"When  all  our  fathers  worshipped  stocks 

and  stones, 
Forget  not!  in  thy  book  record  their  groans 
Who  were  thy  sheep,  and  in  their  ancient 

fold 
Slain    by    tlic    bloody    Pieraoutese,   that 

rolled 
Mother  with  infont  down  the  rocks.    Their 

moans 
The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  heaven.      Their  martyi'ed  blood  and 

ashes  sow 
0"er  all  th'  Italian  fields,  where  still  doth 

sway 
The   triple  tyrant;    that    from   these  may 

grow 
A  hundred  fold,  who,  having  learned  thy 

way, 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe. 


OS  HIS  BLINDNESS. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 
Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and 

wide. 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to 

hide 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul 

more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide — 
"Doth   God    exact    day -labor,   light    de- 
nied ?  " 
I  fondly  ask ;  but  patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies  :  "  God  doth  not 

need 
Either  man's  work,  or  Ms  own  gifts  ;  who 

best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best ; 

his  state 
Is  kingly  ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  Speed, 
And  post   o'er  land  and  ocean  without 

rest ; 

They    also    serve  who    only    stand    and 

wait." 

John  Milton. 


ROBIN"  HOOD. 

No  !  those  days  are  gone  away, 
And  their  hours  are  old  and  gray, 
And  their  minutes  buried  all 
Under  the  down-trodden  pall 
Of  the  leaves  of  many  years ; 
Many  times  have  winter's  shears. 
Frozen  north,  and  chilling  east 
Sounded  tempests  to  the  feast. 
Of  the  forest's  whispering  fleeces. 
Since  men  knew  nor  rent  nor  leases. 

No!  the  bugle  sounds  no  more. 
And  the  twanging  bow  no  more ; 
Silent  is  the  ivory  shrill. 
Past  the  heath  and  up  the  hill ; 
There  is  no  mid-forest  laugh, 
Where  lone  Echo  gives  the  half 
To  some  wight  amazed  to  hear, 
Jesting,  deep  in  forest  drear. 

On  the  fairest  time  of  June 
You  may  go,  with  sun  or  moon, 
Or  the  seven  stars,  to  light  you, 
Or  the  polar  ray  to  right  you; 
But  you  never  may  behold 
Little  John,  or  Eobin  bold — 
Never  one,  of  all  the  clan, 
Thrumming  on  an  empty  can 
Some  old  hunting  ditty,  while 
He  doth  his  green  way  beguile 
To  fair  hostess  merriment, 
Down  beside  the  pasture  Trent ; 
For  he  left  the  merry  tale. 
Messenger  for  spicy  ale. 

Gone  the  merry  morris  din  ; 
Gone  the  song  of  Gamelyn  ; 
Gone  the  tough-belted  outlaw, 
Idling  in  the  "grcene  shawe"— 
All  arc  gone  away  and  past ! 
And  if  Eobin  should  be  cast 
Sudden  from  his  tufted  grave. 
And  if  Marian  should  have 
Once  again  her  forest  days. 
She  would  weep,  and  he  would  craze; 
He  would  swear — for  all  his  oaks. 
Fallen  beneath  the  dock-yard  strokes. 


THE     WHITE     ISLAXD. 


G99 


Have  rotted  on  the  briny  seas ; 
She  would  weep  that  her  wild  bees 
Sang  not  to  her — strange !  that  honey 
Can 't  be  got  without  hard  money! 

So  it  is !  yet  let  us  sing 
Honor  to  the  old  bow-string ! 
Honor  to  the  bugle  horn  ! 
Honor  to  the  woods  unshorn  ! 
Honor  to  the  Lincoln  green ! 
Honor  to  the  archer  keen ! 
Honor  to  tight  little  John, 
And  the  horse  he  rode  upon  ! 
Honor  to  bold  Eobin  Hood, 
Sleeping  in  the  underwood  ! 
Honor  to  maid  Marian, 
And  to  all  the  Sherwood  clan  ! 
Though  their  days  have  hurried  by, 
Let  us  two  a  burden  try. 

John  Keats. 


OH !  THE  PLEASANT  DAYS   OF  OLD ! 

On !  the  pleasant  days  of  old,  which  so  often 

people  praise ! 
True,  they  wanted  all  the  luxuries  that  grace 

our  modern  days : 
Bare  floors  were  strewed  with  rushes — the 

walls  let  in  the  cold ; 
Oh !  how  they  must  have  shivered  in  those 

pleasant  days  of  old ! 

Oh !  those  ancient  lords  of  old,  how  magnifi- 
cent they  were  I 

They  threw  down  and  imprisoned  kings — to 
thwart  them  who  might  dare  ? 

They  ruled  their  serfs  right  sternly;  they 
took  from  Jews  their  gold — 

Above  both  law  and  equity  were  those  great 
lords  of  old ! 

Oh!    the  gallant  knights  of  old,   for  their 

valor  so  renowned ! 
With   sword  and  lance,  and  armor  strong, 

they  scoured  the  country  round  ; 
And  whenever  aught  to  tempt  them  they 

met  by  wood  or  wold, 
By  right  of  sword  they  seized  the  prize — 

those  gallant  knights  of  old ! 


Oh!  the  gentle  dames  of  old!   Avho,   quite 

free  from  fear  or  pain, 
Could  gaze  on  joust  and  tournament,  and  see 

their  champions  slain ; 
They  lived  on  good  beefsteaks  and  ale,  which 

made  them  strong  and  bold — 
Oh  !  more  like  men  than  women  were  those 

gentle  dames  of  old ! 

Oh !  those  mighty  towers  of  old !  with  their 
turrets,  moat  and  keep, 

Their  battlements  and  bastions,  their  dun- 
geons dark  and  deep. 

Full  many  a  baron  held  his  court  within  the 
castle  hold ; 

And  many  a  captive  languished  there,  in 
those  strong  towers  of  old. 

Oh !  the  troubadours  of  old !  with  their  gen- 
tle minstrelsie 

Of  hope  and  joy,  or  deep  despair,  whiclie'er 
their  lot  might  be — 

For  years  they  served  then*  ladye-love  ere 
they  their  passions  told— 

Oh !  wondrous  patience  must  have  had  those 
troubadours  of  old! 

Oh !  those  ble&sed  times  of  old !  with  their 

chivalry  and  state ; 
I  love  to  read  their  chronicles,  which  such 

brave  deeds  relate ; 
I  love  to  sing  their  ancient  rhymes,  to  hear 

their  legends  told — 

But,  heaven  be  thanked !  I  live  not  in  those 

blessed  times  of  old  ! 

Frances  Beown. 


THE  WHITE  ISLAND ; 

OR,      PLACE      OF      THE      BLEST. 

Ix  this  world,  the  isle  of  dreams, 
While  we  sit  by  sorrow's  streams, 
Tears  and  terrors  are  our  themes, 

Eeciting-, 
But  when  once  from  lience  wc  flie, 
More  and  more  approaching  nigh 
Unto  young  etcrnitie. 

Uniting 


100 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Ill  that  whiter  island,  where 
Things  are  evermore  sincere — 
Candor  here  and  histre  there 

Delighting. 
There  no  monstrous  fancies  shall 
Out  of  hell  an  horror  call, 
To  create,  or  cause  at  all, 

Affrighting ; 
There  in  calm  and  cooling  sleep 
We  our  eyes  shall  never  steep. 
But  eternal  watch  shall  keep, 

Attending 
Pleasures,  such  as  shall  pursue 
Me  immortalized,  and  you — 
And  fresh  joys,  as  never  to 


Have  ending. 


Egbert  Heeeick. 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY. 


It  was  a  valley  filled  with  sweetest  sounds ; 

A  languid  music  haunted  everywhere — 
Like  that  with  which  a  summer  eve  abounds, 
From  rustling  corn,  and  song-birds  calling 
clear 
Down  sloping  uplands,  which  some  wood  sur- 
rounds, 
With  tinkling  rills  just  heard,  but  not  too 
near; 
And  low  of  cattle  on  the  distant  plain, 
And  peal  of  far-off  bells — now  caught,  then 
lost  again. 


II. 

It  seemed  like  Eden's  angel-peopled  vale. 
So  bright  the  sky,  so  soft  the  streams  did 
flow; 
Such  tones  came  riding  on  the  musk-winged 
gale 
The  very  air  seemed  sleepily  to  blow ; 
And  choicest  flowers  enamelled  every  dale. 
Flushed  with  the  richest  sunlight's  rosy 
glow : 
It  was  a  valley  drowsy  with  delight — 
Such  fragrance  floated  round,  such  beauty 
dimmed  the  sight. 


III. 


The  golden-belted  bees  hummed  ir  the  air ; 
The   tall    silk   grasses    bent   and   waved 
along ; 
The  trees  slept  in  the  steeping  sunbeam's 
glare ; 
The  dreamy  river  chimed  its  undersong, 
And  took   its  own  free  course  without  a 
care; 
Amid  the  boughs   did  lute-tonged  song- 
sters throng, 
And  the  green  valley  throbbed  beneath  their 

lays, 
Which  echo  echo  chased  through  many  a 
leafy  maze. 

IV. 

And  shapes  were  there,  like  spirits  of  the 

flowers, 
Sent  down  to  see  the  summer  beauties 

dress. 
And  feed  their  fragrant  mouths  with  silver 

showers ; 
Their  eyes  peeped  out  from  many  a  green 

recess, 
And  their  fair  forms  made  light  the  thick-set 

bowers ; 
The  very  flowers  seemed  eager  to  caress 
Such  living  sisters;   and  the  boughs,  long- 
leaved. 
Clustered  to  catch  the  sighs  their  pearl-flushed 

bosoms  heaved. 


One  through  her  long  loose  hair  was  back- 
ward peeping, 
Or  throwing,  with  raised  arm,  the  locks 
aside ; 

Another  high  a  pile  of  flowers  was  heaping. 
Or  looking  love-askance,  and,  when  de- 
scried. 

Her  coy  glance  on  the  bedded  greensward 
keeping ; 
She  pulled  the  flowers  to  pieces,  as  she 
sighed — 

Then  blushed,  like  timid  daybreak,  Avhen  the 
dawn 

Looks  crimson  on  the  night,  and  then  again  'a 
withdrawn. 


ARRANMORE. 


-701 


TI. 

One,  with  her  warm  and  milk-white  arms 
outspread, 
On  tip-toe  tripped  along  a  sun-lit  glade — 
Half  turned  the  matchless  sculpture  of  her 
head, 
And  half  shook  down  her  silken  circling 
braid. 
She  seemed  to  float  on  air,  so  Hght  she  sped ; 
IJer  back-blown  scarf  an  arched  rainbow 
made; 
She  skimmed  the  wavy  flowers,  as  she  passed 

by, 

With  fair  and  printless  feet,  like  clouds  along 
the  sky, 

TII. 

One  sat  alone  within  a  shady  nook, 

With  wild-wood  songs  the  lazy  hours  be- 
guiling ; 
Or  looking  at  her  shadow  in  the  brook, 
Trying  to  frown — then  at  the  effort  smil- 
ing; 
Her  laughing  eyes   mocked   every  serious 
look; 
'T  was  as  if  Love  stood  at  himself  reviling, 
She  threw  in  flowers,  and  Avatched   them 

float  away ; 
Then  at  her  beauty  looked,   then  sang  a 
sweeter  lay. 

vni. 

Others  on  beds  of  roses  lay  reclined. 
The  regal  flowers  athwart  their  full  lips 
thrown, 
And  in  one  fragrance  both  their  sweets  com- 
bined. 
As  if    they  on  the  self-same   stem  had 

grown — 
So  close  were  rose  and  lip  together  twined, 
A  double  flower  that  from  one  bud  had 

blown ; 
Till  none  could  tell,  so  sweetly  were  they 

blended,  ♦ 

Where  swelled  the  cm-ving  lip,  or  where  the 

rose-bloom  ended. 

IX. 

One,  half  asleep,  crushing  the  twined  flowers, 
Upon  a  velvet  slope  like  Dian  lay — 

Still  as  a  lark  that  'mid  the  daisies  cowers ; 
Her  looped-up  tunic,  tossed  in  disarray. 


Showed  rounded  limbs  too  fair  for  earthly 

bowers ; 
They  looked  hke  roses  on  a  cloudy  day, 
The  warm   white  dulled  amid    the   colder 

green — 
The  flowers  too  rough  a  couch  that  lovely 

shape  to  screen. 


Some  lay  like  Thetis'  nymphs    along    the 
shore, 
With    ocean-pearl   combing  their  golden 
locks. 
And  singing  to  the  waves  for  evermore — 
Sinking,  like  flowers  at  eve,  beside  the 
rocks. 
If  but  a  sound  above  the  muffled  roar 
Of  the  low  waves  was  heard.    In  little 
flocks 
Others  went  trooping  through  the  wooded 

alleys. 
Their  kirtles  glancing  white,  like  streams  in 
sunny  valleys. 


XI. 

They  were  such   forms   as,   imaged  in  the 

night, 

Sail  in  our  dreams  aci-oss  the  heaven's 

steep  blue, 

When  the  closed  lid  sees  visions  streaming 

bright. 

Too  beautiful  to  meet  the  naked  view — 

Like  faces  formed  in  clouds  of  silver  light.. 

Women  they  were!   such  as  the  angels 

knew — 

Such  as  the  mammoth  looked  on  ere  he  fled, 

Scared  by  the  lovers'  wings  that  streamed  m 

sunset  red. 

Thomas  Mii-leb. 


ARRANMORE. 

O  Aeranmore,  loved  Arranniore, 

How  oft  I  dream  of  thee ! 
And  of  those  days  when  by  thy  shore 

I  wandered  young  and  free. 
Full  many  a  path  I  've  tried  since  then, 

Tlirough  pleasure's  flowery  maze, 
But  ne'er  could  find  the  bliss  again 

I  felt  in  those  sweet  days. 


702                       rOEMS     OF     SENTIMENT    AND     IlEFLECTION. 

How  blitlie  upon  the  breezy  cliffs 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

At  sunny  morn  IVo  stood, 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that ; 

Witli  lieart  ns  boundinix  as  the  skiffs 

The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  Avorth, 

That  danced  along  the  flood ! 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Or  when  the  western  wave  grew  bright 

With  daylight's  parting  wing, 

Ihen  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

ITave  sought  that  Eden  in  its  light 
Which  dreaming  poets  sing — 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 
May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that. 

That  Eden  where  th'  immortal  brave 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Dwell  in  a  land  serene — 

It 's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that — 

Wliosc  bowers  beyond  the  shining  wave, 

When  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

At  sunset,  oft  are  seen  ; 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 

Ah  dream,  too  full  of  saddening  truth  ! 

EOBEKT  BUBKS. 

Those  mansions  o'er  the  main 
Are  like  the  hopes  I  built  in  youth — 

As  sunny  and  as  vain  ! 

"  CONTEMPLATE  ALL  THIS  WORK." 

Thomas  Mooee. 

Contemplate  all  this  work  of  time, 
The  giant  laboring  in  his  youth  ; 

HONEST  POVERTY. 

Nor  dream  of  human  love  and  truth 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty 

As  dying  nature's  earth  and  lime  ; 

Wha  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that  ? 
The  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by ; 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 
Our  toils  obscure,  and  a'  that ; 

But  trust  that  those  we  call  the  dead 
Are  breathers  of  an  ampler  day 
For  ever  nobler  ends.     They  say 

The  solid  earth  whereon  we  tread 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp — 

In  tracts  of  fluent  heat  began. 

The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

And  grew  to  seeming  random  forms, 

The  seeming  prey  of  cyclic  storms, 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine. 
Wear  hodden  grey,  and  a'  that ; 

Till  at  the  last  arose  the  man — 

Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine — 

Who  throve  and  branched  from  clkne  to  clime, 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that. 

The  herald  of  a  higher  race, 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

And  of  himself  in  higher  place, 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that ; 

If  so  he  types  this  work  of  time 

The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor. 

Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that 

Within  himself,  from  more  to  more  ; 

And  crowned  Avith  attributes  of  woe 

You  see  yon  birkie  ca'd  a  lord. 

Like  glories,  move  his  course,  and  show 

Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that — 

That  life  is  not  an  idle  ore. 

Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 

He  's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that ; 

But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears. 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that ; 

And  dipped  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 

The  man  of  independent  mind, 

And  battered  with  the  shocks  of  doom 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

To  shape  and  use.     Arise  and  fly 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 

The  reeling  foun,  the  sensual  feast ! 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 

Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 

But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might — 

And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die ! 

Guid  faith,  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 

Alfeed  Tennyson. 

IF     THAT    WERE     TRUE. 


703 


IS  IT  COME  ? 

Is  it  come  ?  they  said,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile, 
Who  looked  for  the  world's  long-promised 
day, 
And  saw  but  the  strife  of  Egypt's  toil. 

With  the  desert's  sand  and  the  granite  gray. 
From  the  pyi-amid,  temple,   and  treasured 
dead. 
We  vainly  ask  for  her  wisdom's  plan ; 
They  tell  us  of  the  tyrant's  dread — 
Yet  there  was  hope  when  that  day  began. 

The  Chaldee  came,  with  his  starry  lore, 

And  built  up  Babj'lon's  crown  and  creed ; 
And  bricks  were  stamped  on  the  Tigris  shore 

With  signs  which  our  sages  scarce  can  read. 
From  Ninus'  temple,  and  Nimrod's  tower. 

The  rule  of  the  old  east's  empire  spread 
Unreasoning  faith  and  unquestioned  power — 

But  still,  Is  it  come  ?  the  watcher  said. 

The  light  of  the  Persian's  worshipped  flame. 

The  ancient  bondage  its  splendor  threw  ; 
And  once,  on  the  west  a  sunrise  came, 

When  Greece  to  her  freedom's  trust  was 
true ; 
With  dreams  to  the  utmost  ages  dear, 

With  human  gods,  and  with  god-like  men. 
No  marvel  the  far-oft'  day  seemed  near. 

To  eyes  that  looked  through  her  laurels  then. 

The  Romans  conquered,  and  revelled  too. 

Till  honor,  and  faith,  and  power,  were  gone ; 
And  deeper  old  Europe's  darkness  grew. 

As,  wave  after  wave,  the  Goth  came  on. 
The  gown  was  learning,  the  sword  was  law  ; 

The  people  served  in  the  oxen's  stead ; 
Bat  ever  some  gleam  the  watcher  saw, 

And  evermore,  Is  it  come  ?  they  said. 

Poet  and  seer  that  question  caught, 

Above  the  din  of  life's  fears  and  frets ; 
It  marched  with  letters,  it  toiled  with  thought. 

Through   schools    and    creeds  which  the 
earth  forgets. 
And  statesmen  trifle,  and  priests  deceive. 

And  traders  barter  car  world  away — 
Yet  hearts  to  that  golden  promise  cleave, 

And  still,  at  times,  Is  it  come  ?  they  say. 


The  days  of  the  nations  bear  no  trace 

Of  all  the  sunshine  so  far  foretold ; 
The  cannon  speaks  in  the  teacher's  place — 

The  age  is  weary  with  work  and  gold  ; 
And  high  hopes  wither,  and  memories  wane; 

On  hearths  and  altars  the  fires  are  dead ; 
But  that  brave  faith  hath  not  lived  in  vain— 

And  this  is  all  that  our  watcher  said. 

FkANCES  BEO'WTf. 


IF  THAT  WERE  TRUE  ! 

'T  IS  long  ago, — we  have  toiled  and  traded. 
Have  lost  and  fretted,  have  gained  and  grieved, 
Since  last  the  light  of  that  fond  faith  faded ; 
But,  friends — in  its  day — what  we  believed ! 
The  poets'  dreams  and  the  peasants'  stories— 
Oh,  never  will  time  that  trust  renew  ! 
Yet  they  were  old  on  the  earth  before  us. 
And  lovely  tales, — had  they  been  true ! 

Some  spake  of  homes  in  the  greenwood  hid 

den, 
Where  age  was  fearless  and  youth  was  free— 
Wliere  none  at  life's  board  seemed  guest? 

unbidden. 
But  men  had  years  like  the  forest  ti-ee : 
Goodly  and  fair  and  full  of  summer, 
As  lives  went  by  when  the  world  was  new, 
Ere  ever  the  angel  steps  passed  from  her, — 
Oh,  dreamers  and  bards,  if  that  were  true ! 

Some  told  us  of  a  stainless  standard — 
Of  hearts  that  only  in  death  grew  cold, 
Whose  march  was  ever  in  freedom's  van 

guard. 
And  not  to  be  stayed  by  steel  or  gold. 
The  world  to  their  very  graves  was  debtor— 
The  tears  of  her  love  fell  there  like  dew ; 
But  there  had  been  neither  slave  nor  fetter 
This  day  in  her  realms,  had  that  been  true ! 

Our  hope  grew  strong  as  the  giant-slayer. 
They  told  that  life  was  an  honest  game, 
AVhere  fortune  favored  the  fairest  player, 
And  only  the  false  found  loss  and  blame- 
That  men  were  honored  for  gifts  and  graces, 
And  not  for  the  prizes  folly  drew  ; 
But  there  would  be  many  a  change  of  places, 
In  hovel  and  hall,  if  that  were  true! 


704 


rOEMS     OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Some  said  to  our  silent  souls,  What  fear  ye  ? 
And  talked  of  a  love  not  based  on  clay — 
Of  faith  that  would  neither  wane  nor  weary, 
"With  all  the  dust  of  the  pilgrim's  day; 
Tliey  said  that  fortune  and  time  were  changers, 
But  not  by  their  tides  such  friendship  grew ; 
Oh,  we  had  never  been  trustless  strangers 
Among  our  people,  if  that  were  true ! 

And  yet  since  the  fairy  time  hath  perished, 
With  all  its  freshness,  from  hills  aud  hearts. 
The  last  of  its  love,  so  vainly  cherished, 
Is  not  for  these  days  of  schools  and  marts. 
Up,  up !  for  the  heavens  still  circle  o'er  us ; 
There 's  wealth  to  win  aud  there 's  work  to  do. 
There 's  a  sky  above,  and  a  grave  before  us — 
And,  brothers,  beyond  them  all  is  true ! 

Feances  Beown. 


THE  WORLD. 

'T  IS  all  a  great  show. 

The  world  that  we  're  in — 
Kone  can  tell  when  't  was  finished, 

None  saw  it  begin ; 
Men  wander  and  gaze  through 

Its  courts  and  its  halls, 
Like  children  whose  love  is 

The  picture-hung  walls. 

There  are  flowers  in  the  meadow, 

There  are  clouds  in  the  sky — 
Songs  pour  from  the  woodland, 

The  waters  glide  by; 
Too  many,  too  many 

For  eye  or  for  ear, 
The  sights  that  we  see. 

And  the  sounds  that  we  hear. 

A  weight  as  of  slumber 

Comes  down  on  the  mind  ; 
So  swift  is  life's  train 

To  its  objects  we  're  blind ; 
I  myself  am  but  one 

In  the  fleet-gliding  show — 
Like  others  I  walk. 

But  know  not  where  I  go. 

One  saint  to  another 
I  heard  say  "  How  long  ?  " 

I  listened,  but  naught  more 
I  heard  of  his  song ; 


The  shadows  are  walking 
Through  city  and  plain — 

How  long  shall  the  night 
And  its  shadow  remain  ? 

IIow  long  ere  shall  shine, 

In  this  glimmer  of  things. 
The  light  of  which  prophet 

In  prophecy  sings  ? 
And  the  gates  of  that  city 

Be  open,  whose  sun 
No  more  to  the  west 

Its  circuit  shall  run ! 


Jones  Yeky. 


BE  PATIENT. 

Be  patient!  oh,  be  patient!     Put  your  ear 

against  the  earth ; 
Listen  there  how  noiselessly  the  germ  o'  the 

seed  has  birth — 
How  noiselessly  and  gently  it  upheaves  its 

little  way. 
Till  it  parts  the  scarcely  broken  ground,  and 

the  blade  stands  up  in  the  day. 

Be  patient!  oh,  be  patient!     The  germs  of 

mighty  thought 
Must  have  their  silent  imdergrowth,  must 

underground  be  wrought ; 
But  as  sure  as  there  's  a  power  that  makes 

the  grass  appear. 
Our  land  shall   be  green  with  liberty,  the 

blade-time  shall  be  here. 

Be  patient !  oh,  be  patient ! — go  and  watcl 

the  wheat  ears  grow — 
So  imperceptibly  that  ye  can  mark  nor  change 

nor  throe — 
Day  after  day,  day  after  day,  tiU  the  ear  is 

fully  grown. 
And  then  again  day  after  day,  tiU  the  ripenecl 

field  is  brown. 

Be  patient !  oh,  be  patient !— though  yet  our 
hopes  are  green, 

The  harvest  fields  of  freedom  shall  be  crown- 
ed with  sunny  sheen. 

Be  ripening!  be  ripening! — mature  your  si- 
lent way, 

Till  the  whole  broad  land  is  tongued  with 
fire  on  freedom's  harvest  day ! 

Anontmous. 


EACH    AND    ALL. 


THERE  BE  THOSE. 

There  be  those  who  sow  beside 
The  waters  that  in  silence  glide, 
Trusting  no  echo  will  declare 
Whose  footsteps  ever  wandered  there. 

The  noiseless  footsteps  pass  away, 
The  stream  flows  on  as  yesterday ; 
Nor  can  it  for  a  time  be  seen 
A  benefactor  there  had  been. 

Yet  think  not  that  the  seed  is  dead 
Which  in  the  lonely  place  is  spread ; 
It  lives,  it  lives — the  spring  is  nigh. 
And  soon  its  life  shall  testify. 

That  silent  stream,  that  desert  ground. 
No  more  unlovely  shall  be  found ; 
But  scattered  flowers  of  simplest  grace 
Shall  spread  their  beauty  round  the  place. 

And  soon  or  late  a  time  will  come 
When  witnesses,  that  now  are  dumb, 
With  grateful  eloquence  shall  tell 
From  whom  the  seed,  there  scattered,  fell. 

Beenaed  Babton. 


EACH  AND  ALL. 

Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked 

clown 
Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down ; 
The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 
Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm ; 
The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 
Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 
Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 
Whilst  his  files   sweep  round    yon  Alpine 

height ; 
Nor  knowest  thou  Avhat  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 
All  are  needed  by  each  one — 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 
93 


I  thought  the  spari'ow's  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough ; 
I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even. 
He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  now ; 
For  I  did  not  bring  home   the  river  and 

sky: 
He  sang  to  my  ear — they  sang  to  my  eye. 

The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore ; 
The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 
Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave, 
And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 
Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 
I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam — 
I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home ; 
But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 
Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore. 
With  the  sun,  and  the  sand,  and  the  wild  up- 
roar. 

The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 

As  'mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed ; 

Nor  knew  her  beauty's  best  attire 

Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 

At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage. 

Like  the   bird  from  the  woodlands  to   the 

cage ; 
The  gay  enchantment  was  undone — 
A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 

Then  I  said,  "I  covet  truth; 

Beauty  is  unripe  childliood's  cheat — 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth." 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 

The  ground-i)ine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 

Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs ; 

I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath ; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs ; 

Fine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 

Full  of  light  and  of  deity ; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

Tlio  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird; 

Beauty  througli  my  senses  stole — 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 

Eaipu  Waldo  Emeimon. 


706 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


THE  LOST  CHURCH. 

In  yonder  dim  and  pathless  wood 

Strange  sounds  are  heard  at  twilight  hour, 
And  peals  of  solemn  music  swell 

As  from  some  minster's  lofty  tower. 
From  age  to  age  those  sounds  are  heard, 

Borne  on  the  hreeze  at  twilight  hour — 
From  age  to  age  no  foot  hath  found 

A  pathway  to  the  minster's  tower ! 

Late,  wandering  in  that  ancient  wood. 

As  onward  through  the  gloom  I  trod. 
From  all  the  woes  and  wrongs  of  earth 

My  soul  ascended  to  its  God. 
TVhen  lo !  in  the  hushed  wilderness 

I  heard,  far  off,  that  solemn  bell : 
Still,  heavenward  as  my  spirit  soared, 

"Wilder  and  sweeter  rang  the  knell. 

TTlule  thus  in  holy  musings  wrapt. 

My  mind  from  outward  sense  withdrawn. 
Some  power  had  caught  me  from  the  earth. 

And  far  into  the  heavens  upborne. 
Methought  a  hundred  years  had  passed 

In  mystic  visions  as  I  lay — 
When  suddenly  the  parting  clouds 

Seemed  opening  wide,  and  far  away. 

No  midday  sun  its  glory  shed. 

The  stars  were  shrouded  from  my  sight ; 
Audio!  majestic  o'er  my  head, 

A  minster  shone  in  solemn  light. 
High  through  the  lurid  heavens  it  seemed 

Aloft  on  cloudy  wings  to  rise, 
Till  all  its  pointed  turrets  gleamed. 

Far  flaming,  through  the  vaulted  skies ! 

The  beU  with, full  resounding  peal 

Rang  booming  through  the  rocking  tower; 
iSTo  hand  had  stirred  its  iron  tongue. 

Slow  swaying  to  the  storm-wind's  power. 
My  bosom  beating  like  a  bark 

Dashed  by  the  surging  ocean's  foam, 
I  trod  with  faltering,  fearful  joy 

The  naazes  of  the  mighty  dome. 

A  soft  light  through  the  oriel  streamed 
Like  summer  moonlight's  golden  gloom. 

Far  through  the  dusky  arches  gleamed, 
And  filled  with  glory  all  the  room. 


Pale  sculptures  of  the  sainted  dead 
Seemed  waking  from  their  icy  thrall ; 

And  many  a  glory-circled  head 
Smiled  sadly  from  the  storied  wall. 

Low  at  the  altar's  foot  I  knelt, 

Transfixed  with  awe,  and  dumb  with  dread ; 
For,  blazoned  on  the  vaulted  roof, 

"Were  heaven's  fiercest  glories  spread. 
Yet  when  I  raised  my  eyCs  once  more. 

The  vaulted  roof  itself  was  gone — 
"Wide  open  was  heaven's  lofty  door, 

And  every  cloudy  veU  withdrawn ! 

"What  visions  burst  upon  my  soul, 

"What  joys  unutterable  there 
In  waves  on  waves  for  ever  roll 

Like  music  through  the  pulseless  air — 
These  never  mortal  tongue  may  tell : 

Let  him  who  fain  would  prove  their  power 
Pause  when  he  hears  that  solemn  knell 

Float  on  the  breeze  at  twilight  hour. 

Ltjdwig  Uhland.  (German). 
Paraplirase  of  Sakah  Helen  'Whitmak. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE. 

I  WENT  to  the  garden  of  love, 
And  saw  what  I  never  had  seen ; 
A  chapel  was  built  in  the  midst, 
Where  I  used  to  play  on  the  green. 

And  the  gate  of  this  chapel  was  shut, 
And  "  thou  shalt  not "  writ  over  the  door ; 
So  I  turned  to  the  garden  of  love, 
That  so  many  sweet  flowers  bore. 

And  I  saw  it  was  filled  with  graves. 

And  tomb-stones  where  flowers  should  be ; 

And  priests  in  black  gowns  were  walking 

their  rounds. 
And  binding  with  briars  my  joys  and  de- 


su'es. 


William  Blake. 


THE    COTTER'S    SATURDAY    XIGHT. 


707 


THE  proble:^:. 

I  LIKE  a  church ;  I  like  a  cowl — 
I  love  a  prophet  of  the  soul ; 
And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 
Fall  like  sweet  strains,  or  pensive  smiles ; 
Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see, 
Would  I  that  coAvled  churchman  be. 
Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure 
Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure  ? 

Xot  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 

His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought ; 

Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 

The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle ; 

Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 

The  burdens  of  the  bible  old; 

The  litanies  of  nations  came. 

Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 

Up  from  the  burning  core  below — 

The  canticles  of  love  and  woe ; 

The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome. 

And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 

"Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity ; 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free ; 

He  builded  better  than  he  knew — 

The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 

Know'st  thou  what  wove  yon  woodbird's 

nest 
Of  leaves,  and  feathers  from  her  breast  ? 
Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell. 
Painting  with  morn  each  annual  cell  ? 
Or  how  the  sacred  [Hue-tree  adds 
To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads  ? 
Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles, 
Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 
Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon, 
As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone ; 
And  morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids 
To  gaze  upon  the  pyramids ; 
O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky. 
As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye: 
For  out  of  thought's  interior  sphere 
These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air; 
And  nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 
Adopted  them  into  her  race, 
And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 


These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass — 

Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned ; 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within. 

Ever  the  fiery  Pentecost 

Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 

Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  choirs. 

And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 

Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken ; 

The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told, 

In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold. 

Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind. 

Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind. 

One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 

I  know  what  say  the  fathers  wise — 

The  book  itself  before  me  lies — 

Old  Chrysostom,  best  Augustine, 

And  he  who  blent  both  in  his  line. 

The  younger  golden  lips  or  mines — 

Taylor,  the  Shakespeare  of  divines ; 

His  words  are  music  in  my  ear — 

I  see  his  cowled  portrait  dear ; 

And  yet,  for  all  his  faith  could  see, 

I  would  not  the  good  bishop  be. 

Ealpu  Waldo  Emerson. 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  XIGHT. 

Lot  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys  and  destinj'  obscure  ; 

Nor  grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile. 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

Gray. 

My    loved,    my    honored,    much -respected 
friend ! 
No  mercenary  bard  his  homage  pays  ; 
With  honest  pride  I  scorn  each  selfish  end, 
My  dearest  meed  a  friend's  esteem  and 
praise. 
To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays. 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequestered  scene ; 

The    native    feelings    strong,    the    guileless 

ways— 

What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been ; 

Ah !  tho'  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier 

there,  I  ween. 


ros 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


November  cliill  blaws  loud  wP  angry  sugh ; 
The  sliort'ning  winter  day  is  near  a  close  ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  plough, 
The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws  to  their  re- 
pose. 
The  toil-worn  cotter  frae  his  labor  goes — 

This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end — 
Collects  his  spades,   his  mattocks,  and  his 
hoes, 
Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend  ; 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does 
hameward  bend. 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view. 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree  ; 
Th'  expectant  wee  things,  todlin,  stacher  thro' 
To  meet  their  dad  wi'  flichterin  noise  and 
glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle  blinkin'  bonnilie. 
His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thriftie  wifie's 
smile. 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 
Does  a'  his  weary,  carking  cares  beguile. 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  and 
his  toil. 

Belyve  the  elder  bairns  come  drappin'  in — 
At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie 
rin 
A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  town. 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman  grown, 
In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her 
ee, 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  braw  new 
gown. 
Or  deposite  her  sair-won  penny  fee. 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hard- 
ship be. 

Wi'  joy  unfeigned,  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 

An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers ; 
The    social  hours,    swift-winged,   unnoticed 
fleet; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears ; 
The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years — 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  sheers, 

Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel  's  the 
new; 

The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due  : 


Their   masters'    aad    their   mistresses'  com 
mand 

The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey, 
An'  mind  their  labours  wi'  an  eydent  hand. 

An'  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play 
An'  oh !  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway ! 

An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night  I 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray. 

Implore  his  counsel  and  assisting  might : 

They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the 
Lord  aright ! 

But  hark !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door ; 

Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 

Sparkle  in  Jenny's  ee,  and  flush  her  cheek ; 
Wi'  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his 
name. 

While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak ; 

WeeT  pleased  the  mother  hears  it's  nae 
wild,  worthless  rake. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome,  Jenny  brings  him  ben— 
A  strappan  youth,  he  taks  the  mother's 
eye; 
Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit 's  no  ill  ta'en ; 
The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and 
kye; 
The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi' joy, 
But  blate  and  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  be- 
have; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy 
What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  and  sae 

grave — 
Weel  pleased  to  think  her  bairn 's  respected 
like  the  lave. 

0  happy  love !  where  love  like  this  is  found ! 
O  heart-felt  raptui-es !  bliss  beyond  com- 
pare ! 

1  've  paced  much  this  weary  mortal  round, 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare — 
If   heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure 
spare. 
One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 
'T  is  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair. 
In  other's  arras  breathe  out  the  tender  tale, 
Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents 
the  evening  gale. 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  XIGHT. 


•709 


Is  there,  in  human  form  that  bears  a  heart, 

A  wretch,  a  villain,  lost  to  love  and  truth, 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth  ? 
Curse    on    his    perjured    arts!    dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiled  ? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth, 
Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their 

child- 
Then  paints  the  ruined  maid,  and  their  dis- 
traction wild  ? 


But  now  the   supper  crowns  their   simple 
board : 
The  halesome  parritch,   chief  o'  Scotia's 
food; 
The  soup  their  only  hawkie  does  afford. 
That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her 
cud; 
The  dame  brings  forth,  in  complimental  mood. 
To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hained  kebbuck 
fell, 
An'  aft  he 's  pressed,  and  aft  he  ca's  it  good ; 
The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell 
How  't  was  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was 
i'  the  bell. 


The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace. 

The  big  ha'-bible,  ance  his  father's  pride : 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside. 

His  lyart  haffets  wearin'  thin  and  bare ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion 
glide 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care ; 

And  "Let  us  worship  God !  "  he  says  with 
solemn  air. 


They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest 

aim ; 

Perhaps  Dundee's  wild,  warbling  measures 

pise. 

Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  o'  the  name ; 

Or  noble  Elgin  beets  the  heavenward  flame — 

The  sweetest  far  o'  Scotia's  holy  lays ; 
Compared  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame ; 


The    tickled    ears  no  heart-felt  raptures 

raise — 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's 

praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page  : 
How  Abraham  was  the  friend  of  God  on 
high; 
Or  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny  ; 
Or  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 
Beneath  the  stroke  of   heaven's  avenging 
ire; 
Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry  ; 
Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  fire ; 
Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred 
lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme  : 
How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was 
shed ; 
How    he,  who  bore  in    heaven  the  second 
name, 
Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  his  head ; 
How  his  first  followers  and  servants  sped — 
The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a 
land ; 
How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished. 
Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand. 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounced 
by  heaven's  command. 

Then  kneeling  down  to  heaven's  eternal  king, 
The  saint,  the  father,   and  the  husband 
prays : 

Hope  "  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing  " 
That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  daj's ; 

Thei'e  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays. 
No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear — 

Together  hymning  their  creator's  praise. 
In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear, 
While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an 
eternal  sphere. 

Compared  with  this,  how  poor  religion's  pride, 
In  all  the  pomp  of  method  and  of  art, 

When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 
Devotion's  every  grace  except  the  heart ! 

The  power,  incensed,  the  pageant  will  desert, 
The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole  ; 

Bat  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 


710 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


May  hear,  "svell  pleased,  the  language  of  the 

soul, 
Aud  iu    his  book  of  life  the  iumates  poor 

enroll. 

Tlien  homeward  all  take  oflf  their  sev'ral  way  ; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest ; 
The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  profter  up  to   heaven  the  warm  re- 
quest 
Tliat  he  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest, 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowery  pride, 
"Would,  in  the  way  his  wisdom  sees  the  best, 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide — 

But  chiefly  in  tlieir  hearts  with  grace  di- 
vine preside. 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur 
springs, 
That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered 
abroad. 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings — 
"An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of 
God;" 
And,  certes,  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road. 
The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind. 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load. 
Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  re- 
fined! 

O  Scotia !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  heaven  is 
sent ! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 
Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet 
content ! 
And,  oh !  may  heaven  their  simple  lives  pre- 
vent 
From  luxury's  contagion  weak  and  vile  ! 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 
A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while. 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much- 
loved  isle. 

O  thou !  who  poured  the  patriotic  tide 
That  streamed  through  Wallace's  undaunted 
heart — 

Who  dared  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride. 
Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part — 


(The  patriot's  God  peculiarly   thou  art — 
His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward  I^ 

Oh  never,  never  Scotia  s  realm  desert ; 
But  still  the  patriot  and  the  patriot  bard 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament 
and  guard ! 

EOBERT    BURSS. 


HALLOAVED  GROUND. 

What  's  hallowed  ground  ?     Has  earth  a  clod 
Its  maker  meant  not  should  be  trod 
By  man,  the  image  of  his  God 

Erect  and  free, 
Unscourged  by  superstition's  rod 

To  bow  the  knee  ? 

That 's  hallowed  ground  where,  mourned  and 

missed, 
The  lips  repose  our  love  has  kissed : — 
But  where  's  their  memory's  mansion?    Is't 

Yon  churchyard 's  bowers  ? 
ISTo !  in  ourselves  their  souls  exist, 

A  part  of  ours. 

A  kiss  can  consecrate  the  ground 
Where  mated  hearts  are  mutual  bound ; 
The  spot  where  love's  first  links  were  wound, 

That  ne'er  are  riven, 
Is  hallowed,  down  to  earth's  profound, 

And  up  to  heaven ! 

For  time  makes  all  but  true  love  old ; 
The  burning  thoughts  that  then  were  told 
Run  molten  still  in  memory's  mould ; 

And  will  not  cool 
Until  the  heart  itself  be  cold 

In  Lethe's  pool. 

What  hallows  ground  wliere  heroes  sleep  ? 
'Tis  not  the  sculptured  piles  you  heap! — 
In  dews  that  lieavens  far  distant  weep 

Their  turf  may  bloom, 
Or  genii  twine  beneath  the  deep 

Their  coral  tomb. 

But  strew  his  ashes  to  the  wind 

Whose  sword  or  voice  has  served  mankind — 


THE    HAPPY    LIFE. 


Ill 


And  is  Le  dead  whose  glorious  mind 

Lifts  thine  on  high  ?  — 
To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind 

Is  not  to  die. 

Is't  death  to  fall  for  freedom's  right? 
lie 's  dead  alone  that  lacks  her  light ! 
And  murder  sullies  in  heaven's  sight 

The  sword  he  draws : — 
"What  can  alone  ennoble  fight? 

A  noble  cause ! 

Give  that !  and  welcome  war  to  brace 

Her  drums,  and  rend  heaven's  reeking  space ! 

The  colors  planted  face  to  face, 

The  charging  cheer, 
Though  death  's  pale  horse  lead  on  the  chase, 

Shall  still  be  dear. 

And  place  our  trophies  where  men  kneel 
To  heaven ! — But  heaven  rebukes  my  zeal. 
The  cause  of  truth  and  human  weal, 

O  God  above ! 
Transfer  it  from  the  sword's  appeal 

To  peace  and  love. 

Peace  !  love ! — the  cherubim  that  join 
Their  spread  wings  o'er  devotion's  shrine ! 
Prayers  sound  in  vain,  and  temples  shine, 

Where  they  are  not ; 
The  heart  alone  can  make  divine 

Religion's  spot. 

To  incantations  dost  thou  trust, 
And  pompous  rites  in  domes  august? 
See  mouldering  stones  and  metal's  rust 

Belie  the  vaunt. 
That  men  can  bless  one  pile  of  dust 

With  chime  or  chaunt. 

The  ticking  wood- worm  mocks  thee,  man ! 

Thy  temples — creeds  themselves  grow  wan ! 

But  there 's  a  dome  of  nobler  span, 
A  temple  given 

Thy  faith,  that  bigots  dare  not  ban- 
Its  space  is  heaven ! 

Its  roof  star-pictured   nature's  ceiling. 
Where,  trancing  the  rapt  spirit's  feeling, 
And  God  himself  to  man  revealing. 

The  harmonious  spheres 
Made  music,  though  unheard  their  pealing 

By  mortal  ears. 


Fair  stars !  arc  not  your  beings  pure  ? 
Can  sin,  can  death,  your  worlds  obscure  ? 
Else  why  so  swell  the  thoughts  at  your 

Aspect  above  ? 
Ye  must  be  heavens  that  make  us  surs 

Of  heavenly  love ! 

And  in  your  harmony  sublime 
I  read  the  doom  of  distant  time : 
That  man's  regenerate  soul  from  crime 

Shall  yet  be  drawn. 
And  reason,  on  his  mortal  clime. 

Immortal  dawn. 

What's  hallowed  ground?     'T  is  what  gives 

birth 
To  sacred  thoughts  in  souls  of  worth ! — 
Peace !  independence !    truth !  go  forth. 

Earth's  compass  round ; 
And  your  high  priesthood  shall  make  earth 


All  hallowed  gi-ound ! 


Thomas  Campbelu 


TIIE  HAPPY  LIFE. 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  wiU — 
Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are. 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death — 
Untied  unto  the  worldly  care 
Of  public  fame  or  private  breath ! 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise. 
Or  vice ;  who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good ; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  humors  freed, 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  accusers  great ; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
Llore  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well-choson  book  or  friend  : 


(12 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall — 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands ; 
And,  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir  IIenkt  "Wotton. 


MAN. 


Mt  God,  I  heard  this  day 
That  none  doth  build  a  stately  habitation 
But  he  that  means  to  dwell  therein. 
What  house  more  stately  hath  there  been. 
Or  can  be,  than  is  man,  to  whose  creation 
All  things  are  in  decay  ? 

For  man  is  every  thing. 

And  more :  he  is  a  tree,  yet  bears  no  fruit ; 

A  beast,  yet  is,  or  should  be,  more — 

Reason  and  speech  we  only  bring. 

Parrots  may  thank  us,  if  they  are  not  mute — 

They  go  upon  the  score. 

Man  is  all  symmetric — 
Full  of  proportions,  one  limb  to  another, 
And  all  to  all  the  world  besides. 
Each  part  may  call  the  farthest  brother ; 
For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amitie, 

And  both  with  moons  and  tides. 

Nothing  hath  got  so  farre 
But  man  hath  caught  and  kept  it  as  his  prey. 
His  eyes  dismount  the  highest  starre  ; 
He  is  in  little  all  the  sphere. 
Herbs  gladly  cure  our  flesh,  because  that  they 
Finde  their  acquaintance  there. 

For  us  the  wiuds  do  blow. 
The  earth  doth  rest,  heaven  move,  and  foun- 
tains flow. 
Nothing  we  see  but  means  our  good, 
As  our  delight,  or  as  our  treasure ; 
The  whole  is  either  our  cupboard  of  food 
Or  cabinet  of  pleasure. 

The  starres  have  us  to  bed — 
Night  draws  the  curtain,  which  the  sunne 
withdraws. 
Musick  and  light  attend  our  head ; 
All  things  unto  our  flesh  are  kinde 
In  their  descent  and  being — to  our  minde 
In  their  ascent  and  cause. 


Each  thing  is  full  of  dutie : 
"Waters  united  are  our  navigation — 
Distinguished,  our  habitation ; 
Below,  our  drink — above,  our  meat ; 
Both  are  our  cleanlinesse.      Hath  one  such 
beautie  ? 

Then  how  are  all  things  neai ! 


More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he  '11  take  notice  of.     In  eveiy  path 
He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend 

him 
"When  sicknesse  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
0  mightie  love !     Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 
Another  to  attend  him. 


Since  then,  my  God,  thou  hast 
So  brave  a  palace  built,  oh  dwell  in  it, 
That  it  maj^  dwell  with  thee  at  last! 
Till  then  afford  us  so  much  wit 
That,  as  the  w^orld  serves  us,  we  may  serv( 
thee. 
And  both  thy  servants  be. 

George  Herbert. 


HEAVENLY  WISDOM. 

Oh  happy  is  the  man  who  hears 
Instruction's  warning  voice, 

And  who  celestial  wisdom  makes 
His  early,  only  choice  ; 

For  she  has  treasures  greater  far 

Than  east  or  west  unfold. 
And  her  reward  is  more  secure 

Than  is  the  gain  of  gold. 

In  her  right  hand  she  holds  to  view 

A  length  of  happy  years ; 
And  in  her  left  the  prize  of  fame 

And  honor  bright  appears. 

She  guides  the  young,  with  innocence, 
In  pleasure's  path  to  tread ; 

A  crown  of  glory  she  bestows 
"Upon  the  hoary  head. 


ODE. 


713 


According  as  her  labors  rise, 

So  her  rewards  increase ; 
Her  waj's  are  ways  of  pleasantness, 

And  all  her  paths  are  peace. 

John  Logak. 


SEED-TIME  AND  HARVEST. 

As  o'er  his  furrowed  fields,  which  lie 
Beneath  a  coldly-dropping  sky, 
Yet  chill  with  winter's  melted  snow, 
The  husbandman  goes  forth  to  sow  : 

Thus,   freedom,  on  the  bitter  blast 
The  ventures  of  thy  seed  we  cast, 
And  trust  to  warmer  sun  and  rain 
To  swell  the  germ,  and  fill  the  grain. 

"Who  calls  thy  glorious  service  hard  ? 
Who  deems  it  not  its  own  reward? 
AVho,  for  its  trials,  counts  it  less 
A  cause  of  praise  and  thankfulness  ? 

It  may  not  be  our  lot  to  wield 
The  sickle  in  the  ripened  field ; 
ISTor  ours  to  hear,  on  summer  eves. 
The  reaper's  song  among  the  sheaves ; 

Yet  where  our  duty's  task  is  wrought 
In  unison  with  God's  great  thought, 
The  near  and  future  blend  in  one, 
And  whatsoe'er  is  willed  is  done  ! 

And  ours  the  grateful  service  whence 
Comes,  day  by  day,  the  recompense — 
The  hope,  the  trust,  the  purpose  staid. 
The  fountain,  and  the  noonday  shade. 

And  were  this  life  the  utmost  span. 
The  only  end  and  aim  of  man. 
Better  the  toil  of  fields  like  these 
Than  waking  dream  and  slothful  ease. 

Our  life,  though  falling  like  our  grain, 
Like  that  revives  and  springs  again ; 
And  early  called,  how  blest  arc  tliey 
Who  wait  in  heaven  their  harvest-day ! 

John  Gkeenleaf  "Wuittiek. 

94 


ODE. 

IXTIMATI0N8  OF   nOIORTALITY   FEOIT  EEOOL- 
LECTIONS   OF   EAELT   CHILDHOOD. 


Theee  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and 

stream. 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight. 
To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled  in  celestial  lights 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore  : 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may. 
By  night  or  day. 
The  things  which  I  have  seen,  I  now  can  see 
no  more. 

II. 

The  rainbow  comes  and  goes. 
And  lovely  is  the  rose  ; 
The  moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare ; 
Waters  on  a  starry  niglit 
Are  beautiful  and  fair ; 
The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth  ; 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from 
the  earth. 

III. 

N'ow,  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song, 
And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 
To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief; 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief. 

And  I  again  am  strong. 
The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the 

steep — 
ISTo  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong. 
I  hear  the   eclioes  through  the  mountains 

throng ; 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep. 
And  all  tlie  earth  is  gay  ; 
Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity  ; 
And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday ; — 
Thou  cliild  of  joy. 
Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou 
happy  shepherd  boy  I 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


IV. 

Yo  blessed  creatures  !  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make  ;  I  see 
The  heaTCUs  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee ; 
My  heart  is  at  your  festival, 
My  head  hath  its  coronal — 
The  fulness  of  your  bUss,  1  feel,  I  feel  it  all. 
Oh  evil  day  !  if  I  were  sullen 
"While  earth  herself  is  adorning, 

This  sweet  May-morning, 
And  the  children  are  culling 

On  every  side, 
In  a  thousand  valleys  far  and  wide. 
Fresh  Howers;  while  the  sun  shines 
warm. 
And  the  babe  leaps  up  on  his  mother's  arm — 
I  hear,  I  hear,  with  joy  I  hear ! 
— But  there 's  a  tree,  of  many  one, 
A  single  field  Avhich  I  have  looked  upon — 
Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone ; 
The  pansy  at  my  feet 
Doth  the  same  tale  repeat. 
Whither  is  lied  the  visionary  gleam  ? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream? 


Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting ; 

The  soul  that  rises  Avith  us,  our  life's  star, 
Ilath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 

And  cometh  from  afar. 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness. 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness. 

But  trailing  clouds  of  glory,  do  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home. 

Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  ! 

Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 
Upon  the  growing  boy ; 

But  he  beholds  the  light,    and   whence  it 
flows- 
He  sees  it  in  his  joy. 

The  youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  nature's  priest, 
And  by  the  vision  splendid 
Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 

At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 

And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

VI. 

Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own. 
Yearnings  she  hath  in  her  own  natural  kind ; 
And,  even  with  something  of  a  mother's  mind, 


And  no  unworthy  aim. 

The  homely  nurse  doth  all  she  can 
To  make  her  foster-child,  her  inmate  man, 

Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known. 
And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came. 

VII. 

Behold  the  child  among  his  new-born  blisses — 
A  six  years'  dai'ling  of  a  pigmy  size  ! 
See,  where  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies, 
Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses. 
With  light  upon  him  from  his  father's  eyes  I 
See,  at  his  feet,  some  little  plan  or  chart. 
Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  human  life, 
Shaped  by  himself  with  newly-learned  art — 

A  wedding  or  a  festival, 

A  mourning  or  a  funeral— 
And  this  hath  now  his  heart. 

And  unto  tliis  he  frames  his  song. 
Then  will  he  tit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife : 

But  it  will  not  be  long 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside. 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 
The  little  actor  cons  another  part — 
Filling  from   time  to  time  his  "humorous 

stage  " 
With  all  the  persons,  down  to  palsied  age. 
That  life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage  ; 

As  if  his  whole  vocation 

Were  endless  imitation. 

VIII. 

Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  doth  belie 

Thy  soul's  immensity ! 
Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage !  thou  eye  among  the  blind. 
That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep. 
Haunted  for  ever  by  the  eternal  mind ! — 
Mighty  prophet !  Seer  blest, 
On  whom  those  truths  do  rest 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find, 
In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave ! 
Thou  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by ! 
Thou  httle  child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might 
Of  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height, 
Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  pro- 
voke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke, 


ODE. 


ri5 


Thus  blindly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife  ? 
Full  soon  thy  soul   shall  have  her  earthly 

freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life ! 


IX. 

Oh  joy !  that  in  our  embers 

Is  something  that  doth  live. 
That  nature  yet  remembers 
"What  was  so  fugitive ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth 

breed 
Perpetual  benediction  :  not,  indeed. 
For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest — 
Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest, 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his 
breast — 
JSTot  for  these  I  raise 
The  song  of  tlianks  and  praise  ; 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  thincrs. 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings. 
Blank  misgivings  of  a  creature 
IToving  about  in  worlds  not  realized, 
High  instincts,  before  which  our  mortal  nature 
Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised — 
But  for  those  first  afiections. 
Those  shadowy  recollections. 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain-light  of  all  our  day. 
Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing. 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to 
make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence  :  truths  that  Avake, 

To  perish  never — 
Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavor, 

Nor  man  nor  boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy  ! 

Hence  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 
Though  inland  far  we  be. 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
Which  brought  us  liither — 
Can  in  a  moment  travel  tliither. 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore. 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  ever- 
more. 


Then  sing,  ye  birds,  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song  I 
And  let  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound ! 

We  in  thought  will  join  your  throng. 
Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play. 
Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 
Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May ! 

What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so 
bright  ■ 

Be  now  for  ever  taken  from  my  sight. 

Though  nothing   can   bring  back  the 
hour 

Of  splendor  in  tlie  grass,   of  glory  in  the 
flower — 
We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind : 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which,  having  been,  must  ever  be ; 
In  the  soothing  tlioughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  sufFei'im? ; 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death, 

In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind, 

xr. 

And   O  ye   fountains,   meadows,   hills,    and 

groves. 
Forebode  not  any  severing  of  our  loves ! 
Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  your  might ; 
I  only  have  relinquished  one  delight 
To  live  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway. 
I  love  the  brooks  which  down  their  channels 

fret. 
Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as 

they; 
The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  day 

Is  lovely  yet ; 
The  clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun 
Do  take  a  sober  coloring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality ; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  am 

won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live. 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears — ■ 
To  mo  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can 

give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

T7iLLiAM  Wordsworth. 


716                        rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  STARS. 

NIGHT. 

The  night  is  come,  but  not  too  soon ; 

When  I  survey  the  bright 

And  sinking  silently, 

Celestial  sphere, 

All  silently,  the  little  moon 

So  rich  with  jewels  hung  that  night 

Drops  down  behind  the  sky. 

Doth  like  an  Ethiop  bi'ido  appear, 

There  is  no  light  in  earth  or  heaven. 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars ; 

My  soul  her  wings  doth  spread, 
And  heavenward  flies, 

And  the  first  watch  of  night  is  given 

The  Almighty's  mysteries  to  read 
In  the  large  volume  of  the  skies. 

To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

Is  it  the  tender  star  of  love  ? 

The  star  of  love  and  dreams? 

For  the  bright  firmament 

Oh  no!  from  that  blue  tent  above 

Shoots  forth  no  flame 

A  hero's  armor  gleams. 

So  silent  but  is  eloquent 

In  speaking  the  Creator's  name ; 

And  earnest  thoughts  within  me  rise, 

"When  I  behold  afar. 

No  unregarded  star 

Suspended  in  the  evening  skies, 

Contracts  its  light 

The  shield  of  that  red  star. 

Into  so  small  character. 

Eemoved  far  from  our  human  sight 

0  star  of  strength !  I  see  thee  stand 

And  smile  upon  my  pain ; 

Thou  beckonest  with  thy  mailed  hand. 

But  if  we  steadfast  look, 
"We  shall  discern 

And  I  am  strong  again. 

In  it,  as  in  some  holy  book. 

"Within  my  breast  there  is  no  light, 

How  man  may  heavenly  knowledge 

But  the  cold  light  of  stars : 

learn. 

I  give  the  first  watch  of  the  night 

To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

It  tells  the  conqueror 

That  far-stretched  power. 

The  star  of  the  unconquered  will. 

"Which  his  proud  dangers  trafiic  for. 

He  rises  in  my  breast. 

Is  but  the  triumph  of  an  hour — 

Serene,  and  resolute,  and  still, 

And  calm,  and  self-possessed. 

That  from  the  farthest  north 

Some  nation  may. 

And  thou,  too,  whosoe'er  thou  art, 

Yet  undiscovered,  issue  forth. 

That  readest  tliis  brief  psalm. 

And  o'er  his  new-got  conquest  sway  ! 

As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart, 

Be  resolute  and  calm  ! 

Some  nation,  yet  shut  in 

"With  hills  of  ice. 

Oh  fear  not  in  a  world  like  this, 

May  be  let  out  to  scourge  his  sin, 

And  thou  shalt  know  ere  long, 

Till  they  shall  equal  him  in  vice. 

Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 

To  suffer  and  be  strong. 

And  they  likewise  shall 

IIeney  Wadswoktu  Longfellow. 

Their  ruin  have ; 

For  as  yourselves  your  empires  fall, 

• 

And  every  kingdom  hath  a  grave. 

DEATH'S    riXAL    CONQUEST. 


ni 


There  those  celestial  fires, 

Though  seeming  mute, 
The  fallacy  of  oui*  desires 

And  all  the  pride  of  life  confute. 

For  they  have  watched  since  first 

The  AYorld  had  birth, 
And  found  sin  iu  itself  accurst, 

And  nothing  permanent  on  earth. 
William    Habington. 


THE  STURDY  KOCK,  FOR  ALL  HIS 
STEEXGTH. 

The  sturdy  rock,  for  all  his  strength, 
By  raging  seas  is  rent  in  twain ; 

The  marble  stone  is  pierced  at  length 
With  little  drops  of  drizzling  rain ; 

The  ox  doth  yield  unto  the  yoke ; 

The  steel  obey'th  the  hammer  stroke ; 

The  stately  stag,  that  seems  so  stout, 
By  yelping  hounds  at  bay  is  set ; 

The  swiftest  bird  that  flies  about 
Is  caught  at  length  in  fowler's  net ; 

The  greatest  fish  in  deepest  brook 

Is  soon  deceived  with  subtle  hook ; 

Yea !  man  himself,  unto  whose  will 
All  things  are  bounden  to  obey. 

For  all  his  wit  and  worthy  skill 
Doth  fade  at  length,  and  fall  away : 

There  is  no  thing  but  time  doth  waste — 

The  heavens,  the  earth  consume  at  last. 

But  virtue  sits  triumphing  still 
Upon  the  throne  of  glorious  fame  ; 

Though  spiteful  death  man's  body  kill, 
Yet  hurts  he  not  his  virtuous  name. 

By  life  or  death,  whatso  betides, 

The  state  of  virtue  never  slides. 

Anonymous. 


VIRTUE. 

SwEKT  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky ! 
The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night; 
For  thou  must  die. 


Sweet  rose,  whose  hue,  angry  and  brave, 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye ! 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave — 

And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  fuU  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie ! 
Thy  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 
And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 
Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives ; 
But,  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal, 
Then  chiefly  lives. 

George  Hebbxbt. 


DEATH'S  FINAL  CO]!^QUEST. 

The  glories  of  our  birth  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things; 
There  is  no  armor  against  fate — 
Death  lays  his  icy  hands  on  kings ; 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
"With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield — 
They  tame  but  one  another  still ; 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate. 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath, 
TV  hen  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow — 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds; 
Upon  death's  purple  altar,  now, 
See  where  the  victor  victim  bleeds  I 
All  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb — 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 

James  SniBLET. 


718                        POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 

Nor  yet  for  the  ravage  of  winter  I  mourn— 

THE  nERMIT. 

Kind  nature  the  embryo  blossom  will  save ; 

But  when  shall   spring  visit  the  mouldering 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  hamlet  is 

urn? 

still. 

Oh  when  shall  day  dawn  on  the  night  of  the 

And    mortals   the    sweets    of   forgetfulness 

grave  ? 

prove, 
When  nought  but  the  torrent  is  heard  on  the 

"'T  was  thus,  by  the  glare  of  false  science  be- 

hill, 

trayed. 

And  nought  but  the  nightingale's  song  in  the 

That  leads  to  bewilder,  and  dazzles  to  blind. 

grove. 

My  thoughts  w^ont  to  roam  from  shade  on- 

'T was  thus,  by  the  cave  of  the  mountain  afar, 

ward  to  shade. 

While  his  harp  rung  symphonious,  a  hermit 

Destruction  before  me,  and  sorrow  behind. 

began ; 

'  Oh  pity,  great  Father  of  light,'  then  I  cried, 

No  more  with  himself  or  with  nature  at  war, 

'  Thy  creature,  who  fain  would  not  wander 

He  thought  as  a  sage,  though  he  felt  as  a  man : 

from  thee! 

Lo,  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  my  pride ; 

"Ahl    why,  all  abandoned  to  darkness  and 

From  doubt  and  from  darkness  thou    only 

woe, 

canst  free.' 

Wliy,  lone  Philomela,  that  languishing  fall? 

For  spring  shall  return,  and  a  lover  bestow, 

"And  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  flying 

And  sorrow  no  longer  thy  bosom  enthrall. 

away ; 

But,  if  pity  inspire  thee,  renew  the  sad  lay — 

No  longer  I  roam  in  conjecture  forlorn. 

Mourn,  sweetest  complainer,  man  calls  thee 

So  breaks  on  the  traveller,  faint  and  astray. 

to  mourn ! 

The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of  morn. 

Oh  soothe  him,  whose  pleasures  like  thine 

See  truth,   love,    and  mercy  in  triumph  de- 

pass away ! 

scending, 

Full  quickly  they  pass — but  they  never  re- 

And nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom! 

turn. 

On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and  roses 

are  blending, 

"  I^ow,  gliding  remote  on  the  verge  of  the  sky. 

And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb." 

The  moon,  half  extinguished,  her  crescent  dis- 

James Beattie. 

plays; 

But  lately  I  marked  when  majestic  on  high 

♦ 

She  shone,  and  the  planets  were  lost  in  her 

blaze. 

THE  STPJFE. 

RoU  on,  thou  fair  orb,  and  with  gladness  pur- 

sue 

The  wish  that  of  the  living  whole 

The  path  that  conducts  thee  to  splendor  again! 

No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave- 

But  man's  faded  glory  what  change  shall  re- 

Derives it  not  from  what  we  have 

new? 

The  likest  God  within  the  soul  ? 

Ah,  fool !  to  exult  in  a  glory  so  vain ! 

Are  God  and  nature  then  at  strife. 

"'Tis  night,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  no 

That  nature  lends  such  evil  dreams? 

more. 

So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems, 

I  mourn — but,  ye  woodlands,  I  mourn  not  for 

So  careless  of  the  single  life, 

you ; 
For  morn  is  approaching  your  charms  to  re- 

That T,  considering  every  where 

store. 

Her  secret  meaning  in  her  deeds, 

Perfumed  with  fresh  fragrance,  and  glittering 

And  finding  that  of  fifty  seeds 

with  dew. 

She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear — 

THE    SLEEP. 


Yir) 


I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod ; 

And,  falling  "with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs, 

That  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God, 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  fecx  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 

Alfeed  Tennyson. 


TUE  SLAVE  SmGIXG  AT  MDKEGHT. 

Loud  he  sang  the  psalm  of  David ! 
He,  a  negro  and  enslaved — 
Sang  of  Israel's  victory. 
Sang  of  Zion,  bright  and  free. 

In  that  hour,  when  night  is  calmest, 
Sang  he  from  the  Hebrew  psalmist, 
In  a  voice  so  sweet  and  clear 
That  I  could  not  choose  but  hear — 

Songs  of  triumpu,  and  ascriptions. 
Such  as  reached  the  swart  Egyptians, 
When  upon  the  Red  Sea  coast 
Perished  Pharaoh  and  his  host. 

And  the  voice  of  his  devotion 
Filled  my  soul  with  strange  emotion ; 
For  its  tones  by  turns  were  glad, 
Sweetly  solemn,  wildly  sad. 

Paul  and  Silas,  in  their  prison. 
Sang  of  Christ,  the  Lord  arisen ; 
And  an  earthquake's  arm  of  might 
Broke  their  dungeon-gates  at  night. 

But,  alas !  what  holy  angel 
Brings  the  slave  this  glad  evangel? 
And  what  earthquake's  arm  of  might 
Breaks  his  dungeon-gates  at  night  ? 

Henkt  Wadswokth  Longfellow. 


THE  SLEEP. 

Of  all  the  thoughts  of  God  that  are 
Borne  inward  unto  souls  afar, 

Along  the  Psalmist's  music  deep, 
Now  tell  me  if  that  any  is 
For  gift  or  grace  surpassing  this — 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

What  would  we  give  to  our  beloved  ? 
The  hero's  heart,  to  be  unmoved — 

The  poet's  star-tuned  harp  to  sweep — 
The  senate's  shout  to  patriot's  vows — 
The  monarch's  crown,  to  liglit  the  brows  ? 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

What  do  we  give  to  our  beloved  ? 
A  little  faith,  all  undisproved — 

A  little  dust  to  overweep — 
And  bitter  memories,  to  make 
The  whole  earth  blasted  for  our  sake  ! — 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

' '  Sleep  soft,  beloved !  "  we  sometimes  say, 
But  have  no  tune  to  charm  away 

Sad  dreams  that  through  the  eyelids  creep, 
But  never  doleful  dream  again 
Shall  break  the  happy  slumber  when 

"He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

O  earth,  so  full  of  dreary  noises ! 
O  men,  with  wailing  in  your  voices! 
0  delved  gold  the  wallers'  heap ! 

0  strife,  O  curse,  that  o'er  it  fall ! 
God  makes  a  silence  through  you  all, 

"And  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

His  dew  drops  mutely  on  the  liill ; 
His  cloud  above  it  saileth  still, 

Though  on  its  slope  men  toil  and  reap, 
if  ore  softly  than  the  dew  is  shed. 
Or  cloud  is  floated  overhead, 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

Yea !  men  may  wonder  while  they  scan 
A  living,  thinking,  feeling  man 

In  such  a  rest  his  heart  to  keep ; 
But  angels  say — and  tlu-ough  tlic  word 

1  ween  their  blessed  smile  is  heard — 

"He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 


720 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND     REFLECTION. 


For  me,  my  heart  that  erst  did  go 
Most  like  a  th-ed  child  at  a  show, 

That  sees  through  tears  the  juggler's  leap, 
Would  now  its  wearied  vision  close — 
"Would,  childhke,  on  Ilis  love  repose 

Who  "  giveth  Ilis  heloved  sleep." 

And  friends ! — dear  freinds ! — when  it  shall  he 
That  this  low  hreath  is  gone  from  me. 

And  round  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep, 
Let  one,  most  lonng  of  you  all. 
Say,  "  Kot  a  tear  must  o'er  her  faU" — 

"  He  giveth  His  heloved  sleep." 

EuzABETn  Baerett  Browning. 


AN  OLD  POET  TO  SLEEP. 

No  god  to  mortals  oftener  descends 
Than  thou,  0  sleep  !  yet  thee  the  sad  alone 
Invoke,  and  gratefully  thy  gift  receive. 
Some  tliou  invitest  to  explore  the  sands 
Left  by  Pactohis ;  some  to  climb  up  higher, 
Where  points  ambition  to  the  pomps  of  war ; 
Others   thou  watchest  while    they  tighten 

obes 
Which  law  throws  round  them  loose,  and 

they  meanwhile 
Wink  at  a  judge,  and  he  tlie  wink  returns. 
Apart  sit  fewer,  whom  thou  lovest  more 
And  leadest  where  unruffled  rivers  flow. 
Or  azm'e  lakes  'neath  azure  skies  expand. 
These  have  no  wider  wishes,  and  no  fears. 
Unless  a  fear,  in  turning  to  molest 
The  silent,  solitary,  stately  swan, 
Disdaining  the  garrulity  of  groves 
Nor  seeking  shelter  there  from  sun  or  storm. 

Me  also  hast  thou  led  a,mong  such  scenes. 
Gentlest  of  gods !  and  age  appeared  far  off 
While  thou  wast  standing  close  above  the 

couch, 
And  whispcred'st,  in  whisper  not  unheard, 
"  I  now  depart  from  thee,  but  leave  behind 
My  own  twin-brother,  friendly  as  myself, 
Who  soon  shall  take  my  place ;  men  call  him 

Death. 
Thou  hearest  me,  nor  tremblest,  as  most  do  ; 
In  sooth,  why  shouldst  thou  ?  What  man  hast 

thou  wronged 
By  deed  or  word?  Few  dare  ask  this  within." 


There  was  a  pause;    then  suddenly  said 
Sleep, 
"He  whom   I  named  approacheth,  so  fare- 
well." 

Walteb  Savage  Landob. 


SLEEP. 


Weep  ye  no  more,  sad  fountains  I 

What  need  you  flow  so  fast  ? 
Look  how  the  snowy  mountains 
Heaven's  sun  doth  gently  waste. 
But  my  sun's  heavenly  eyes 
View  not  your  weeping, 
That  now  lies  sleeping 
Softly,  now  softly  lies 
Sleeping. 

Sleep  is  a  reconciling — 

A  rest  that  peace  begets ; 
Doth  not  the  sun  rise  smiling. 
When  fair  at  even  he  sets  ? 
Eest  you  then,  rest,  sad  eyes — 
Melt  not  in  weeping. 
While  she  lies  sleeping 
Softly,  now  softly  lies 
Sleeping. 

John  Dowland. 


LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

Life  and  Death  are  sisters  fair ; 
Yes,  they  are  a  lovely  pair. 
Life  is  sung  in  joyous  song ; 
While  men  do  her  sister  wrong, 
Calling  her  severe  and  stern. 
While  her  heart  for  them  doth  burn  ; 
Weave,  then,  weave  a  grateful  wreath, 
For  the  sisters  Life  and  Death. 

If  fair  Life  her  sister  lost. 
On  a  boundless  ocean  tost. 
She  would  rove  in  great  unrest, 
Missing  that  warm  loving  breast. 
Now,  when  scared  by  wild  alarms, 
She  can  seek  her  sister's  arms — 
To  that  tender  bosom  flee, 
Sink  to  sleep  in  ecstasy. 

Anontmous. 


THE     GREENWOOD    SHRIFT. 


■i2l 


THE  GREEM"WOOD  SHRIFT. 

OuTSTKETOHED  beneath  the  leafy  shade 
Of  Windsor  forest's  deepest  glade, 

A  dying  woman  lay ; 
Three  little  children  round  her  stood, 
And  there  went  up  from  the  greenwood 

A  woful  wail  that  day. 

"  O  mother !  "  was  the  mingled  cry, 
"  O  mother,  mother !  do  not  die, 

And  leave  us  all  alone." 
•'  My  blessed  babes !  "  she  tried  to  say — 
But  the  faint  accents  died  away 

In  a  low  sobbing  moan. 

And  then,  life  struggling  hard  with  death. 
And  fast  and  strong  she  drew  her  breath, 

And  up  she  raised  her  head; 
And,  peering  througli  the  deep  wood  maze 
With  a  long,  sharp,  unearthly  gaze, 

"Will  she  not  come?  "  she  said. 

Just  then,  the  parting  boughs  between, 
A  little  maid's  Ught  form  was  seen, 

All  breathless  with  her  speed ; 
And,  following  close,  a  man  came  on 
(A  portly  man  to  look  upon), 

Who  led  a  panting  steed. 

"  Mother!  "  the  little  maiden  cried. 
Or  e'er  she  reached  the  woman's  side. 

And  kissed  her  clay-cold  cheek — 
"  I  have  not  idled  in  the  tOAvn, 
But  long  went  wandering  up  and  down, 

The  minister  to  seek. 

"They  told  me  here,  they  told  me  there— 
I  think  they  mocked  me  everywhere  ; 

And  when  I  found  his  home, 
And  begged  him  on  my  bended  knee 
To  bring  his  book  and  come  with  me, 

Mother !  he  would  not  come. 

"  I  told  him  how  you  dying  lay, 
And  could  not  go  in  peace  away 

Without  the  minister; 
I  begged  him,  for  dear  Christ  his  sake. 
But  oil !  my  heart  was  fit  to  break — 

Mother !  lie  would  not  stir. 
95 


"  So,  though  my  tears  were  blinding  me, 
I  ran  back,  fast  as  fast  could  be. 

To  come  again  to  you ; 
And  here — close  by — this  squire  I  met, 
Who  asked  (so  mild)  what  made  me  fret ; 

And  wlien  I  told  him  true, — 

"  'I  will  go  with  you,  child,'  lie  said, 
'  God  sends  me  to  this  dying  bed  ' — 

Mother,  he 's  here,  hard  by." 
While  thus  the  little  maiden  spoke. 
The  man,  his  back  against  an  oak. 

Looked  on  with  glistening  eye. 

The  bridle  on  his  neck  hung  free, 

With  quivering  flank  and  trembling  knee, 

Pressed  close  his  bonny  bay ; 
A  statelier  man — a  statelier  steed — 
Never  on  greensward  paced,  I  rede, 

Than  those  stood  there  that  day. 

So,  while  the  little  maiden  spoke. 
The  man,  his  back  against  an  oak. 

Looked  on  with  glistening  eye 
And  folded  arms,  and  in  his  look 
Something  that,  like  a  sermon-book, 

Preached— "All  is  vanity." 

But  when  the  dying  woman's  face 
Turned  toward  him  with  a  wishful  gaze, 

He  stepped  to  where  she  lay  ; 
And,  kneeling  down,  bent  over  her, 
Saying — "  I  am  a  minister. 

My  sister !  let  us  pray." 

And  well,  withoutcn  book  or  stole 
(God's  words  were  printed  on  his  soul !) 

Into  the  dying  ear 
He  breathed,  as 't  were  an  angel's  strain, 
The  things  that  unto  life  pertain. 

And  death's  dark  shadows  clcai*. 

lie  spoke  of  sinners'  lost  estate, 
In  Christ  renewed,  regenerate — 

Of  God's  most  blest  decree, 
That  not  a  single  soul  should  die 
Who  turns  repentant,  with  the  cry 

"  Be  merciful  to  me." 

He  spoke  of  trouble,  pain,  and  toil, 
Endured  but  for  a  little  while 


:22                      POEMS    OF    SENTIMEN 

r    AND     REFLECTION. 

lu  patience,  faith,  and  love — 

All  came  to  the  rare  old  fellow, 

Sure,  in  God's  own  good  time,  to  be 

Who  laughed  till  his  eyes  dropped  trine, 

Exchanged  for  an  eternity 

As  he  gave  them  his  hand  so  yellow. 

Of  happiness  above. 

And  pledged  them  in  Death's  black  wine. 

Hurrah  !  Hurrah  ! 

Then — as  the  spirit  ebbed  away — 

Hurrah  !  for  the  coal-llacTc  wine  ! 

lie  raised  his  hands  and  eyes  to  pray 

,   Bakey  Cornwall. 

That  peaceful  it  might  pass ; 

And  then — the  orphans'  sobs  alone 

Were  heard,  and  they  knelt,  every  one, 

A  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 

Close  ronud  on  the  green  grass. 

WHAT   THE    HEART   OF    THE    TOTINa    MAN   SAID 

Such  was  the  sight  their  wandering  eyes 

Beheld,  in  heart-struck,  mute  surprise, 

TO    THE   PSAlinST. 

"Who  reined  their  coursers  back. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 

Just  as  they  found  the  long  astray, 

"  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  !  " 

Who,  in  the  heat  of  chase  that  day. 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 

Had  wandered  from  their  track. 

And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

But  each  man  reined  his  pawing  steed, 

I.                          O                            7 

And  lighted  down,  as  if  agreed. 

Life  is  real !    Life  is  earnest! 

In  silence  at  his  side ; 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 

A             1       1  1                                                                             T           Tl          1  1                                            T 

"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest," 

And  there,  uncovered  all,  they  stood — 

7                                                                                  7 

It  was  a  wholesome  sight  and  good 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

That  day  for  mortal  pride. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

For  of  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way  ; 

Was  that  deep-hushed,  bare-headed  band ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-  morrow 

And,  central  in  the  ring. 

Find  us  farther  tlian  to-day. 

By  that  dead  pauper  on  the  ground, 
Iler  ragged  orphans  clinging  round. 

Art  is  long,  and  time  is  fleeting. 

Knelt  their  anointed  king. 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

EoBEKT  and  Cakoline  Southey. 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 

Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 
In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

KING  DEATH. 

In  the  bivouac  of  life, 

KiXG  Death  was  a  rare  old  fellow ! 

Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle, 

He  sat  where  no  sun  could  shine ; 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife ! 

And  he  lifted  his  hand  so  yellow, 

And  poured  out  his  coal-black  wine. 

Trust  no  future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Hurrah  !  for  the  coal-hlaclc  wine  ! 

Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead! 

Act — act  in  the  living  present ! 

There  came  to  him  many  a  maiden 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead ! 

Whose  eyes  had  forgot  to  shine. 

And  widows,  with  grief  o'erladen, 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  ns 

For  a  draught  of  his  sleepy  wine. 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime. 

Hurrah  !  for  the  coat-'bla/ik  wine! 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 

Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time — 

The  scholar  left  all  his  learning ; 

The  poet  his  fancied  woes ; 

Footprints  that  perhaps  another. 

And  the  beauty  her  bloom  returning. 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main 

Like  life  to  the  fading  rose. 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 

Hurrah  !  for  the  coal-blac'k  wine  ! 

Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

AN    ANGEL    IN    THE    HOUSE. 


'723 


Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 

"With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing. 

Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 

Heney  Wadswoeth  Losofellow. 


"MY  DAYS  AMONG  THE  DEAD." 

My  days  among  the  dead  are  passed; 

Around  me  I  behold, 
Where'er  these  casual  eyes  are  cast. 

The  mighty  minds  of  old ; 
My  never-failing  friends  are  they, 
With  whom  I  converse  day  by  day. 

With  them  I  take  delight  in  weal. 

And  seek  relief  in  woe  ; 
And  while  I  understand  and  feel 

How  much  to  them  I  owe, 
My  cheeks  have  often  been  bedewed 
With  tears  of  thoughtful  grati^ide. 

My  thoughts  are  with  tlie  dead ;  with  them 

I  live  in  long-past  years ; 
Their  \nrtues  love,  their  faults  condemn, 

Partake  their  hopes  and  fears, 
And  from  their  lessons  seek  and  find 
Instruction  with  an  humble  mind. 

My  hopes  are  with  the  dead ;  anou 

My  place  with  them  will  be, 
And  I  with  them  shall  travel  on 

Through  all  futurity : 
Yet  leaving  here  a  name,  I  trust. 
That  will  not  perish  in  the  dust. 

EoBEKT  SoxrrnEY. 


SIT  DOWN",  S.VD  SOUL. 

Sit  down,  sad  soul,  and  count 

The  moments  flying ; 
Come — tell  the  sweet  amount 

That 's  lost  by  sighing ! 
How  many  smiles  ? — a  score  ? 
Then  laugh,  and  count  no  more; 
For  day  is  dying ! 

Lie  down,  sad  soul,  and  sleep. 
And  no  more  measure 

The  flight  of  time,  nor  weep 
The  loss  of  leisure ; 


But  here,  by  this  lone  stream. 
Lie  down  with  us,  and  dream 
Of  starry  treasure ! 

We  dream ;  do  thou  the  same ; 

We  love — for  ever ; 
We  laugh,  yet  few  we  shame — 

The  gentle  never. 
Stay,  then,  till  sorrow  dies  ; 
Then — hope  and  happy  skies 
Are  thine  for  ever ! 

BaKET  COEN-VTAII, 


■  LIFE. 


We  are  born ;  we  laugh ;  we  weep ; 

We  love ;  we  droop ;  we  die ! 
Ah !  wherefore  do  we  laugh  or  weep  ? 

Why  do  we  live  or  die? 
Who  knows  that  secret  deep  ? 

Alas,  not  I ! 

Why  doth  the  violet  spring 

Unseen  by  human  eye  ? 
Why  do  the  radiant  seasons  bring 

Sweet  thoughts  that  quickly  fly? 
Why  do  our  fond  hearts  cling 

To  things  that  die? 

We  toil — through  pain  and  wrong ; 

We  fight — and  fly ; 
We  love ;  we  lose ;  and  then,  ere  long. 

Stone-dead  we  lie. 
O  life !  is  all  thy  song 

"  Endure  and — die  ? " 

Baret  Coekwall. 


AN  ANGEL  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

How  sweet  it  were,  if  without  feeble  frigid. 
Or  dying  of  the  dreadful  beauteous  sight, 
An  angel  came  to  us,  and  we  could  bear 
To  see  him  issue  from  the  silent  air 
At  evening  in  our  room,  and  bend  on  ours 
His  divine  eyes,  and  bring  us  from  his  bowers 
News  of  dear  friends,  and  children  who  have 

never 
Been  dead  indeed — as  we  shall  know  for- 
ever. 


T24 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    KEFLECTION. 


Alas !  we  tbiiik  not  what  we  daily  see 
About  our  hearths — angels,  that  are  to  he, 
Or  may  be  if  they  will,  and  we  prepare 
Their  souls  and  ours  to  meet  in  happy  air  ; 
A  child,  a  friend,  a  wife  whose  soft  heart 

sings 
In  unison  with  ours,  breeding  its  future  wings. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


KING  EGBERT  OF  SICILY. 

RoBEET  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 

And  Valmond,  emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire, 

"With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire. 

On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 

And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat. 

And  as  he  listened,  o'er  and  o'er  again 

Repeated,  like  a  burden  or  refrain. 

He  caught  the  words,  '■'•  Deposuit  potentes 

De  secle^  et  exaltavit  humiles ;  " 

And  slowly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head, 

He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said, 

"  What  mean  these  words  ?  "  the  clerk  made 

answer  meet, 
"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 
Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully, 
"  'T  is  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests  and  in  the  Latin  tongue  ; 
For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 
There  is  no  power  can  push  me  from  my 

throne  !  " 
And  leaning  back,  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep, 
Lulled  by  the  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 

"When  he  awoke,  it  was  already  night; 

The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was  no 
light, 

Save  where  the  lamps  that  glimmered,  few 
and  faint, 

Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around, 

But  saw  no  living  thing  and  heard  no  sound. 

He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was 
locked; 

He  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then  knocked, 

And  uttered  awful  threatenings  and  com- 
plaints, 

And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 


The  sounds  reechoed  from  the  roof  and  walk 
As  if  dead  priests  were  laughing  in  their 
stalls. 

At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout, 
And  thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of 

prayer, 
Came  with   his  lantern,   asking,    ""Who  is 

tliere  ? " 
Half  choked  with  rage,  King  Robert  fiercely 

said, 
"  Open  :  't  is  I,  the  king  !    Art  thou  afraid  ?  " 
The  frightened   sexton,   muttering,   with   a 

curse, 
"  This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse !  " 
Turned  the  gi'eat  key  and  flung  the  portal 

wide ; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  hat  or  cloak, 
Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  rior 

spoke, 
But  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
And  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  his  sight. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Ui'bane 
And  Valmond,  emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bare-headed,  breathless,  and  besprent  with 

mire, 
"With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate  ; 
Rushed  through  the  court-yard,  thrusting  in 

his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page. 
And  hurried  up   the    broad   and  sounding 

stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 
From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless 

speed ; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed, 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room, 
Blazing  with  light,  and  breathing  with  per- 
fume. 
There  on  the  dais  sat  another  king, 
"W^earing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring. 
King  Robert's  self  in  features,   form,    and 

height. 
But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light ! 
It  was  an  angel ;  and  his  presence  there 
Witli  a  divine  eftulgence  filled  the  air, 


KING    ROBERT     OF     SICILY 


725 


An  exaltation,  piercing  tlie  disguise, 
riiougb  none  the  hidden  angel  recognize. 


A  moment  speecliless,  motionless,  amazed, 
The  throneless  monarch  on  the  angel  gazed, 
Who  met  his  looks  of  anger  and  surprise 
With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes; 
Then  said,  "  Who  art  thou  ?  and  -^-hy  com'st 

thou  here  ? " 
To  which  King  Robert  answered  with  a  sneer, 
"  I  am  the  king,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 
From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne !  " 
And  suddenly,  at  these  audacious  words, 
Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their 

swords ; 
The  angel  answered,  with  unruflBed  brow, 
"  Nay,  not  the  king,  but  the  king's  jester ; 

thou 
Henceforth  shall  Avear  the  bells  and  scalloped 

cape. 
And  for  thy  counsellor  shalt  lead  an  ape : 
Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call. 
And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall !  " 

Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and 

prayers, 
They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the 

stairs ; 
A  gi-oup  of  tittering  pages  ran  before. 
And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding-door, 
His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard,  with  strange 

alarms, 
Tlie  boisterous  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms. 
And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 
With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "Long  live  the 

king ! " 
Next  morning,  waking  with  the  day's  first 

beam. 
He  said  within  himself,  "  It  was  a  dream  !  " 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head. 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed  ; 
Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls. 
Close  by,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their 

stalls. 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape. 
Shivering  and  chattering,  sat  the  wretched 

ape. 
It  was  no  dream ;  the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch ! 


Days   came   and  went;    and  now  returned 

again 
To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign ; 
Under  the  angel's  governance  benign 
The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine. 
And  deep  within  the  mountain's  burning 

breast 
Enceladns,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 
Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  Ms  fate. 
Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate. 
Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  jesters  wear, 
With  looks  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 
Close  shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are 

shorn. 
By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to 

scorn, 
His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 
What  others  left, — he  still  was  unsubdued. 
And  when  the  angel  met  him  on  his  way, 
And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would  say. 
Sternly,  though  tenderly,  that  he  might  feel 
The  velvet  scabbard  hold  a  sword  of  steel, 
"  Art  thou  the  king  ?  "  the  passion  of  his  woe 
Burst  from  liim  in  resistless  overflow. 
And  lifting  high  his  forehead,  he  would  fling 
The  haughty  answer  back,  "  I  am,  I  am  the 

king !  " 

Almost  three  years  were  ended  ;  Avhen  there 

came 
Ambassadox-s  of  great  repute  and  name 
From  Valmoud,  emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Unto  King  Robert,  saying  that  Pope  Urbane 
By  letter  summoned  them  forthwith  to  come 
On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  city  of  Rome. 
The  angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests. 
And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests. 
And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined, 
And  rings  and  jewels  of  the  rarest  kind. 
Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea 
Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 
Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 
By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade, 
With  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and 

the  stir 
Of  jewelled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 

And  lo!  among  the  menials,  in  mock  state, 
Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait, 
His  cloak  of  fox-tails  flapping  in  the  wind. 
The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind. 


1 


fiO 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    KEFLECTION, 


King  Robert  rode,  making  Imgc  mcmmcnt 
In  all  the  counti-y  towns  tbrough  which  they 
went. 

The  pope  received  them  Avith  great  pomp, 

and  blare 
Of  bannered  trumpets,  ou  Saint  Peter's  square, 
Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace, 
Ferveut,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 
"VThile  with  congratulations  and  with  prayers 
He  entertained  the  angel  unawares, 
Eobert,   the   jester,   bursting    through    the 

crowd, 
Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud  : 
"  I  am  the  king !     Look  and  behold  in  me 
Robert,  your  brother,  king  of  Sicily  ! 
This  man,  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your 

eyes. 
Is  an  impostor  in.  a  king's  disguise. 
Do  you  not  know  me?  does  no  voice  within 
Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin  ?  " 
The  pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 
Gazed  at  the  angel's  countenance  serene ; 
The  emperor,  laughing,  said,  "  It  is  strange 

sport 
To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  fool  at  court !  " 
And  the  poor,  baffled  jester  in  disgrace 
Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace. 

In  solemn  state  the  holy  week  went  by, 
And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky; 
The  presence  of  an  angel,  with  its  light. 
Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright. 
And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men. 
Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again. 
Even  the  jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw, 
With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor 

saw ; 
lie  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 
And,  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor. 
He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord 
Sweep    through    the    silent    air,   ascending 

heavenward. 

And  now  the  visit  ending,  and  once  more 
Valmond  returning  to  the  Danube's  shore, 
Homeward  the  angel  journeyed,  and  again 
The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train. 
Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 
Unto  Salerno,  and  from  there  by  sea. 
And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall, 
And,  seated  on  his  throne  in  his  great  hall, 


He  heard  the  Angel  us  from  convent  towers, 
As  if  the  better  world  conversed  with  ours, 
He  beckoned  to  King  Eobert  to  draw  nigher, 
And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire* 
And  when  they  wei'e  alone,  the  angel  sai^ 
"  Art  thou  the  king  ?  "     Then  bowing  down 

his  head, 
King  Eobert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his 

breast. 
And  meekly  answered  him :  "  Thouknowest 

best! 
My  sins  as  Scarlet  are ;  let  me  go  hence. 
And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 
Across  those  stones  that  pave  the  way  to 

heaven 
Walk  barefoot,  till  my  guilty  soul  is  shriven !  " 
The  angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 
A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place. 
And  through   the   open  window,  loud  and 

clear. 
They  heard  the  monks  chant  in  the  chapel 

near. 
Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street : 
"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree !  " 
And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 
Eose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string : 
"  I  am  an  angel,  and  thou  art  the  king !  " 

King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the 

throne. 
Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo !  he  was  alone  I 
But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old, 
With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold ; 
And  when  his  courtiers  came  they  found  him 

tliere 
Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent 

prayer. 

IIeskt  Wadswokth  LONQPELLO'W. 


FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS. 

When  the  hours  of  day  are  numbered, 
And  the  voices  of  the  night 

Wake  the  better  soul  that  slumbered 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight — 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  fire-light 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall ; 


SONNET. 


121 


Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door — 
The  beloved  ones,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more  : 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 
Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 

By  the  road-side  fell  and  perished, 
"Weary  with  the  march  of  life ! 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weaMy, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore. 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly. 
Spake  vrith  us  on  earth  no  more ! 

And  with  them  the  being  beauteous 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given. 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

Wich  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine. 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me. 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine ; 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 
With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like. 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended. 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer. 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended. 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 

Oh,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 

All  my  fears  are  laid  aside. 
If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died ! 

llENKT  WaDSWOBTH   LONGFELLOW. 


LIFE. 


Like  to  the  falling  of  a  star. 
Or  as  the  flights  of  eagles  are. 
Or  like  the  fresh  spring's  gaudy  hue. 
Or  sihxr  drops  of  morning  dew. 
Or  like  a  wind  that  chafes  the  flood. 
Or  bubbles  which  on  water  stood — 


E'en  such  is  man,  whose  borrowed  light 
Is  straight  called  in,  and  paid  to-night. 
The  wind  blows  out,  the  bubble  dies, 
The  spring  entombed  in  autumn  lies. 
The  dew  dries  up,  the  star  is  shot, 
The  flight  is  past — and  man  forgot! 

Heset  King. 


MAN'S  MORTALITY. 

Like  as  the  damask  rose  you  see, 
Or  like  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 
Or  like  the  dainty  flower  in  May, 
Or  like  the  morning  of  the  day. 
Or  like  the  sun,  or  like  the  shade, 
Or  like  the  gourd  which  Jonas  had — 
E'en  such  is  man  ; — whose  thread  is  spun, 
Drawn  out,  and  cut,  and  so  is  done. — 
The  rose  withers,  the  blossom  blasteth. 
The  flower  fades,  the  morning  hasteth, 
The  sun  sets,  the  shadow  flies, 
Tlie  gourd  consumes — and  man  he  dies ! 

Like  to  the  grass  that 's  newly  sprung. 
Or  hke  a  tale  that 's  new  begun. 
Or  like  the  bird  that's  here  to-day. 
Or  like  the  pearled  dew  of  May, 
Or  like  an  hour,  or  like  a  span, 
Or  like  the  singing  of  a  swan — 
E'en  such  is  man  ; — who  lives  by  breath. 
Is  here,  now  there,  in  life  and  death. — 
The  grass  withers,  the  tale  is  ended. 
The  bird  is  flown,  the  dew  's  ascended. 
The  hour  is  short,  the  span  is  long, 
The  swan  's  near  death — man's  life  is  done ! 

Simon  Wastell. 


SONNET. 

Of  mortal  glory,  O  soon  darkened  ray  ! 
0  winged  joys  of  man,  more  swift  tlian  wind ! 
O  fond  desires,  which  in  our  fancies  stray  ! 
0  trait'rous  hopes,  wliicli  do  our  judgment? 

blind : 
Lo,  in  a  flash  that  light  is  gone  away 
Which   dazzle  did   cacli    eye,    delight  each 

mind. 
And,  with  that  sun  from  whence  it  came 

combined, 


r28 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Now  makes  more  radiant  Leaven's  eternal 

day. 
Let  beauty  now  bedew  her  cheeks  with  tears; 
Let  widowed  music  only  roar  and  groan ; 
Poor  virtue,  get  thee  wings  and  mount  the 

spheres, 
For  dwelling-place  on  earth  for  thee  is  none! 
Death  hath  thy  temple  razed,  love's  empire 

foiled, 
The  world  of  honor,  worth,  and  sweetness 

spoiled. 

WlLLI/^^   Dp.CTMMOND. 


LINES  ON  A  SKELETON. 

Behold  this  ruin ! — 'T  was  a  skull 
Once  of  ethereal  spu*it  fuU ! 
This  narrow  cell  was  life's  retreat ; 
This  space  was  thought's  mysterious  seat ; 
"Wliat  beauteous  pictures  filled  this  spot — 
What  dreams  of  pleasures  long  forgot ! 
Nor  love,  nor  joy,  nor  hope,  nor  fear, 
Has  left  one  trace  of  record  here. 

Beneath  this  mouldering  canopy 

Once  shone  the  bright  and  busy  eye ; 

But  start  not  at  the  dismal  void  ; — 

If  social  love  that  eye  employed, 

If  with  no  lawless  fire  it  gleamed. 

But  through  the  dew  of  kindness  beamed, 

That  eye  shall  be  forever  bright 

When  stars  and  suns  have  lost  their  light. 

Here,  in  this  silent  cavern,  hung 

The  ready,  swift,  and  tuneful  tongue : 

If  falsehood's  honey  it  disdained. 

And,    where    it    could    not    praise,    was 

chained — 
If  bold  in  virtue's  cause  it  spoke, 
Yet  gentle  concord  never  broke. 
That  tuneful  tongue  shall  plead  for  thee 
"When  death  unveils  eternity. 

Say,  did  these  fingers  delve  the  mine, 
Or  with  its  envied  rubies  shine? 
To  hew  the  rock  or  wear  the  gem 
Can  nothing  now  avail  to  them ; 
But  if  the  page  of  truth  they  souglit. 
Or  comfort  to  the  mourner  brought, 
These  liands  a  richer  meed  sbaU  claim 
Than  aU  that  waits  on  wealth  or  fame. 


Avails  it  whether  bare  or  shod 
These  feet  the  path  of  duty  trod? 
If  from  the  bowers  of  joy  they  fled 
To  soothe  affliction's  humble  bed — 
If  grandeur's  guilty  bribe  they  spurned, 
And  home  to  virtue's  lap  returned. 
Those  feet  with  angel's  wings  shall  vie, 
And  tread  the  palace  of  the  sky. 

Anontwoub. 


HYMN  OF  THE  CHUPvCH-YAED. 

An  me  !  this  is  a  sad  and  silent  city  : 

Let  me  walk  softly  o'er  it,  and  survey 
Its  grassy  streets  with  melancholy  pity! 
Where  are  its  children  ?  where  their  glee- 
some  play  ? 
Alas !  their  cradled  rest  is  cold  and  deep, — 
Their  playthings  are  thrown  by,  and   they 
asleep. 

This  is  pale  beauty's  bower ;  but  where  the 
beautiful. 
Whom  I  have  seen  come  forth  at  evening's 
hours, 

Leading  their  aged  friends,  with  feelings  du- 
tiful, 
Amid  the  wreaths  of  spring  to  gather  flow- 
ers ? 

Alas !  no  flowers  are  here  but  flowers  ot 
death. 

And  those  who  once  were  sweetest  sleep  be- 
neath. 

This  is  a  populous  place ;    but  where  the 
bustling — 
The  crowded  buyers  of  the  noisy  mart — 
The  lookers-on, — the  snowy  garments  rust- 
ling,— 
The  money-changers,  and  the  men  of  art* 
Business,  alas !  hath  stopped  in  ]uid  career, 
And  none  are  anxious  to  resume  it  here. 

This  is  the  home  of  grandeur :   where  are 

they,— 
The  rich,  the  great,  the  glorious,  and  the 

wise  ? 
Where  are  the  trappings  of  the  proud,  the 

gay,— 

The  gaudy  guise  of  human  butterflies  ? 


THANATOPSIS. 


729 


Alas !  all  lowly  lies  each  lofty  brow, 

And  the  green  sod  dizens  their  beauty  now. 


This  is  a  place  of  refuge  and  repose. 

Where  are  the  poor,  tlie  old,    the  weary 

wight. 
The  scorned,  the  humble,  and  the  man  of 

"woes, 
"Who  wept  for  morn,  and  sighed  again  for 

night  ? 
Their  sighs  at  last  have  ceased,  and  here  they 

sleep 
Beside  their  scorners,  and  forget  to  weep. 


This  is  a  place  of  gloom :    where  are  the 
gloomy  ? 
The  gloomy  are  not  citizens  of  death — 

Approach  and  look,  where  the  long  grass  is 
plumy ; 
See  them  above !  they  are  not  found  be- 
neath ! 

For  tliese  low  denizens,  with  artful  wiles, 

Nature,    in    flowers,    contrves    her    mimic 
smiles. 


This  is  a  place  of  sorrow  :  friends  have  met 
And  mingled  tears  o'er  those  who  answered 
not; 

And  where  are  they  whose  eyelids  then  were 
wet? 
Alas !  their  griefs,  their  tears,  are  all  for- 
got; 

They,  too,  are  lauded  in  this  silent  city, 

Where  there  is  neither  love,  nor  tears,  nor 
pity. 


This  is  a  place  of  fear :  the  firmest  eye 

Hath  quailed  to  see  its  shadowy  dreariness ; 
But  Christian  hope,  and  heavenly  prospects 
high, 
And  earthly  cares,  and  nature's  weariness. 
Have  made  the  timid  pilgrim  cease  to  fear, 
And  long  to  end  his  painful  journey  here. 

John  Bethune. 


96 


THANATOPSIS. 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  vnsible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.      "Wlicn 

thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,    and  the  narrow 

house. 
Make  thee  to  shudder,    and   grow   sick   at 

heart — 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice :  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  w'as  laid  witli   many 

tears. 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean  shall  exist 
Thy  image.    Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall 

claim 
Thy  growth  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements — 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     Tlio 

oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy 

mould. 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place' 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  Avish 
Couch   more  magnificent.      Thou   slialt    lio 

dowm 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — witli 

kings. 
The  powerful   of  the  earth— tlie  wise,  the 

good — 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past. 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     Tlie  Jiills 


7oO 


rOEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the 

vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between — 
The  venerable  woods — rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured 

round  all. 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.    The  golden  sun. 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All   that 

tread 
The  globe  arc  but  a  handfd  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom. — Take  the  wings 
Of  morning;  traverse  Barca's  desert  sands, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Wliere  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings — yet — the  dead  are 

there ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 
So  shaltthou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?  All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
TVhen  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom;   yet  all  these  shall 

leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall 

come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.    As  the  long 

train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who 

goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years — matron,   and 

maid. 
And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed 

man, — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side 
By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to 

Join 
The  innumerable  caravan  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm  where  each  shall 

take 


His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to    his   dungeon;    but,   sustained 

and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  conch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

"William  Cullen  Butant, 


OVER  THE  RIVER. 

OvEE  the  river  they  beckon  to  me. 
Loved  ones  who  've  crossed  to  the  farther 
side. 
The  gleam  of  their  snowy  .robes  I  see, 
But  their  voices  are  lost  in  the  dashing 
tide. 
There  's  one  with  ringlets  of  sunny  gold, 
And  eyes  the  reflection  of  heaven's  own 
blue ; 
He  crossed  in  the  twilight  gray  and  cold, 
And  the  pale  mist  hid  him  from  mortal 
view. 
We  saw  not  the  angels  who  met  him  there, 

The  gates  of  the  city  we  could  not  see : 
Over  the  river,  over  the  river. 
My  brother  stands  waiting  to  welcome  me. 

Over  the  river  the  boatman  pale 

Carried  another,  the  household  pet; 
Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale, 

Darling  Minnie  !  I  see  her  yet. 
She  crossed  on  her  bosom  her  dimpled  hands, 

And  fearlessly  entered  the  phantom  bark ; 
We  felt  it  glide  from  the  silver  sands, 

And  aU  our  sunshine  grew  strangely  dark ; 
We  know  she  is  safe  on  the  farther  side, 

Where  all  the  ransomed  and  angels  be : 
Over  the  river,  the  mystic  river, 

My  childhood's  idol  is  waiting  for  me. 

For  none  return  from  those  quiet  shores, 
Who  cross  with  the  boatman  cold   and 
pale; 
We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars. 

And  catch  a  gleam  of  the  snowy  sail ; 
And  lo !  they  have  passed  from  our  yearning 
hearts. 
They  cross  the  stream  and  are  gone  for 
aye. 
We  may  not  sunder  the  vail  apart 


ELEGY    WRITTEX    IX    A    COUXTRY    CHURCH-YARD. 


731 


That  hides  from  our  vision  the  gates  of 
day ; 
Wo  only  know  that  their  barks  no  more 

May  sail  with  us  o'er  life's  stormy  sea ; 
Tot  somewhere,  I  know,  on  the  unseen  shore. 

They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

And  I  sit  and  think,  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Is  flushing  river  and  hill  and  shore, 
[  shall  one  day  stand  by  the  water  cold, 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's 
oar; 
[  shall  watcb  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail, 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand, 
[  shall  pass  from  sight  witb  the  boatman 
pale, 

To  the  better  shore  of  the  spirit  land. 
[  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before, 

And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be. 
When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river, 

The  angel  of  death  shall  carry  me. 

NaisCT  Amelia  "Woodbct.t  Peiest. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  VIRTUOUS. 

Sweet  is  the  scene  when  virtue  dies ! 

"When  sinks  a  righteous  soul  to  rest, 
How  mildly  beam  the  closing  eyes, 

IIow  gently  heaves  tli'  expiring  breast ! 

So  ftides  a  summer  cloud  away, 

So  sinks  the  gale  when  storms  are  o'er, 

So  gently  sliuts  the  eye  of  day, 
So  dies  a  wave  along  the  shore. 

Triumphant  smiles  the  victor  brow, 

Fanned  by  some  angel's  purple  wing ; — 

Wlicre  is,  O  grave  I  thy  victory  now  ? 
And  where,  insidious  death !  thy  sting? 

Farewell  conflicting  joys  and  fears, 
"Where  light  and  shade  alternate  dwell ! 

IIow  bright  tli'  unchanging  morn  appears  ;- 
Farewell,  inconstant  world,  farewell ! 

Its  duty  done, — as  sinks  the  day, 
Light  from  its  load  the  spirit  flics  ; 

While  heaven  and  cartli  combine  to  say 
"  Sweet  is  the  scene  when  virtue  dies !  " 

Anna  L^titia  Bakbauld. 


ELEGY  "WRITTEX  IX  A  COUNTRY 
CHURCH-YARD. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day ; 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
Tbe  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary 
way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to 
me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the 
sight. 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  di'oning 
flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds ; 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower. 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  com- 
plain 

Of  sucb  as,  wand'ring  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient,  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's 
shade, 
"Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  moulder- 
ing heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breatliing  morn. 
The   swallow  twitt'ring  from  the  straw 
built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn. 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly 
bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall 
burn, 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  licr  evening  care  ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 

Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  ha? 
broke ; 
How  jocund  did  they  di-ive  their  team  a-ficld  ! 
How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy 
stroke  I 


732 


POEMS    OF    SENTIMENT    AND    REFLECTION. 


Let  not  ambition  mock  their  iiseful  toil, 
Tlieir  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 

Xor  grandeur  bear  ■with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er 
gave, 

Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour. — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault. 
If  memory   o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies 
raise, 
Where   through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and 
fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem   swells  the  note  of 
praise. 

Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust. 
Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 

Can  honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 
Or  flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial 
fire — 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have 
swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre  ; 

But  knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page. 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  un- 
roll ; 

Chill  penury  repressed  their  noble  rage. 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark,  nnfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless 
breast, 
The  httle  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood — 
Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest. 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's 
blood, 

Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 


Their  lot  forbade  ;  nor  circumscribed  aloae 
Their   growing  virtues,  but  their   crimes 
confined — 
Forbade  to   wade    through   slaughter  to   a 
throne. 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind  ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to 
hide. 

To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenious  shame. 
Or  heap  the  shi-ine  of  luxury  and  pride 

With  incense  kindled  at  the  muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  even  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect. 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 

Witli  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculp- 
ture decked. 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  name,  tlieir  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlet- 
tered muse. 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey. 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  be- 
hind ? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 

E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries. 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonored 
dead, 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 
If  chance,  by  lonely  contemi)lation  led. 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate— 

Ilaply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say : 
"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of 
dawn 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 


ELEGY    WRITTEN    IX    A    COUNTRY    CHURCH-YARD. 


lOO 


"  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beach, 

That  wreathes  its  old,  fantastic  roots  so 

high, 

His  listless   length   at   noontide  would  he 

stretch. 

And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles 

by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,   now  smiling  as  in 
scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would 
rove — 
Now  drooping,    woeful-v^'an,   like    one  for- 
lorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless 
love. 

'  One  raorn  I  missed  him  on  the  customed 
hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite 
tree ; 
Another  came — nor  yot  beside  the  rill. 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was 
he; 


"  The  next,  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array, 
Slow  through  the  church- way  path  we  saw 
him  borne : — 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  oan'st  read)  the 
lay 
Gi'aved  on  the  stone  beneath  you  aged 
thorn." 

THE   EPITAPH. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth 
A  youth  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown ; 

Fair  science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere — 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send ; 

He  gave  to  misery  (all  he  had)  a  tear. 
He    gained  from    heaven   ('t  was   all  he 
wished)  a  friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw   his   frailties  from    their    dread 
abode — 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose), 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

TuoMAS  Gkat. 


PART  X. 
POEMS      OF      RELIGION 


Oh !  what  is  msn,  great  Maker  of  mankind ! 

That  Thou  to  him  so  great  respect  dost  bear — 
That  Thou  adorn'st  him  with  so  bright  a  mind, 

Mak'st  him  a  king,  and  even  an  angel's  peer  ? 

Oh  !  what  alivelyhfe,  what  heavenly  power, 
What  spreading  virtue,  what  a  sparkling  fire! 

How  great,  how  plentiful,  how  rich  a  dower 
Dost  Thou  within  this  dying  flesh  inspire  ! 

Thou  leav'st  Thy  print  in  other  works  of  Thine, 
But  Thy  whole  image  Thou  in  man  hast  writ; 

There  cannot  be  a  creature  more  divine. 
Except,  like  Thee,  it  should  be  infinite. 

But  it  exceeds  man's  thought,  to  think  how  high 
God  hath  raised  man,  since  God  a  man  became; 

The  angels  do  admire  tliis  mystery. 
And  are  astonished  when  they  view  the  same. 

Nor  hath  h^  given  these  blessings  for  a  day, 
Nor  made  thorn  on  the  body's  life  depend  : 

The  soul,  though  made  in  time,  survives  for  aye ; 
And  though  it  hath  beginning,  sees  no  end. 

8iE  JouN   Davies. 


POEMS     OF    RELIGION. 


DARKKESS  IS  THINNING. 

Darkness  is  thinning;  sliadows  are  retreat-. 

ing: 
Morning  and  light  are  coming  in  their  beauty. 
Suppliant  seek  we,  with  an  earnest  outcry, 

God  the  Almighty ! 

So  that  our  Master,  having  mercy  on  us. 
May  repel  languor,  may  bestow  salvation, 
Granting  us,  Father,  of  Thy  loving  Ivindness 

Glory  hereafter ! 

This  of  His  mercy,  ever  blessed  Godhead, 
Father,  and  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit,  give  us — 
Whom  through  the  wide  world  celebrate  for 


ever 

Blessing  and  gl^ry ! 

St.  Gkegobt  the  Great.    (Latin.) 
Translation  of  John  Mason  Neale. 


RULES  AND  LESSONS. 

"When  first  thy  eies  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave 
To  do  the  like  ;•  our  bodies  but  forerun 
The  spirit's  duty.     True  hearts  spread  and 

heave 
TJnto  tlicir  God,  as  flow'rs  do  to  the  sun. 
Give  Him  thy  first  thoughts  then ;  so  shalt 

thou  keep 
Him  company  all  day,  and  in  Him  sleep. 

Yet  never  sleep  the  sun  up.    Prayer  shou'd 
Dawn  with  the  day.    There  are  set,  awful 

hours 
'Twixt  heaven  and  us.      The  manna  was  not 

good 
After  sun-rising ;  far-day  sullies  flowres. 
97 


Rise  to  prevent  the  sun  ;  sleep  doth  sins  glut, 
And  heaven's  gate  opens  when  this  world's 
is  shut. 

Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures;   note   the 

hush 
And  whispers  amongst  them.     There 's  not  a 

spring 
Or  leafe  but  hath  his  morning  hymn.     Each 

bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  AM.     Canst  thou  not 

sing? 
O  leave  thy  cares  and  foUics !  go  this  way, 
xVnd  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 

Serve  God  before  the  world ;  let  Him  not  go, 
Until  thou  hast  a  blessing;  then  resigne 
The  wljole  unto  Him ;  and  remember  wlio 
Prevail'd  by  wrestling  ere  the  sun  did  shine. 
Poure  oyle  upon  the  stones;  weep  for  tliy 

sin ; 
Then  journey  on,  and  have  an  eic  to  heav'n. 

Mornings  are  mysteries :    the  first  world's 

youth, 
Man's  resurrection,  and  the  future's  bud 
Shroud  in  their  births;  the  crown  of  life, 

light,  truth 
Is  stil'd  their  starre,  the  stone,  and  hidden 

food. 
Three  blessings  wait  upon  thcin,    two   of 

which 
Should  move:   they  make  us  holy,  happy, 

rich. 

Wiicn    the  world's  up,    and    cv'ry  swarm 

abroad. 
Keep  tliou  thy  temper;  mix  not  with  each 

clay ; 


733 


rOEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Dispatch  necessities  ;  life  bath  a  load 
TMiich  must  be  carri'd  on,  and  safely  may. 
Yet  keep  those  cares  without  thee,  let  the 

heart 
Be  God's  alone,  and  choose  the  better  part. 

Through  all  thy  actions,  counsels,  and  dis- 
course, 
Let  mildness  and  religion  guide  thee  out ; 
If  truth  be  thine,  what  needs  a  brutish  force  ? 
But  what 's  not  good  and  just  ne'er  go  about. 
Wrong  not  thy  conscience  for  a  rotten  stick ; 
That  gain  is  dreadfid  Avhich  makes  spirits  sick. 

To  God,  thy  countrie,  and  thy  friend  be  true ; 
If  priest  and  people  change,  keep  thou  thy 

ground. 
Who  sels  religion  is  a  Judas  Jew  ; 
And,  oathes  once  broke,  the  soul  cannot  be 

sound. 
The  perjurer  's  a  devil  let  loose:  Avhat  can 
Tie  up  his  hands,  that  dares  mock  God  and 

man  ? 

Seek  not  the  same  steps  with  the  crowd ; 

stick  thou 
To  thy  sure  trot ;  a  constant,  humble  mind 
Is  both  his  own  joy,  and  his  Maker's  too ; 
Let  folly  dust  it  on,  or  lag  behind. 
A.  sweet  ?elf-privacy  in  a  right  soul 
Out-runs  the  earth,  and  lines  the  utmost  pole. 

To  all  that  seek  thee  bear  an  open  heart ; 
Make  not  thy  breast  a  labyrinth  or  trap ; 
If  tryals  come,  this  wil  make  good  thy  part, 
For  honesty  is  safe,  come  what  can  hap ; 
It   is  the  good  man's  feast,  the  prince  of 

tlowres. 
Which  thrives  in  storms,  and  sraels  best  after 

showres. 

Seal  not  thy  eyes  up  from  the  poor  ;  but  give 
Proportion  to  their  merits,  and  thy  purse  : 
Thou  may'st  in  rags  a  mighty  prince  relieve. 
Who,  when  thy  sins  call  for  't,  can  fence  a 

curse. 
Thou  shalt  not  lose  one  mite.     Though  waters 

stray, 
The  bread  we  cast  returns  in  fraughts  one  day. 

Spend  not  an  hour  so  as  to  weep  another, 
For  tears  are  not  thine  own ;  if  thou  giv'st 
words, 


Dash  not  with  them  thy  friend,  nor  heav'n ; 

O  smother 
A  viperous    thought;    some    syllables   are 

swords. 
Un bitted  tongues  are  in  their  penance  double ; 
They  shame  their  owners,  and  their  hearers 

trouble. 

Injure  not  modest  bloud,  while  spirits  rise 
In  judgement  against  lewdness ;  that 's  base 

wit, 
That  voyds  but  filth  and  stench.     Hast  thou 

no  prize 
But  sickness  or  infection  ?  stifle  it. 
Who  makes  his  jest  of  sins,  must  be  at  least, 
If  not  a  very  devill,  worse  than  beast. 

Yet  fly  no  friend,  if  he  be  such  indeed; 
But  meet  to  quench  his  longings  and  thy 

thirst ; 
xVllow  your  joycs  religion;  that  done,  speed, 
And  bring  the  same  man  back  thou  wert  at 

first. 
Who  so  returns  not,  cannot  pray  aright, 
But  shuts  his  door,  and  leaves  God  out  all 

night. 

To  heighten  thy  devotions,  and  keep  low 
All  mutinous  thoughts,   what   business  e'r 

thou  hast, 
Observe  God  in  His  works ;  here  fountains 

fiow. 
Birds  suig,   beasts  feed,    fish  leap,  and  th' 

earth  stands  fast ; 
Above  are  restles  motions,  running  lights, 
Vast  circling  azui-e,  giddy  clouds,  days,  nights. 

When  seasons  change,  then  lay  before  thine 

eys 
His   wondrous  method;   mark   the  various 

scenes 
In  heav'n ;   hail,  thunder,  rainbows,  snow, 

and  ice, 
Calmes,  tempests,  light,  and  darknes  by  His 

means. 
Thou  canst  not  misse  His  praise :  each  tree, 

herb,  flowre, 
Are  shadows  of  His  wisedome  and  His  pow'r. 

To  meales  when  thou  doest  come,  give  Him 

the  praise 
Whose  arm  supply'd  thee ;  take  what  may 

suffice, 


I 


THE    PHILOSOPHER'S    DEVOTION. 


739 


And  then  be  thankful ;  0  admii-e  His  ways 
Who  fils  the  world's  unempty'd  granaries ! 
A  thankless  feeder  is  a  theif,  his  feast 
A  very  robbery,  and  himself  no  guest. 

High-noon  thus  past,  thy  time  decays ;  provide 
Thee  other  thoughts ;  away  with  friends  and 

mirth ; 
The  sun  now  stoops,  and  hastes  his  beams  to 

hide 
Under  the  dark  and  melancholy  earth. 
All  but  preludes  thy  end.     Thou  art  the  man 
Whose  rise,  height,  and  descent  is  but  a  span. 

Yet,  set  as  be  doth,  and  'tis  well.     Have  all 
Thy  beams  home  with  thee ;  trim  thy  lamp, 

buy  oyl, 
And  then  set  forth  :  who  is  tlius  drcst,  the  fall 
Furthe  rs  his  glory,  and  gives  death  the  foyl. 
Man  is  a  summer's  day ;  whose  youth  and  tire 
Cool  to  a  glorious  evening,  and  expire. 

"When  night  comes,  list  thy  deeds ;  make  plain 

the  way 
'Twixt  heaven  and  thee ;  block  it  not  with 

delays ; 
Bnt  perfect  all  before  thou  slcep'st :  then  say, 
"  Ther's  one  sun  more  strung  on  my  bead  of 

days." 
"Wliat's  good  score  up  for  joy;  the  bad  well 

scann'd 
Wash  off  with  tears,  and  get  thy  Master's 

hand. 

Thy  account?  thus  made,  spend  in  the  grave 

one  hourc 
Before  thy  time  ;  be  not  a  stranger  there. 
Where  thou  may'st  sleep  whole  ages ;  life's 

poor  flow'r 
Lasts  not  a  night  sometimes.     Bad  spirits  fear 
This  conversation  ;  but  the  good  man  lyes 
Intombed  many  days  before  he  dyes. 

Being  laid,  and  drest  for  sleep,  close  not  thy 

eies 
Up  with  thy  curtains;  give  thy  soul  the  wing 
In  some  good  thoughts ;  so  when  the  day  shall 

rise, 
And  thon  unrak'st  thy  fire,  those  sparks  will 

bring 
Kcw  flames;  besides  where  these  lodge,  vain 

heats  mourn 
And  die ;  that  bush,  where  God  is,  shall  not 

burn. 


When  thy  nap 's  over,  stir  thy  fire,  unrake 
In  that  dead  age ;  one  beam  i'  th'  dark  outvies 
Two  in  the  day ;  then  from  the  damps  and  ake 
Of  night  shut  up  thy  leaves ;  be  chaste ;  God 

prys 
Through  thickest  nights;    though  then  the 

sun  be  far, 
Do  thou  the  works  of  day,  and  rise  a  star. 

Briefly,  doe  as  thou  would'st  be  done  unto, 
Love  God,  and  love  thy  neighbour;  watch, 

and  pray. 
These  are  the  words  and  works  of  life ;  this  do. 
And  live;    who   doth  not  thus,   hath   lost 

heav'n's  way. 
O  lose  it  not!    look  up,  wilt  change  those 

lights 
For  chains  of  darknes  and  eternal  nights  ? 

Henet  Vatjghan. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER'S  DEVOTIOi^. 

Sing  aloud !  His  praise  rehearse, 
Who  hath  made  tlie  universe. 
He  the  boundless  heavens  has  spread, 
All  the  vital  orbs  has  kncd ; 
He  that  on  Olympus  high 
Tends  His  flock  with  watchful  eye  ; 
And,  this  eye  has  multiplied 
Midst  each  flock  for  to  reside. 
Thus,  as  round  about  they  stray, 
Touchcth  each  with  outstretched  ray  , 
Nimbly  they  hold  on  their  way. 
Shaping  out  their  night  and  day. 
Xever  slack  they;  none  respires, 
Dancing  round  their  central  flres. 

In  due  order  as  they  move. 
Echoes  sweet  be  gently  drove 
I'hrough  heaven's  vast  hoUowness, 
Which  unto  all  coiners  press — 
^Music,  that  the  heart  of  Jove 
!Moves  to  joy  and  sportful  love. 
Fills  the  listening  sailor's  ears. 
Riding  on  the  wandering  spheres. 
Neither  speech  nor  language  is 
Wliere  their  voice  is  not  transmiss. 

God  is  good,  is  wise,  is  strong — 
Witness  all  the  creature-throng— 
Is  confessed  by  every  tongue. 
All  things  back  from  whence  they  sprung, 


710 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


As  the  thankful  rivers  pay 
What  they  bori'owcil  of  the  sea. 

Xow,  ni3-sclf,  I  do  resign; 
Take  ine  whole,  I  all  am  Thine. 
Save  me,  God !  from  self-desire. 
Death's  pit,  dark  hell's  raging  fire 
Envy,  hatred,  vengeance,  ire  ; 
Let  not  lust  n)y  soul  bemire. 

Quit  from  these,  Tliy  praise  I  '11  sing, 
Loudly  sweep  the  trembling  string. 
Bear  a  part,  0  wisdom's  sons, 
Freed  from  vain  religions ! 
Lo!  from  far  I  you  salute. 
Sweetly  warbling  on  my  lute — 
India,  Egypt,  Araby, 
Asia,  Greece,  and  Tartary, 
Carmel-tracts  and  Lebanon, 
With  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon, 
From  whence  muddy  Xile  doth  run  ; 
Or,  wherever  else  you  won, 
Breathing  in  one  vital  air — 
One  we  are  though  distant  far. 

Rise  at  once — let 's  sacrifice ! 
Odors  sweet  perfume  the  skies. 
See  how  heavenly  lightning  fires 
Hearts  inflamed  with  high  aspires ; 
All  the  substance  of  our  souls 
Up  in  clouds  of  incense  rolls! 
Leave  we  nothing  to  ourselves 
Save  a  voice — what  need  we  else  ? 
Or  a  hand  to  wear  and  tire 
On  the  thankful  lute  or  lyre. 

Sing  aloud  !  His  praise  rehearse 
Who  hath  made  the  universe. 

Henrt  More. 


THE   SPIPJT-LAND. 

Fathek  !  Thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand. 
Nor  far  removed  where  feet  Lave  seldom 

strayed ; 
Around  us  ever  lies  the  enchanted  land. 
In  marvels  rich  to  Thine  own  sons  displayed; 
In  finding  Thee  are  all  things  round  us  found; 
In  losing  Thee  are  all  tilings  lost  beside ; 
Ears  have  we,  but  in  vain   strange   voices 

sound ; 
And  to  our  eyes  the  ^^sion  is  denied; 
We  wander  in  the  country  far  remote. 


Mid  tombs  and  ruined  ])iles  in  death  to  dwell ; 
Or  on  the  records  of  past  greatness  dote. 
And  for  a  buried  soul  the  living  sell ; 
While  on  our  path  bewildered  falls  the  night 
That  ne'er  returns  us  to  the  fields  of  light. 

Jones  Yert. 


THE  ELDER  SCRIPTURE. 

TuERE  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read, 
Whicli  heavenly  truth  imparts. 

And  all  the  lore  its  scholars  need — 
Pure  eyes  and  loving  hearts. 

The  works  of  God,  above,  below, 

Within  us,  and  around, 
Are  pages  in  that  book,  to  show 

How  God  himself  is  found. 

The  gloi-ious  sky,  embracing  all, 

Is  like  the  Father's  love  ; 
Wherewith  encompassed,  great  and  small 

In  peace  and  order  move. 

The  dew  of  heaven  is  like  His  grace  : 

It  steals  in  silence  down  ; 
But  where  it  lights,  the  favored  place 

By  richest  fruits  is  known. 

Two  worlds  are  ours  :  'tis  only  sin 

Forbids  us  to  descry 
The  mystic  heaven  and  earth  within, 

Plain  as  the  earth  and  sky. 

Thou  who  hast  given  me  eyes  to  see 

And  love  this  sight  so  fair, 
Give  me  a  heart  to  find  out  Thee 

And  read  Thee  every  where. 

JOHK  KeBTJE. 


FOR  NEW-YEAR'S  DAY. 

Eternal  source  of  every  joy  ! 

Well  may  Thy  praise  our  lips  employ, 

While  in  Thy  temple  we  appear 

Whose  goodness  crowns  the  circling  year. 

While  as  the  wheels  of  nature  roll, 
Thy  hand  supports  the  steady  pole ; 
The  sun  is  taught  by  Thee  to  rise. 
And  darkness  when  to  veil  the  skies. 

The  flowery  spring  at  Thy  command 
Embalms  the  air,  and  paints  the  land ; 
The  summer  rays  with  vigor  shine 
To  raise  the  corn,  and  cheer  the  vine. 


AN    ODE. 


ir. 


Thy  hand  in  autumn  richly  pours 
Through  all  our  coasts  redundant  stores  ; 
And  winters,  softened  by  Thy  care, 
No  more  a  face  of  horror  wear. 

Seasons,  and  months,  and  weeks,  and  days 
Demand  successive  songs  of  praise ; 
Still  be  the  cheerful  homage  paid 
With  opening  light  and  evening  shade. 

Here  in  Thy  house  shall  incense  rise, 
As  circling  Sabbaths  bless  our  eyes ; 
Still  will  we  make  Thy  mercies  known, 
Around  Thy  board,  and  round  our  own. 

Oh  may  our  more  harmonious  tongues 
In  worlds  unknown  pursue  the  songs ; 
And  in  those  brighter  courts  adore 
Where  days  and  years  revolve  no  more. 

PmUP    DODDKIDOB. 


"MARK  THE  SOFT-FALLIXG  SXOW." 

Maek  the  soft-falling  snow, 
And  the  diffusive  rain  : 
To  heaven  from  whence  it  fell, 
It  turns  not  back  again, 

But  waters  earth 

Through  every  pore. 

And  call§  forth  all 

Its  secret  store. 

Arrayed  in  beauteous  green 
The  hills  and  valleys  shine, 
And  man  and  beast  is  fed 
By  Providence  divine ; 

The  harvest  bows 

Its  golden  ears. 

The.  copious  seed 

Of  future  years. 

"  So,"  saith  the  God  of  grace, 
"  My  gospel  shall  descend — 
Almighty  to  effect 
The  purpose  I  intend  ; 


Millions  of  souls 
Shall  feel  its  power. 
And  bear  it  down 
To  millions  more. 

"Joy  shall  begin  your  march. 
And  peace  protect  your  ways, 
While  all  the  mountains  round 
Echo  melodious  praise ; 

The  vocal  groves 

Shall  sing  the  God, 

And  every  tree 

Consenting  nod." 

Philip  DoDDEiDoa 


AN  ODE. 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high. 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  original  proclaim. 

The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 

Does  his  creator's  power  display 

And  publishes  to  every  land 

The  work  of  an  almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  Avondrous  talo. 
And  nightly,  to  the  listening  earth, 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  ; 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark,  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  nor  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid   their    radiant  orbs  be  found  ? 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
Forever  singing  as  they  shine 
"  The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine !  "    . 

JosEi'u  Addibon. 


742 


POEMS    OF     RELIGION, 


EVENING. 

Father  !  by  Thy  love  and  power 
Comes  again  the  evening  hour  : 
Liglit  has  vanisliecl,  labors  cease, 
"Weary  creatures  rest  in  peace. 
Tliou,  whose  genial  dews  distil 

On  the  lowliest  weed  that  grows, 
Father  !  guard  our  couch  from  ill, 

Lull  Thy  children  to  repose. 
"We  to  Thee  ourselves  resign. 
Let  our  latest  thoughts  be  Thine. 


Saviour !  to  Thy  Father  bear 
This  our  feeble  evening  pra^'er  ; 
Thou  liast  seen  how  oft  to-day 
"We,  like  sheep,  have  gone  astray : 
Worldly  thoughts,  and  thoughts  of  pride, 

"Wishes  to  Thy  cross  untrue. 
Secret  faults,  and  undescried, 

Meet  Thy  spirit-piercing  view, 
Blessed  Saviour !  yet  through  Thee 
Pray  that  these  may  pai'doned  be. 


Holy  Spirit!  breath  of  balm  ! 
Fall  on  us  in  evening's  calm : 
Yet  awhile  before  we  sleep 
"SVe  with  Thee  will  vigils  keep  ; 
Lead  us  on  our  sins  to  muse, 

Give  us  truest  penitence. 
Then  the  love  of  God  infuse, 

Breathing  humble  confidence ; 
Melt  our  spirits,  mould  our  will. 
Soften,  strengthen,  comfort  still ! 

Blessed  Trinity !  be  neai' 

Through  the  hours  of  darkness  drear ; 

"When  the  help  of  man  is  far. 

Ye  more  clearly  present  are  : 

Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Gliost, 

"Watch  o'er  our  defenceless  head, 
Lot  your  angels'  guardian  host, 

Keep  all  evil  from  our  bed, 
Till  the  flood  of  morning's  rays 
Wake  us  to  a  song  of  praise. 

ANONYMOtrS. 


IN  A  CLEAR  STARRY  NIGHT. 

A   HYMN   AND   PEAYER  FOB  THE   USE   OF 
BELIEVERS. 

Lord  !  when  those  glorious  lights  I  see 
With  which  Thou  hast  adorned  the  skies, 
Observing  how  they  moved  be. 
And  how  their  splendor  tills  mine  eyes, 

Methinks  it  is  too  large  a  grace, 
But  that  Thy  love  ordained  it  so — 
That  creatures  in  so  high  a  place 
Should  servants  be  to  man  below. 


The  meanest  lamp  now  shining  there 
In  size  and  lustre  doth  exceed 
The  noblest  of  Thy  creatures  here. 
And  of  our  friendship  hath  no  need. 

Yet  these  upon  mankind  attend, 
For  secret  aid,  or  public  light ; 
And  from  the  world's  extremest  end 
Repau-  unto  us  every  night. 


Oh  !  had  that  stamp  been  undefaced 
Which  first  on  us  Thy  hand  had  set. 
How  highly  should  we  have  been  graced, 
Since  we  are  so  much  honored  yet. 

Good  God,  for  what  but  for  the  sake 
Of  Thy  beloved  and  only  Son, 
Who  did  on  Him  our  nature  take. 
Were  these  exceeding  favors  done ! 


As  we  by  Him  have  honored  been, 
Let  us  to  Ilim  due  honore  give ; 
Let  His  uprightness  hide  our  sin, 
And  let  us  worth  from  Him  receive. 

Yea,  so  let  us  by  grace  improve 
What  Thou  by  nature  doth  bestow. 
That  to  Thy  dwelling-place  above 
We  may  be  raised  from  below. 

Geoege  WrrnEB. 


ON    THE    MORNING     OF    CHRIST'S    NATIVITY. 


743 


OX  THE  MORN^ING  OF  CHRIST'S  NA- 
TIVITY. 


This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn, 
Wherein  the  Son  of  heaven's  eternal  king, 
Of  wedded  maid  and  virgin  mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring — 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing — 

That  He  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 
And  with  His  Father  work  us  a  perpetual 
peace.  ^ 

II. 

That  glorious  form,  that  light  unsuiferable. 
And  that  fjir-bcaraing  blaze  of  majesty 
Wherewith  He  wont  at  heaven's  liigh  council- 
table 
To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 
He  laid  aside ;  and  here  with  us  to  be 

Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 
And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mor- 
tal clay. 

III. 
Say,  heavenly  muse!  shall  not  thy  sacred 

vein 
Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God? 
Hast   thou  no  verse,  no   hymn,    or  solemn 

strain, 
To  welcome  Him  to  this  His  new  abode — 
Jfow  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun's  team 

untrod, 
Hath  took  no  print  of  the   approaching 

light, 
And  all  the  spangled  host  keep   watch  in 

squadrons  bright? 


IV. 

See  how  from  far  upon  the  eastern  road 
The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odors  sweet ! 
Oh  I  run  prevent  them  with  tliy  humble  ode, 
And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 
Have  thou  the  honor  first  thy  Lord  to  greet. 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  choir. 
From  out  His  secret  altar  touched  with  hal- 
lowed fire. 


THE  HYMN. 


It  was  the  winter  wild 
While  the  heaven-born  child 

All    meanly   wrapt  in  the  rude   uiaugei- 
lies — 
Nature,  in  awe  to  Him, 
Had  doffed  her  gaudy  trim, 

AVith  her  great  master  so  to  sympathize ; 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the    sun,  her  lusty  para- 
mour. 

n. 

Only  with  speeches  fair 
She  woos  the  gentle  air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent 
snow. 
And  on  her  naked  shame, 
Pollute  with  sinful  blame. 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw — 
Confounded  that  her  maker's  eyes 
Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformi- 
ties. 

ni. 

But  He,  her  fears  to  cease. 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  peace ; 

She,  crowned  with  olive  green,  came  softly 
sliding 
Down  tlirough  the  turning  sphere. 
His  ready  harbinger. 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  divid- 

inrr  • 
^"&  1 

And  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand. 
She   strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea 
and  land. 

IV. 

Nor  war,  or  battle's  sound, 
Was  heard  the  Avorld  around — 
The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  liigh  up 

hung; 
The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstained  with  hostile  blood ; 

The    trumpet    spake    not    to  tlio  armed 

throng ; 
Andiings  sat  still  with  awful  eye. 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovereign  Lord 

was  by. 


744 


POEMS    or     RELIGION. 


But  peaceful  was  the  night 
"Wherein  the  jmnce  of  light 

Ilis  reign  of  i:)eace  wpon  the  earth  began ; 
The  Avinds,  -with  wonder  whist, 
Smoothly  tlie  waters  kissed, 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean. 
Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 
While   birds  of  calm   sit   brooding   on  the 
charmed  wave. 

TI. 

The  stars  with  deep  amaze 
Stand  fixed  in  steadfast  gaze. 

Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence ; 
And  will  not  take  their  flight 
For  all  the  morning  light. 

Or  I.ucifer  that  often  warned  them  thence ; 
But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow 
Until  their   Lord   himself  bespake,  and  bid 
them  go. 

TII. 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 
Had  given  day  her  room, 

Tlie   sun    himself   withheld    his    wonted 

speed, 
And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 
As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new-enlightened  world  no  more  should 

need ; 
He  saw  a  greater  sun  appear 
Than  his  bright  throne  or  burning  axle-tree 

could  bear. 


Tin. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn, 
Or  e'er  the  point  of  dawn. 

Sat  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row ; 
FuU  little  thought  they  then 
That  the  mighty  Pan 

"Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below ; 
Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheej:), 
Was  aU  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy 
keep. 

IS. 

"When  such  music  sweet 
Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook — 
Divinely-warbled  voice 


Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took  ; 
The  air,  such  pleasure  loath  to  lose, 
"With   thousand   echoes   still  prolongs  each 
heavenly  close. 


Natui'e,  that  heard  such  sound 
Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat  the  airy  region  thrilling, 
Now  was  almost  won 
To  think  her  part  was  done, 

And  that  her  reign  had  h^'e  its  last  ful- 
filling ; 
She  knew  such  harmony  alone 
Could  hold  all  heaven  and  earth  in  happier 
union. 

XI. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 

A  globe  of  circular  light. 
That  with  long  beams  the  shamefaced  night 
arrayed ; 

The  helmed  cherubim 

And  sworded  seraphim 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings 
displayed. 

Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  choir, 

With  unexpressive  notes,  to   heaven's  new- 
born heir — 

XII. 

Such  music  (as  't  is  said) 
Before  was  never  made, 

But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung. 
While  the  Creator  great 
His  constellations  set, 

And   the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges 
hung, 
And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 
And  bid  the    weltering  waves  their  oozy 
channel  keep. 

XIII. 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres ! 
Once  bless  our  human  ears. 

If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so ; 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time, 

And  let  the  bass  of  heaven's  deep  orgai! 
blow ; 


ON    THE    MOEXIXG    OF    CHRIST'S    NATIVITY. 


745 


And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 
Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic   sym- 
phony. 

siv. 
For  if  such  holy  song 
Inwrap  our  fancy  long, 
Time  -will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of 
gold; 
And  speckled  vanity 
"Will  sicken  soon  and  die, 
And  leprous    sin  will  melt  from  earthly 
mould ; 
And  hell  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous    mansions  to  the 
peering  day. 

sv. 

Yea,  truth  and  justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 
Orbed  in  a  rainbow;    and,   like    glories 

wearing, 
Mercy  will  sit  between, 
Throned  in  celestial  sheen, 
With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down 

steering ; 
And  heaven,  as  at  some  festival, 
Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace 

hall. 

XVI. 

But  wisest  fate  says  No — 
This  must  not  yet  be  so ; 

The  babe  yet  lies  in  smiling  infancy 
That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss. 

So  both  Himself  and  us  to  glorify. 
Yet  first  to  those  ye  chained  in  sleep 
The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder 
through  the  deep, 

XVII. 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang, 

While  the  red    fire  and  smouldering  clouds 
ont-brake ; 
The  aged  earth,  aghast 
With  terror  of  that  blast, 

Sliall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shako — 
When,  at  the  world's  last  session, 
The  dreadful  judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread 
his  throne. 

98 


xvni. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 
Full  and  perfect  is — 

But  now  begins ;  for  from  this  happy  day 
The  old  dragon,  under  ground 
In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway. 
And,  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail. 
Swinges  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail. 

XIX. 

The  oracles  are  dumb ; 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 
Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words 
deceiving ; 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine. 
With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos 
leaving ; 
No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  pro- 
phetic cell. 

XX. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er, 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament ; 
From  haunted  spring,  and  dale 
Edged  with  poplar  pale. 

The  parting  genius  is  with  sighing  sent ; 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 
The    nymphs  in   twilight  shade  of  tangled 
thickets  mourn. 

XXI. 

In  consecrated  earth, 
And  on  the  holy  hearth, 

The  lars  and  lemures  moan  with  midnight 

plaint ; 
In  urns  and  altars  round 
A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights    tlie    flamcns    at    their    service 

quaint ; 
And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 
While    each    peculiar    power    foregoes  hia 

wonted  seat. 

XXII. 

Peor  and  Baiilim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice-battered  god  of  Falestine; 


<46 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION, 


And  mooned  Asbtaroth, 
Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both, 

Xow  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shine ; 
The  Lj-bic  Ilammon  shrinlcs  his  horn — 
In   vain   the  T^-rian  maids  their  wounded 
Thammuz  mourn. 


xxin. 

And  sullen  Moloch  fled, 
Ilath  left  in  shadows  dread 

His  burning  idoJ  all  of  blackest  hue ; 
In  vain,  with  cymbals'  ring, 
They  call  the  grisly  king. 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue ; 
The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast — 
Isis  and  Orus,  and  the  dog  Anubis — haste. 

XXIV. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove  or  green. 

Trampling  the    unsliowered    grass    with 
lowings  loud; 

Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 

Within  his  sacred  chest — 

Nought  but  profoundest  hell  can  be  his 
shroud ; 

In  vain,  with  timbrelled  anthems  dark, 

The   sable-stoled    sorcerers    bear    his  wor- 
shipped ark. 

XXV. 

He  feels  from  Juda's  land 
The  dreaded  infant's  hand — 

The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn ; 
Nor  all  the  gods  beside 
Longer  dare  abide — 

Not  Typhon  huge,  ending  in  snaky  twine ; 
Our  babe,  to  show  His  God-head  true, 
Can  m   His  swaddling  bands    control    the 
damned  crew. 

XXVI. 

So,  when  the  sun  in  bed. 
Curtained  with  cloudy  red, 

Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 
The  flocking  shadows  pale 
Troop  to  the  infernal  jail — 

Each  fettered  ghost   slips  to  his  several 
gi-ave ; 


And  the  yellow-skirted  fays 
Fly  after    the    night-steeds,   leaving    their 
moon-loved  maze. 

XXVII. 

But  see  the  virgin  blest 
Hath  laid  her  babe  to  rest — 

Time  is  our  tedious  song  should  here  have 
ending ; 
Heaven's  youngest  teemed  star 
llath  fixed  her  polished  car, 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  handmaid  lamp 
attending ; 
And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 
Bright-harnessed  angels  sit  in  order  service- 
able. 

John  Milton. 


EPIPHANY. 

Beightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morn- 
ing, 
Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  us  thine 
aid! 
Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  our  infant  Kedeemer  is  laid ! 

Cold  on  His  cradle  the  dew-drops  are  shining; 

Low  lies  His  bed  with  the  beasts  of  the 
stall ; 
Angels  adore  Him  in  slumber  reclining — 

Maker,  and  monarch,  and  Saviour  of  all. 

Say,  shall  we  yield  Ilim,  in  costly  devotion. 

Odors  of  Edom,  and  offerings  divine — 
Gems   of  the  mountain,  and  pearls  of  tlie 
ocean — 
Myrrh  from  the  forest,  and  gold  from  the 
mine  ? 

Vainly  we  offer  each  ample  oblation. 
Vainly  with  gold  would  His  favor  secure ; 

Eicher  by  far  is  the  heart's  adoration, 

Dearer  to  God  are  the  prayers  of  the  poor. 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 
Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  us  thine 
aid! 
Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  our  infant  Eedeemer  is  laid  I 

Eeginald  Hf.bek. 


MESSIAH. 


74-; 


MESSIAH. 

Yb  nymphs  of  Solyma !  begin  the  song — 

To  heavenly  themes  sublimer  strains  belong. 

The  mossy  fountains  and  the  sylvan  shades, 

The  dreams  of  Pindus  and  the  Aonian  maids, 

Delight  no  more — O  thou  my  voice  inspire 

Who  touched  Isaiah's  hallowed  lips  with  fire ! 
Eapt  into  future  times  the  bard  begun : 

A  virgin  shall  conceive — a  virgin  bear  a  son ! 

From  Jesse's  root  behold  a  branch  arise 

"Whose  sacred  flower  with  fragrance  fills  the 
skies ! 

The  ethereal  spirit  o'er  its  leaves  shall  move, 

And  on  its  top  descends  the  mystic  dove. 

Ye  heavens !  from  high  the  dewy  nectar  pour. 

And  iu  soft  silence  shed  the  kindly  shower ! 

The  sick  and  weak  the  healing  plant  shall 
aid — 

From  storm  a  shelter,  and  from  heat  a  shade. 

All  crimes  shall  cease,  and  ancient  frauds 
shall  fail ; 

Returning  justice  lift  aloft  her  scale, 

Peace  o'er  the  world  her  olive  wand  extend, 

And  white-robed  innocence  from  heaven  de- 
scend. 

Swift  fly  the  years,  and  rise  the  expected 
morn ! 

Oh  spring  to  light !  auspicious  babe,  be  born ! 

See,  nature  hastes  her  earliest  wreaths  to 
bring. 

With  all  the  incense  of  the  breathing  spring! 

See  lofty  Lebanon  his  head  advance ; 

See  nodding  forests  on  the  mountains  dance  ; 

See  spicy  clouds  from  lowly  Sharon  rise, 

And  Carmel's  flowery  top  perfumes  the  skies! 

Hark !  a  glad  voice  the  lonely  desert  cheers : 

Prepave  the  way !  a  God,  a  God  appears ! 

A  God,  a  God!  the  vocal  hills  reply — 

The  rocks  proclaim  the  approaching  deity. 

Lo,  earth  receives  Him  from  the  bending 
skies ! 

Sink  down,  ye  mountains;  and  ye  valleys, 
rise ! 

With  heads  declined,  ye  cedars,  homage  pay ! 

Be  smooth,  ye  rocks ;  ye  raj)id  floods,  give 
way! 

The  Saviour  comes!  by  ancient  bards  fore- 
told— 

Hear  Him,  ye  deaf;  and  all  ye  blind,  behold ! 


He  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual 

ray, 
And  on  the  sightless  eyeball  pour  the  day ; 
'T  is  He  the  obstructed  paths  of  sound  shall 

clear. 
And  bid  new  music  charm  the  unfoldin"  ear : 
The  dumb  shall  sing ;    the  lame  his  crutch 

forego, 
And  leap  exulting  like  the  bounding  roe. 
No  sigh,  no  murmur,  the  wide  world  shall 

hear — • 
From  every  face  He  wipes  off  every  tear. 
In  adamantine  chains  shall  death  be  bound. 
And  hell's  grim  tyrant  feel  the  eternal  wouud. 
As  the  good  shepherd  tends  his  fleecy  care. 
Seeks  freshest  pasture,  and  the  purest  air. 
Explores  the  lost,  the  wandering  sheep  di- 
rects, 
By  day  o'ersees  them,  and  by  night  protects; 
The  tender  lambs  He  raises  in  His  arms — 
Feeds  from    His  hand,  and   iu    His  bosom 

warms : 
Thus  shall  mankind  His  guardian  caro  en- 
gage— 
The  promised  father  of  the  future  age. 
No  more  shall  nation  against  nation  rise, 
ISTor  ardent  Avarriors  meet  with  hateful  eyes ; 
Ivor  fields  with  gleaming  steel  be  covered  o't;r. 
The  brazen  trumpets  kindle  rage  no  more ; 
But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend, 
And  the  broad  falchion  in  a  plough-share  end. 
Then  palaces  shall  rise  ;  the  joyful  son 
Shall  finish  what  his  short-lived  sire  begun  ; 
Their  vines  a  shadow  to  their  race  shall  yield. 
And  the  same  hand  that  sowed  shall  reap  the 

field; 
The  swain  in  barren  deserts  with  surprise 
Sees  lilies  spring  and  sudden  verdure  rise ; 
And  starts,  amidst  the  thirsty  wilds,  to  hear 
Xew  falls  of  water  murmuring  in  his  car. 
On  rifted  rocks,  the  dragon's  late  abodes. 
The  green  reed    trembles,  and  the  bulrush 

nods; 
"Waste  sandy  valleys,    once  perplexed  wilb 

tliorn. 
The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn; 
To  leafless  shrubs  tlie  flowery  palms  succeed, 
And  odorous  myrtle  to  the  noisome  weed  ; 
The  lambs  witli  wolves  shall  graze  the  ver- 
dant mead. 
And  boys  in  flowery  l>ands  the  tiger  lead ; 


748 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Tlio  steer  and  lion  at  one  crib  shall  meet, 
And  harmless    serpents    liok   the    pilgrim's 

feet. 
The  smiling  infant  in  his  hand  shall  take 
The  crested  basilisk  and  speckled  snake — 
Pleased,  the  green  lustre  of  the  scales  sm-vey, 
And  with  their  forked  tongue  shall  innocent- 
ly play. 
Rise,  crowned   with  light,  imperial  Salem, 

rise ! 
Exalt  thy  towery  head,  and  lift  thine  eyes! 
See  a  long  race  thy  spacious  courts  adorn ; 
See  future  sons  and  daughters,  yet  unborn. 
In  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise. 
Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies! 
See  barbarous  nations  at  thy  gates  attend, 
"Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend ; 
See  thy  bright  altars  thronged  with  prostrate 

kings, 
And  heaped  with  products  of  Sabean  springs ! 
For  thee  Idume's  spicy  forests  blow. 
And    seeds   of  gold  in    Ophir's   mountains 

glow. 
See  heaven  its  sparkling  portals  wide  display, 
And  break  upon  thee  in  a  flood  of  day  I 
jSTo  more  the  rising  sun  shall  gild  the  morn, 
ISTor  evening  Cynthia  All  her  silver  horn ; 
But  lost,  dissolved  in  thy  superior  rays, 
One  tide  of  glory,  one  unclouded  blaze, 
O'erflow  thy  com'ts;  the  Light  Himself  shall 

shine 
Revealed,  and  God's  eternal  day  be  thine ! 
The  seas  shall  waste,  the  skies  in  smoke  de- 
cay, 
Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away ; 
But  fixed  His  word.  His  saving  power  re- 
mains ; 
Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts,  thy  own  Messiah 


reigns ! 


Alexasdee  Pope. 


TWELFTH  DxiY,  OR   THE   EPIPHANY. 

That  so  Thy  blessed  birth,  0  Clirist, 
Might  through  the  world  be  spread  about. 
Thy  star  appeared  in  the  east. 
Whereby  the  Gentiles  found  Thee  out; 
And  offering  Thee  myi-rh,  incense,  gold. 
Thy  three-fold  office  did  unfold. 


Sweet  Jesus,  let  that  star  of  Thine — 
Thy  grace,  which  guides  to  find  out  Thee- 
Within  our  hearts  for  ever  shine, 
Tliat  Thou  of  us  found  out  mayst  be ; 
And  Thou  shalt  be  our  king  therefore. 
Our  priest  and  prophet  evermore. 

Tears  that  from  true  repentance  drop, 
Instead  of  myrrh,  present  will  we ; 
For  incense  we  will  offer  up 
Our  prayers  and  praises  unto  Thee; 
And  bring  for  gold  each  pious  deed 
Which  doth  from  saving  grace  proceed. 

And  as  those  wise  men  never  went 
To  visit  Herod  any  more ; 
So,  finding  Thee,  we  wiU  repent 
Our  courses  followed  heretofore ; 
And  that  we  homeward  may  retire, 
The  way  by  Thee  we  will  inquire. 

George  WiTnEE. 


LINES 


ox  THE  CELEBEATED  PICTUEE  BX  LEONARDO  DA 
VIXCI,  CALLED  TYIE  VIRGIN  OF  THE  ROOKS. 

While  young  John  runs  to  greet 

The  greater  infant's  feet. 

The  mother  standing  by,  with  trembling 

passion 
Of  devout  admiration, 
Beholds  the  engaging  mystic  play,  and 

pretty  adoration ; 
Nor  knows  as  yet  the  full  event 
Of  those  so  low  beginnings 
From  whence  we  date  our  winnings, 
But  wonders  at  the  intent 
Of  those  new  rites,  and  what  that  strange 

child-worship  meant. 
But  at  her  side 
An  angel  doth  abide. 
With  such  a  perfect  joy 
As  no  dim  doubts  alloy— 
An  intuition, 
A  glory,  an  amenity. 
Passing  the  dark  condition 
Of  blind  humanity. 
As  if  he  surely  knew 
All  the  blest  wonders  should  ensue, 


THE    REIGN     OF    CHRIST     ON    EARTH. 


749 


Or  lie  had  lately  left  the  upper  sphere, 

And  had  read  aU  the  sovereign  schemes 

and  divine  riddles  there. 

CnAEiES  Lamb. 


THE  REIGN"  OF  CHRIST  OX  EARTH. 

Hail  to  the  Lord's  anointed — 

Great  David's  greater  Son ! 
Hail,  in  the  time  appointed, 

His  reign  on  earth  begun ! 
He  comes  to  break  oppression, 

To  set  the  captive  free, 
To  take  away  transgression, 

And  rule  in  equity. 

He  comes  with  succor  speedy 

To  those  who  suffer  wrong ; 
To  help  the  poor  and  needy. 

And  bid  the  weak  be  strong; 
To  give  them  songs  for  sighing, 

Their  darkness  turn  to  light. 
Whose  souls,  condemned  and  dying, 

Were  precious  in  His  sight. 

By  such  shall  He  be  feared 

While  sun  and  moon  endure — 
Beloved,  obeyed,  revered ; 

For  He  shall  judge  the  poor, 
Through  changing  generations. 

With  justice,  mercy,  truth. 
While  stars  maintain  their  stations 

Or  moons  renew  their  youth. 

He  shall  come  down  like  showers 

Upon  the  fruitful  earth, 
xind  love,  joy,  hope,  like  flowers, 

Spring  in  His  path  to  birth ; 
Before  Him,  on  the  mountains. 

Shall  peace,  the  herald,  go. 
And  righteousness,  in  fountains. 

From  hill  to  valley  flow. 

Arabia's  desert-ranger 

To  Ilim  shall  bow  the  knee. 
The  Ethiopian  stranger 

His  glory  come  to  see ; 
With  offerings  of  devotion 

Ships  from  the  isles  shall  meet, 
To  pour  the  wealth  of  ocean 

In  tribute  at  His  feet. 


Kings  shall  fall  down  before  Him, 

And  gold  and  incense  bring ; 
All  nations  shall  adore  Him, 

His  praise  aU  people  sing ; 
For  He  shall  have  dominion 

O'er  river,  sea,  and  shore. 
Far  as  the  eagle's  pinion 

Or  dove's  light  wing  can  soar. 

For  Him  shall  prayer  unceasing, 

And  daily  vows,  ascend — 
His  kingdom  still  increasing, 

A  kingdom  without  end ; 
The  mountain  dews  shall  nourish 

A  seed  in  weakness  sown, 
Whose  fruit  shall  spread  and  flourish, 

And  shake  like  Lebanon. 

O'er  every  foe  victorious. 

He  on  His  throne  shall  rest. 
From  age  to  age  more  glorious, 

All-blessing  and  all- blest ; 
The  tide  of  time  shall  never 

Ilis  covenant  remove ; 
His  name  shall  stand  for  ever ; 

That  name  to  us  is — love. 

James  Moxtgo.meey. 


"JESUS  SHALL  REIG:^^." 

jEsrs  shall  reign  where'er  the  sun 
Does  his  successive  journeys  run,— 
His  kingdom  spread  from  shore  to  shore, 
Till  moons  shall  wax  and  wane  no  more. 

From  north  to  south  the  princes  meet 
To  pay  their  hom.age  at  His  feet. 
While  western  empires  own  their  Lord, 
And  savage  tribes  attend  His  word. 

To  Him  shall  endless  prayer  be  made, 
And  endless  praises  crown  His  head  ; 
His  name  like  sweet  perfume  shall  rise 
With  every  morning  sacrifice. 

People  and  realms  of  every  tongue 
Dwell  on  His  love  with  sweetest  song. 
And  infant  voices  shall  proclaim 
Their  early  blessings  on  His  name. 

Isaac  'WATra. 


750 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


PASSIOX  SUNDAY. 

The  royal  banners  forward  go  ; 
The  cross  shines  forth  in  mystic  glow; 
Where  lie  in  flesh,  our  flesh  who  made, 
Our  sentence  bore,  our  ransom  paid — 

"Where  deep  for  us  the  spear  was  dyed, 
Life's  torrent  rushing  from  His  side. 
To  wash  us  in  that  precious  flood 
"Wliere  mingled  water  flowed  and  blood. 

Fulfilled  is  all  that  David  told 

In  true  prophetic  song  of  old : 

Amidst  the  nations,  God,  saith  he. 

Hath  reigned  and  triumphed  from  the  tree. 

0  tree  of  beauty,  tree  of  hght! 
O  tree  with  royal  purple  dight ! 
Elect  on  whose  triumphal  breast 
Those  holy  limbs  should  find  their  rest ! 

On  whose  dear  arms,  so  widely  flung, 
The  weight  of  this  world's  ransom  hung^ 
The  price  of  human  kind  to  pay, 
And  spoil  the  spoiler  of  his  prey. 

To  Thee,  eternal  three  in  one. 
Let  homage  meet  by  all  be  done, 
Whom  by  the  cross  Thou  dost  restore. 
Preserve  and  govern  evermore.     Amen. 

Venantius  FoETUMATr?,    (Latin.) 
Anonymous  Translation. 


GETHSEMAXE. 

Jcsrs,  while  He  dwelt  below, 
As  divine  historians  say, 

To  a  place  would  often  go — 
Xear  to  Kedron's  brook  it  lay, 

In  this  place  He  loved  to  be. 

And  't  was  named  Gethsemane. 

'T  was  a  garden,  as  we  read. 

At  the  foot  of  Olivet — 
Lovv,  and  proper  to  be  made 

The  Piedeemer's  lone  retreat ; 
AYhen  from  noise  he  would  be  free, 
Then  He  sought  Gethsemane, 


Thither,  by  their  Master  brought, 

His  disciples  likewise  came ; 
There  the  heavenly  truths  He  taught 

Often  set  their  hearts  on  flame  ; 
Therefore  they,  as  well  as  He, 
Visited  Gethsemane. 

Oft  conversing  here  they  sat. 

Or  might  join  with  Christ  in  prayer  ; 

Oh  !  what  blest  devotion  that, 
AVhen  the  Lord  Himself  is  there ! 

All  things  thus  did  there  agree 

To  endear  Gethsemane. 

Full  of  love  to  man's  lost  race, 

On  the  conflict  much  He  thought ; 

This  He  knew  the  destined  place, 
And  He  loved  the  sacred  spot ; 

Therefore  Jesus  chose  to  be 

Often  in  Gethsemane. 

Came  at  length  the  dreadful  night; 

Vengeance  with  its  iron  rod. 
Stood,  and  with  collected  might 

Bruised  the  harmless  Lamb  of  God ; 
See,  my  soul,  thy  Saviour  see. 
Prostrate  in  Gethsemane ! 

View  Him  in  that  olive  press, 

Wrung    with    anguish,    whelmed    with 
blood — 
Hear  Him  pray  in  His  distress. 

With  strong  cries  and  tears,  to  God  : 
Then  reflect  what  sin  must  be, 
Gazing  on  Gethsemane. 

Gloomy  garden,  on  thy  beds, 
Washed  by  Kedron's  water  pool. 

Grow  most  rank  and  bitter  weeds  ! 
Think  on  these,  my  soul,  my  soul ! 

Wouldst  thou  sin's  dominion  see — 

Call  to  mind  Gethsemane. 

Eden,  from  eaoh  flowery  bed, 

Did  for  man  short  sweetness  breathe : 
Soon,  by  Satan's  counsel  led, 

Man  wrought  sin,  and  sin  wrought  death ; 
But  of  life  the  healing  tree 
Grows  in  rich  Gethsemane. 


1 — 


WEEPING    MARY. 


V51 


Hither,  Lord,  Thou  didst  resort 
Ofttimes  -with  Thy  little  train  ; 

Here  woiildst  keep  Thy  private  court: — 
Oh !  confer  that  grace  again ; 

Lord,  resort  with  worthless  me, 

Ofttimes  to  Gethsemane. 

True,  I  can't  deserve  to  share 

In  a  favor  so  divine ; 
But  since  sin  first  fixed  Thee  there, 

Is  one  have  greater  sins  than  mine ; 
And  to  this  my  woeful  plea 
Witness  thou,  Gethsemane ! 

Sins  against  a  holy  God, 

Sins  against  His  righteous  laws, 

Sins  against  His  love.  His  hlood. 
Sins  against  His  name  and  cause. 

Sins  immense  as  is  the  sea — 

Hide  me,  O  Gethsemane  ! 

Saviour,  all  the  stone  remove 
From  my  flinty,  frozen  heart ! 

Thaw  it  with  the  beams  of  love. 
Pierce  it  with  Thy  mercy's  dart! 

Wound  the  heart  that  wounded  Thee ! 

Break  it,  in  Gethsemane ! 

JOSEPU  Hakt. 


GETHSEMANE. 

Go  to  dark  Gethsemane, 

Ye  that  feel  the  tempter's  power ; 
Your  Redeemer's  conflict  see. 

Watch  with  Him  one  hitter  hour; 
Turn  not  from  liis  griefs  away — 
Learn  of  Jesus  Clirist  to  pray  ! 

Follow  to  the  judgment-hall — 

View  the  Lord  of  life  arraigned! 
Oh  tlie  wormwood  and  the  gall ! 

Oh  the  pangs  his  soul  sustained  I 
Shun  not  suffering,  shame,  or  loss- 
Learn  of  Ilini  to  bear  the  cross! 

Calvary's  mournful  mountain  climb ; 

There,  adoring  at  His  feet, 
Mark  that  miracle  of  time — 

(jco  '3  own  sacrifice  complete! 


"It  is  finished  !  " — ^hear  the  cry — 
Learn  of  Jesus  Christ  to  die. 

Early  hasten  to  the  tomb 

Where  they  laid  His  bi'eathless  clay-  ■ 
All  is  solitude  and  gloom  ; 

Who  hath  taken  Him  away  ? 
Christ  is  risen  ! — ^he  meets  our  eyes ! 
Saviour,  teach  us  so  to  rise ! 

James  Montgomebt. 


WEEPING  MARY. 

Makt  to  her  Saviour's  tomb 

Hasted  at  the  early  dawn  ; 
Spice  she  brought,  and  rich  perfume — 

But  the  Lord  she  loved  was  gone. 
For  a  while  she  weeping  stood, 

Struck  with  sorrow  and  surprise, 
Shedding  tears,  a  plenteous  flood — 

For  her  heart  supplied  her  eyes. 

Jesus,  who  is  always  near. 

Though  too  often  unpcrceivcd. 
Comes  his  drooping  child  to  cheer, 

Kindly  asking  why  she  grieved. 
Tliough  at  first  she  knew  him  not — 

When  He  called  her  by  her  name. 
Then  her  griefs  were  all  forgot, 

For  she  found  He  was  the  same. 

Grief  and  sighing  quickly  fled 

When  she  heard  His  welcome  voice; 
Just  before  she  thought  Him  dead, 

Now  He  bids  her  heart  rejoice. 
What  a  change  His  word  can  make, 

Turning  darkness  into  day  I 
You  who  weep  for  Jesus'  sake. 

He  will  wipe  your  tears  away. 

He  who  came  to  comfort  her 

When  she  thought  her  all  was  lost, 
Will  for  your  relief  appear. 

Though  you  now  are  tempest-tossed. 
On  His  word  your  burden  cast, 

On  His  love  your  thoughts  employ ; 
Weeping  for  a  while  may  last. 

But  the  morning  brings  the  joy. 

Jou."*  Nkwton. 


POEMS     OF     RELIGION. 


AN  EASTER  HYMN. 

xVwAKE,  thou  wiati-j  eartli — 

Fling  off"  thy  sadness ! 
Fair  vernal  flowers,  laugh  forth 

Tour  ancient  gladness ! 
Christ  is  risen ! 

"Wave,  woods,  your  blossoms  all — 

Grim  death  is  dead  ! 
Ye  weeping  funeral  trees, 

Lift  up  your  head ! 

Christ  is  risen ! 

Come,  sec !  the  graves  are  green  ; 

It  is  light ;  let 's  go 
"Where  our  loved  ones  rest 

In  hope  below ! 

Christ  is  risen ! 

AH  is  fresh  and  new. 

Full  of  spring  and  light ; 
"Wintry  heart,  why  wear'st  the  hue 

Of  sleep  and  night  ? 
Christ  is  risen ! 

Leave  thy  cares  beneath, 

Leave  thy  worldly  love ! 
Begin  the  better  life 
With  God  above ! 

Christ  is  risen ! 

Thomas  Bi-ACKBrKK. 


EASTEE. 

Rise,  heart!   thy  Lord  is  risen.     Sing  Ills 
praise 

"Without  delays 
Who  takes  thee  by  the  hand,  that  thou  like- 
wise 

With  Ilim  mayst  rise — 
That,  as  Ilis  death  calcined  thee  to  dust. 
His  life  may  make  thee  gold,  and  much  more 
just. 

Awake,  my  lute,  and  struggle  for  thy  part 
With  all  thy  art! 

The  cross  taught  all  wood  to  resound  His  name 
Who  bore  the  same  ; 

His  stretched  sinews  taught  all  strings  what 
key 

Is  best  to  celebrate  this  most  high  day. 


Consort  both  harp  and  lute,  and  twist  a  song 
Pleasant  and  long ! 

Or  since  all  music  is  but  three  parts  vied 
And  multiplied. 

Oh  let  thy  blessed  Spirit  bear  a  part. 

And  make  up  our  defects  with  His  sweet  art. 

I  got  mo  flowers  to  strew  thy  way — 
I  got  me  boughs  off  many  a  tree ; 
But  thou  wast  up  by  break  of  day, 
And  broughtst  thy  sweets  along  with  thee. 

The  sun  arising  in  the  east. 

Though  he  give  light,  and  th'  east  perfume, 

If  they  should  offer  to  contest 

With  Thy  arising,  they  presume. 

Can  there  be  any  day  but  this, 
Tliough  many  suns  to  shine  endeavor  ? 
We  count  three  hundred,  but  we  miss — 
There  is  but  one,  and  that  one  ever. 

Geokge  Heebekt. 


HYMN. 


From  my  lips  in  their  defilement. 
From  my  heart  in  its  beguilemeut. 
From  my  tongue  which  speaks  not  fair, 
From  ray  soul  stained  everywhere— 
O  my  Jesus,  take  my  prayer ! 

Spurn  me  not,  for  all  it  says, — 
Not  for  words,  and  not  for  ways, — 
Not  for  shamelessness  endured ! 
Make  me  brave  to  speak  my  mood, 

0  my  Jesus,  as  I  would ! 

Or  teach  me,  which  I  rather  seek, 
What  to  do  and  what  to  speak. 

1  have  sinned  more  than  she 

Who,  learning  where  to  meet  with  Thee, 
And  bringing  myrrh  the  highest  priced, 
Anointed  bravely,  from  her  knee. 
Thy  blessed  feet  accordingly — 
My  God,  my  Lord,  my  Christ! 
As  thou  saidest  not  "Depart," 
To  that  suppliant  from  her  heart. 
Scorn  me  not,  0  Word,  that  art 


I    JOURNEY    THROUGH    A    DESERT    DREAR    AND    WILD. 


(53 


The  gentlest  one  of  all  words  said ! 
But  give  Thy  feet  to  me  instead, 
That  tenderly  I  may  them  kiss, 
And  clasp  them  close,  and  never  miss, 
"With  over-dropping  tears,  as  free 
And  precious  as  that  myrrh  could  be, 
T'  anoint  them  bravely  from  my  knee  ! 

"Wash  me  with  Thy  tears !  draw  nigh  me. 

That  their  salt  may  purify  me ! 

Thou  remit  my  sins  who  knowest 

All  the  sinning,  to  the  lowest — 

Knowest  all  my  wounds,  and  seest 

All  the  stripes  Thyself  decreest ; 

Yea,  but  knowest  all  my  faith — 

Seest  all  my  force  to  death, — 

nearest  all  my  wailings  low 

That  mine  evil  should  be  so  I 

Nothing  hidden  but  appears 

In  Thy  knowledge,  0  Di^^ne, 

O  Creator,  Saviour  mine ! — 

Not  a  drop  of  falling  tears, 

Not  a  breath  of  inward  moan, 

Not  a  heart-beat — which  is  gone  ! 

St.  Joannes  Damascenus.    (Greek.) 
Translation  of  E.  B.  Brow.msu.. 


MY  GOD,  I  LOVE  THEE. 

Mt  God,  I  love  Thee  !  not  because 
I  hope  for  heaven  thereby ; 

Nor  because  those  who  love  Thee  not 
Must  burn  eternally. 

Thou,  O  my  Jesus,  Thou  didst  me 

Upon  the  cross  embrace  ! 
For  me  didst  bear  tlie  nails  and  spear, 

And  manifold  disgrace. 

And  griefs  and  torments  numberless, 

And  sweat  of  agony, 
Yea,  death  itself — and  all  for  one 

That  was  Thine  enemy. 

Then  why,  0  blessed  Jesus  Christ, 
Should  I  not  love  Thee  well  ? 

Not  for  the  hope  of  winning  lieaven. 
Nor  of  escaping  hell ! 
99 


Not  with  the  hope  of  gaining  aught. 

Not  seeking  a  reward ; 
But  as  Thyself  hast  loved  me, 

O  everlasting  Lord ! 

E'en  so  I  love  Thee,  and  will  love, 
And  in  Thy  praise  will  sing — 

Solely  because  thou  art  my  God, 

And  my  eternal  king. 

St.  Fbancis  Xaviee.    (Latin.) 
Translation  of  Ed-waed  Caswell. 


"I  JOURNEY  THROUGH  A  DESERT 
DREAR  AND  "WILD." 

I  jouEXEY  through  a  desert  drear  and  wild. 

Yet  is  my  heai't  by  such  sweet  thoughts  be- 
guiled 

Of  Him  on  whom  I  lean,  my  strength,  my 
stay, 

I  can  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  way. 

Thoughts  of  Hislove — the  root  of  every  grace, 

"Which  finds  in  this  poor  heart  a  dwelling- 
place  ; 

The  sunshine  of  my  soul,  than  day  more 
bright. 

And  my  calm  pillow  of  repose  by  night. 

Thoughts  of  His  sojourn  in  this  vale  of  tears — 
The  tale  of  love  unfolded  in  those  years 
Of  sinless  sutfering,  and  patient  grace, 
I  love  again  and  yet  again  to  trace. 

Thoughts  of  His  glory — on  tlie  cross  I  gaze. 
And  there  behold  its  sad,  yet  healing  rays ; 
Beacon  of  hope,  which  lifted  up  on  high, 
Illumes  with  heavenly  liglit  the  tear-dinimed 
eye. 

Thouglits  of  His  coming — for  that  joyful  day 
In  patient  hope  I  watcli,  and  wait,  and  j)ray ; 
The  dawn  draws  nigh,  the  midnight  shadows 

flee, 
Oh!  what  a  sunrise  will  that  advent  bo  ! 

Thus  while  I  journey  on,  my  Lord  to  meet, 
My  thouglits  and  meditations  are  so  sweet, 
Of  Him  on  whom  I  lean,  my  strength,  my 

stay, 
I  can  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  way. 

ANONYMOrS. 


/54 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


WRESTLING  JACOB. 

FIRST   PART. 

Come,  O  Thou  traveller  unknown, 
Whom  still  I  hold,  but  cannot  see ; 

My  company  before  is  gone, 
And  I  am  left  alone  with  Thee ; 

With  Thee  all  niglit  I  mean  to  stay. 

And  wrestle  till  the  break  of  day. 

I  need  not  tell  Thee  who  I  am ; 

My  sin  and  misery  declare ; 
Thyself  hast  called  me  by  my  name ; 

Look  on  Thy  hands,  and  read  it  there  ; 
But  who,  I  ask  Thee,  who  art  Thou? 
Tell  me  Thy  name,  and  tell  me  now. 

In  vain  Thou  strugglest  to  get  free ; 

I  never  will  unloose  my  hold  : 
Art  Thou  the  man  that  died  for  me  ? 

The  secret  of  Thy  love  unfold ; 
Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  Thee  go, 
Till  I  Thy  name,  Thy  nature  know. 

Wilt  Thou  not  yet  to  me  reveal 

Thy  new,  unutterable  name  ? 
Tell  me,  I  still  beseech  Thee,  tell ; 

To  know  it  now  resolved  I  am ; 
Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  Thee  go. 
Till  I  Thy  name,  Thy  nature  know. 

What  though  my  shrinking  flesh  complain 
And  murmur  to  contend  so  long ; 

I  rise  superior  to  my  pain ; 

When  I  am  weak,  then  am  I  strong ! 

And  when  my  all  of  strength  shall  fail, 

T  shall  with  the  God-man  prevail. 


SECOND   PART. 

Yield  to  me  now,  for  I  am  weak. 

But  confident  in  self-despair; 
Speak  to  my  heart,  in  blessings  speak ; 

Be  conquered  by  my  instant  prayer  ; 
Speak,  or  Thou  never  hence  shalt  move. 
And  tell  me  if  Thy  name  be  Love. 

'T is  love!  'tis  love!     Thou  diedst  for  me ; 

I  hear  Thy  whisper  in  my  heart ; 
The  morning  breaks,  the  shadows  flee ; 

Pure,  universal  love  Thou  art; 


To  me,  to  all,  Thy  bowels  move, 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

My  prayer  hath  power  with  God ;  the  grace 

Unspeakable  I  now  receive ; 
Tlu'ougli  faith  I  see  Thee  face  to  face ; 

I  see  Thee  face  to  face  and  live ! 
In  vain  I  have  not  wept  and  strove; 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

I  know  Thee,  Saviour,  who  Thou  art, 
Jesus,  the  feeble  sinner's  friend  ; 

Nor  AvUt  Thou  with  the  night  depart, 
But  stay  and  love. me  to  the  end ; 

Thy  mercies  neve-r  shall  remove ; 

Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

The  sun  of  righteousness  on  me 

Ilath  rose,  with  healing  in  his  wings ; 

Withered  my  nature's  strength  ;  from  Thee 
My  soul  its  life  and  succor  brings ; 

My  help  is  all  laid  up  above ; 

Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

Contented  now  upon  my  thigh 
I  halt,  till  life's  short  journey  end ; 

All  helplessness,  all  weakness,  I 

On  Thee  alone  for  strength  depend ; 

Nor  have  I  power  from  Thee  to  move ; 

Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

Lame  as  I  am,  I  take  the  prey ; 

Hell,  earth,  and  sin,  with  ease  o'ercome; 
I  leap  for  joy,  pursue  my  way. 

And,  as  a  bounding  hart,  fly  home  ; 
Through  all  eternity  to  prove 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

Chakles  Wesley. 


THE  CALL. 

Come,  my  way,  my  truth,  my  life, — 
Such  a  way  as  gives  us  breath ; 
Such  a  truth  as  ends  all  strife; 
Such  a  life  as  killeth  death. 

Come  my  light,  my  feast,  my  strength  !- 
Such  a  light  as  shows  a  feast ; 
Such  a  feast  as  mends  in  length : 
Such  a  strength  as  makes  His  guest. 


THE    ODOR. 


Come  my  joy,  my  love,  my  heart ! 

Such  a  joy  as  none  can  move ; 

Such  a  love  as  none  can  part; 

Such  a  heart  as  joys  in  love. 

Geokgb"  Heebeet. 


THE  STEANGER  A^D  HIS  FRIEND. 

A  pooE  wayfaring  man  of  grief 

Hath  often  crossed  me  on  my  way, 
"Who  sued  so  humbly  for  relief 

That  I  could  never  answer  "iSTay." 
I  had  not  power  to  ask  His  name, 
Whither  He  went,  or  whence  He  came  ; 
Yet  there  was  something  in  His  eye 
That  won  my  love, — I  knew  not  why. 

Once,  when  my  scanty  meal  was  spread, 
He  entered.    Not  a  word  He  spake. 

Just  perishing  for  Avant  of  bread, 
I  gave  Him  all ;  He  blessed  it,  brake, 

And  ate; — but  gave  me  part  again. 

Mine  was  an  angel's  portion  then  ; 

For  while  I  fed  with  eager  haste, 

That  crust  was  manna  to  my  taste. 

I  spied  Him  where  a  fountain  burst 

Clear  from  the  rock ;  His  strength  was 
gone; 
The  heedless  water  mocked  His  thirst ; 

He  heard  it,  saw  it  hurrying  on. 
I  ran  to  raise  the  sufferer  up ; 
Thrice  from  the  stream  He  drained  my  cup, 
Dipped,  and  returned  it  running  o'er  ;— 
I  drank,  and  never  thirsted  more. 

'T  was  night;  the  floods  were  out,— it  blew 

A  winter  hurricane  aloof; 
I  heard  His  voice  abroad,  and  flew 

To  bid  Him  welcoine  to  my  roof; 
I  warmed,  I  clothed.  I  cheered  my  guest- 
Laid  Him  on  my  own  couch  to  rest ; 
Then  made  the  earth  my  bed,  and  seemed 
In  Eden's  garden  while  I  dreamed. 

Stripped,  wounded,  beaten  nigh  to  death, 
I  found  Him  by  the  highway  side  ; 

I  roused  His  pulse,  brought  back  His  breath, 
Revived  His  spirit  and  supplied 


Wine,  oil,  refreshment ;  He  was  healed. 
I  had,  myself,  a  wound  concealed — 
But  from  that  hour  forgot  the  smart. 
And  peace  bound  up  my  broken  heart. 

In  prison  I  saw  Him  nex't,  condemned 

To  meet  a  traitor's  doom  at  mom  ; 
The  tide  of  lying  tongues  I  stemmed, 

And  honored  Him  midst  shame  and  scorn. 
My  friendship's  utmost  zeal  to  try. 
He  asked  if  I  for  Him  would  die ; 
The  flesh  was  weak,  my  blood  ran  chill, 
But  the  free  spirit  cried,  "  I  will." 

Then  in  a  moment,  to  my  view, 
The  stranger  darted  from  disguise  ; 

The  tokens  in  His  hands  I  Knew — 
My  Saviour  stood  before  mine  eyes. 

He  spake ;  and  my  poor  name  he  named — 

"  Of  me  thou  hast  not  been  ashamed; 

These  deeds  shall  thy  memorial  be  ; 

Fear  not !  thou  didst  them  unto  me." 

James  Montgomeet. 


THE  ODOR. 

How  sweetly  doth  My  Master  sound !— My 
Master ! 
As  ambergris  leaves  a  rich  scent 

Unto  the  taster. 
So  do  these  words  a  sweet  content 
An  oriental  fi-agrancy — My  Master ! 

With  tliese  all  day  I  do  perfume  my  mind, 
My  mind  even  thrust  into  them  both— 

That  I  might  find 
What  cordials  make  this  curious  broth, 
This  broth  of  smells,  that  feeds  and  fots  my 
mind. 

My  ^kfaster  shall  I  speak  ?    Oh  that  to  Thee 
My  servant  were  a  little  so 

As  flesh  may  be ; 
That  these  two  words  might  creep  and 
grow 
To  some  degree  of  spiciness  to  Thee ! 

Then  should  tlie  pomander,  which  was  before 
A  speaking  sweet,  mend  by  reflection, 

And  tell  me  more  ; 
For  pardon  of  my  imperfection 

Would  warm  and  work  it  sweeter  than  before. 


1^r> 


POEMS 

i 


OF    RELIGION. 


Foi-  wlien  My  Master,  which  alone  is  sweet, 
And  e'en  in  my  unworthiness  pleasing. 

Shall  call  and  meet 
My  servant,  as  Tlicc  not  displeasing, 

Tliat  call  is  but  the  breatliing  of  the  sweet. 

This  breathing  •would  with  'gains,  by  sweet- 

'ning  mc, 

(As  sweet  things  trafSck  when  they  meet) 

Return  to  Thee ; 

And  so  this  new  co  mmerce  and  sweet 

Should  all  my  life  employ,  and  busy  me. 

Geokgb  Hekbekt. 


THE  FEAST. 

On  come  away ! 

Make  no  delay — 
Come  while  my  heart  is  clean  and  steady ! 

"While  faith  and  grace 

Adorn  the  place, 
Making  dust  and  ashes  ready ! 

No  bliss  here  lent 

Is  permanent — 
Such  triumphs  poor  flesh  cannot  merit ; 

Short  sips  and  sights 

Endear  delights  ; 
"Who  seeks  for  more  he  would  inherit. 

Come-  then,  true  bread, 

Quick'ning  the  dead, 
Whose  eater  shall  not,  cannot  die  ! 

Come,  antedate 

On  me  that  state 
Which  brings  poor  dust  the  victory  I  — 

Aye,  victory ! 

Which  from  tliine  eye. 
Breaks  as  the  day  doth  from  the  east. 

When  the  spilt  dew, 

Like  tears,  doth  shew 
The  sad  world  wept  to  be  releast. 

Spring  up,  0  wine ! 

And  springing  shine 
With  some  glad  message  from  His  heart, 

Who  did,  when  slain. 

These  means  ordain 
For  me  to  have  in  Him  a  part !  >— 


Such  a  sure  part 

In  Ilis  blest  heart, 
The  well  wliere  living  waters  spring, 

That,  with  it  fed. 

Poor  dust,  though  dead, 
Shall  rise  again,  and  live,  and  sing. 

O  drink  and  bread, 

Which  strikes  death  dead, 
The  food  of  man's  immortal  being ! 

Under  veils  here 

Thou  art  my  cheer. 
Present  and  sure  without  my  seeing. 

How  dost  Thou  fly. 

And  search  and  pvy 
Through  aU  my  parts,  and,  like  a  quick 

And  knowing  lamp. 

Hunt  out  each  damp 
Whose  shadow  makes  me  sad  or  sick. 


Oh  what  high  joys ! 

The  turtle's  voice 
And  songs  I  hear !     O  quick'ning  showers 

Of  my  Lord's  blood. 

You  make  rocks  bud. 
And  crown  dry  hills  with  wells  and  flowers ! 

For  this  true  ease, 

This  healing  peace, 
For  this  brief  taste  of  living  glory. 

My  soul  and  all. 

Kneel  down  and  fall. 
And  sing  His  sad  victorious  story ! 

O  thorny  crown, 

More  soft  than  down  ! 
0  painful  cross,  my  bed  of  rest! 

0  spear,  the  key 

Opening  the  way ! 
O  Thy  worst  state  my  only  best! 

Oh,  all  thy  griefs 

Are  my  reliefs. 
As  all  my  sins  Thy  sorrows  were ! 

And  what- can  I 

To  this  reply  ? 
What,  O  God  !  but  a  silent  tear ! 


I 


THE    FLOWER. 


757 


Some  toil  and  so  w 

That  wealth  may  flow, 

And  dress  this  earth  for  next  year's  meat ; 

But  let  me  heed 

Why  Thou  didst  bleed, 

And  what  in  the  next  world  to  eat. 

Heney  Taughais^. 


COMPLAIMNG. 

Do  not  beguile  ray  heart. 
Because  Thou  art 
My  power  and  wisdom  I  Put  me  not  to  shame. 
Because  I  am 
Thy  clay  that  sweeps.  Thy  dust  that  calls ! 

Thou  art  the  Lord  of  glory — 
The  deed  and  story 
Are  both  Thy  due ;  but  I  a  silly  fly. 
That  live  or  die 
According  as  the  weather  falls. 

Art  Thou  all  justice,  Lord  ? 
Sliows  not  Thy  word 
More  attributes  ?     Am  I  all  throat  or  eye. 
To  weep  or  cry  ? 
Have  I  no  parts  but  those  of  grief? 

Let  not  Thy  wrathful  power 
Afflict  my  hour, 
My  inch  of  life ;  or  let  Thy  gracious  power 
Contract  my  hour, 
That  I  may  climb  and  find  relief. 

Geokge  IIeubebt. 


SOXXETS. 

How  orient  is  Thy  beauty !  How  divine  ! 
How  dark  's  the  glory  of  the  earth  to  Thine ! 
Thy  veiled  eyes   outshine   heaven's  greater 

light,  ' 
Unconqucred  by  the  shady  cloud  of  night ; 
Tliy  curious  tresses  dangle,  all  unbound, 
With  unaffected  order  to  the  ground : 
How  orient  is  Tliy  beauty!     How  divine! 
How  dark 's  the  glory  of  the  earth  to  Thine ! 


Of  hot  Arabia  do  enrich  the  air 
With  more  delicious  sweetness  than  the  fair 
Reports  that  crown  the  merits  of  Thy  name 
With  heavenly  laurels  of  eternal  fame, 
Which  makes  the  virgins  fix  their  eyes  upon 

Thee, 
And  aU  that  view  Thee  are  enamored  on  Thee. 


Who  ever  smelt  the  breath  of  morning  flow- 
ers 

New  sweetened  with  the  dash  of  twilight 
•    showers, 

Of  pounded  amber,  or  the  flowing  thyme, 

Or  purple  violets  in  their  proudest  prime, 

Or  swelHng  clusters  from  the  cypress-tree  ? 

So  sweet 's  my  love ;  aye,  far  more  sweet  is 
He— 

So  fair,  so  sweet,  that  heaven's  bright  eye  is 
dim. 

And  flowers  have  no  scent,  compared  with 
Him. 

rnANCIS  QUAELEB. 


XoK  myrrh,  nor  cassia,  nor  the  choice  per- 
fumes 
Of  unctious  nard,  or  aromatic  fumes 


THE   FLOWER. 

How  fresh,  0,  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
Are  thy  returns!    e'en    as  the  flowers  in 
spring — 
To  which,  besides  their  own  demean. 
The  late-past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring. 
Grief  melts  away 
Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

Who  would  have  thought  my  shrivelled 
heart 
Could  have  recovered  greenness  ?   It  was  gone 

Quite  under  ground ;  as  flowers  depart 
To  see  their  mother-root  when  they  have 
blown, 

Where  they  together, 
AU  the  hard  weather, 
Dead  to  the  world,  keep  hous.;  unknown. 

These  are  Thy  wonders.  Lord  of  power: 
Killing  and  quick'ning,  bringing  down  to  hell 

And  up  to  heaven  in  an  hour, 
Making  a  chiming  of  a  passing-bell. 
We  say  amiss. 
This  or  that  is — 
Tliy  word  is  all,  if  we  could  spell. 


V5S 


POEMS    OF     RELIGION. 


Oil,  that  I  once  past  changiBg  were — 
Fast  iu  Tliy  paradise,  where  no  flower  can 
wither ! 
Many  a  spring  I  shoot  up  fair, 
Oft'ering  at  heaven,  growing  and  groaning 
thither ; 

Nor  doth  my  flower 
Want  a  spring-shower, 
My  sins  and  I  joining  together. 

But,  while  I  grow  in  a  straight  line. 
Still  upwards  hcnt,  as  if  heaven  were  mine 
own. 
Thy  anger  comes,  and  I  decline ; 
What  frost  to  that  ?  what  pole  is  not  the  zone 
Where  all  things  hnrn, 
When  Thou  dost  turn 
And  the  least  frown  of  Thine  is  shown  ? 

And  now  in  age  I  bud  again — 
After  so  many  deaths  I  live  and  write  ; 

I  once  more  smell  the  dew  and  rain, 
And  relish  versing ;  O  my  only  light, 
It  cannot  be 
That  I  am  he 
On  whom  Thy  tempests  fell  all  night ! 

These  are  Thy  wonders.  Lord  of  love — 

To  make  us  see  we   are  but  flowers   that 

glide ; 

Which   when   we    once    can  find    and 

prove. 

Thou  hast  a  garden  for  us  where  to  bide. 

Who  would  be  more, 

Swelling  through  store. 

Forfeit  their  paradise  by  their  pride. 

Geobge  Herbeet. 


A  PRAYER  LIVING  AND  DYING. 

Rook  of  ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee ! 
Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 
From  Thy  riven  side  which  flowed. 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure — 
Cleanse  me  from  its  gilt  and  power. 

Not  the  labors  of  my  hands 
Can  fulfil  Thy  law's  demands ; 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know, 
Could  my  teai's  for  ever  flow, 


All  for  sin  could  not  atone — 
Thou  must  save,  and  Thou  alone 

Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring — 
Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling : 
Naked  come  to  Thee  for  dress — 
Helpless  look  to  Thee  for  grace ; 
Foul,  I  to  the  fountain  fly — 
Wash  me.  Saviour,  or  I  die. 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
When  my  eye-strings  break  in  death, 
When  I  soar  to  worlds  unknown, 
See  Thee  on  Thy  judgment  throne, 
Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee! 

AtTGTJSTUS  MONTAQTTE  ToPLADY. 


JESUS. 


None  upon  earth  I  desire  beside  Thee. 

Psalm  Ixxiii.  25. 

How  tedious  and  tasteless  the  hours 

When  Jesus  no  longer  I  see ! 

Sweet  prospects,  sweet  bu-ds,  and  sv/eet 

flowers. 
Have  lost  all  their  sweetness  with  me" ; 
The  midsummer  sun  shines  but  dim, 
The  fields  strive  in  vain  to  look  gay ; 
But  when  I  am  happy  in  Him, 
December 's  as  pleasant  as  May. 

His  name  yields  the  richest  perfume, 
And  sweeter  than  music  His  voice  ; 
His  presence  disperses  my  gloom. 
And  makes  all  within  me  rejoice; 
I  should,  were  He  always  thus  nigh, 
Have  nothing  to  wish  or  to  feai* ; 
No  mortal  so  happy  as  I — 
My  summer  would  last  all  the  year. 

Content  with  beholding  His  face, 
My  all  to  His  pleasure  resigned, 
No  changes  of  season  or  place 
Would  make  any  change  in  my  mind ; 
While  blest  with  a  sense  of  His  love 
A  palace  a  toy  would  appear ; 
And  prisons  would  palaces  prove, 
If  Jesus  would  dwell  with  me  there. 


THE    WATCHMAN'S    REPORT. 


159 


Dear  Lord,  if  indeed  I  am  Thine, 
If  Thou  art  my  sun  and  my  s'ong — 
Say,  why  do  I  languish  and  pine, 
And  why  are  my  winters  so  long  ? 
Oh  drive  these  dark  clouds  from  my  sky, 
Thy  soul-cheering  presence  restore ; 
Or  take  me  unto  Thee  on  high, 
Where  winter  and  clouds  are  no  more. 

John  Newtos. 


THE  EXAMPLE  OF  CHRIST. 

Mt  dear  Eedeeraer,  and  my  God, 
I  read  my  duty  in  Thy  word  ; 
But  in  Thy  life  the  law  appears 
Drawn  out  in  living  characters. 

Such  was  Thy  truth,  and  such  Thy  zeal, 
Such  deference  to  Thy  Father's  will. 
Such  love,  and  meekness  so  divine, 
I  would  transcrihe,  and  make  them  mine. 

Cold  mountains,  and  the  midnight  air, 
Witnessed  the  fervor  of  Thy  prayer; 
The  desert  Thy  temptations  knew — 
Thy  conflict,  and  Thy  victory  too. 

Be  thou  my  pattern ;  make  me  bear 
More  of  Thy  gracious  image  here; 
Then  God,  the  Judge,  shall  own  my  name 
Amongst  the  followers  of  the  Lamb. 

Isaac  Watts. 


COME  UNTO  ME. 

'Come  unto  me  all  yc  that  are  woiiry  and  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Come,  said  Jesus'  sacred  voice — 
Come  and  make  my  paths  your  choice! 
I  will  guide  you  to  your  home — 
Weary  pilgiim,  hither  come  ! 

Tliou  who,  houseless,  sole,  forlorn. 
Long  hast  borne  the  proud  world's  scorn. 
Long  hast  roamed  the  barren  waste. 
Weary  pilgrim,  hither  haste ! 


Ye  wlio,  tossed  on  beds  of  pain. 
Seek  for  ease,  but  seek  in  vain — 
Ye  whose  swollen  and  sleepless  eyes 
Watch  to  see  the  morning  rise — 


Ye  by  fiercer  anguish  torn, 

In  strong  remorse  for  guilt  who  mourn, 

Here  repose  your  heavy  care — 

A  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear! 


Sinner,  come!  for  here  is  found 
Balm  that  flows  for  every  wound — 
Peace,  that  ever  shall  endure — 
Rest  eternal,  sacred,  sure. 

Anna  L^titia  Bakbaot.d 


THE  WATCHMAN'S  REPORT. 

Watchmax,  tell  us  of  the  night — 

What  its  signs  of  promise  are ! 
Traveller,  o'er  yon  mountain's  height 

See  that  glory-beaming  star! 
Watchman,  does  its  beauteous  ray 

Aught  of  hope  or  joy  foretell  ? 
Traveller,  yes  ;  it  brings  the  day — 

Promised  day  of  Israel. 

Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night — 

Higher  yet  that  star  ascends ! 
Traveller,  blessedness  and  light, 

Peace  and  ti-uth,  its  course  portends. 
Watchman,  will  its  beams  alone 

Gild  the  spot  that  gave  them  birth  ? 
Traveller,  ages  are  its  own — 

See,  it  bursts  o'er  all  the  earth  ! 


Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night, 

For  the  morning  seems  to  dawn. 
Traveller,  darkness  takes  its  flight — 

Doubt  and  terror  are  withdrawn. 
Watchman,  let  thy  wandering  cease ; 

Ilie  thee  to  thy  quiet  home. 
Traveller,  lo !  the  prince  of  peace — 

Lo!  the  Son  of  God  is  come. 

JouN  BowniNO. 


160                                                    POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 

"  JESUS,  LOVER  OF  MY  SOUL." 

"JESUS,  MY  STRENGTH,  MY  HOPE.'' 

Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 

Jksus,  my  strength,  my  hope, 

Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly. 

On  Thee  I  cast  my  care — 

While  the  nearer  waters  roll, 

"With  humble  confidence  look  up, 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high ! 

And  know  thou  hear'st  my  prayer. 

Hide  me,  0  my  Saviour,  hide, 

Give  me  on  Thee  to  wait 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past : 

Till  I  can  all  things  do — 

Safe  into  Thy  haven  guide — 

On  Thee,  almighty  to  create, 

Oh  receive  my  soul  at  last. 

Almighty  to  renew. 

I  want  a  sober  mind. 

Other  refuge  have  I  none — 

A  self-renouncing  will 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee ; 

That  tramples  down,  and  casts  behind, 

Leave,  ah !  leave  me  not  alone — 

The  baits  of  pleasing  ill — 

Still  support  and  comfort  me. 

A  soul  inured  to  pain, 

All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed, 

To  hardship,  grief,  and  loss — 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring : 

Bold  to  take  up,  firm  to  sustain, 

Cover  my  defenceless  head 

The  consecrated  cross. 

"With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing. 

I  want  a  godly  fear. 

A  quick  discerning  eye, 

Wilt  Thou  not  regard  my  call? 

That  looks  to  Thee  when  sin  is  near, 

W^ilt  Thou  not  regard  my  prayer  ? 

And  sees  the  tempter  fly — 

Lo!  I  sink,  I  faint,  I  fall— 

A  spirit  still  prepared, 

Lo  !  on  Thee  I  cast  ray  care ; 

And  armed  with  jealous  care — 

Reach  me  out  Thy  gracious  hand. 

Forever  standing  on  its  guard, 

"While  I  of  Thy  strength  receive ! 

And  vratching  unto  prayer. 

Iloping  against  hope  I  stand — 

Dying,  and  behold  I  live. 

I  want  a  heart  to  pray. 

To  pray,  and  never, cease; 

Never  to  murmur  at  Thy  stay, 

Thou,  0  Christ,  art  all  I  want — 

Or  wish  my  sufferings  less. 

More  than  all  in  Thee  I  find ; 

This  blessing,  above  all, 

Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint. 

Always  to  pray,  I  want, — 

Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind. 

Out  of  the  deep  on  Thee  to  call, 

Just  and  holy  is  Thy  name — 

And  never,  never  faint. 

I  am  all  unrighteousness  ; 

False,  and  full  of  sin  I  am  : — 

I  want  a  true  regard — 

Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 

A  single,  steady  aim 

(Unmoved  by  threatening  or  reward), 

To  Thee  and  Thy  great  name — 

Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, — 

A  jealous,  just  concern 

Grace  to  cover  all  my  sin ; 

For  Thine  immortal  praise — 

Let  the  healing  streams  abound — 

A  pure  desire  that  all  may  lcai>n 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within. 

And  glorify  Thy  graca. 

Thou  of  life  the  fountain  art — 

Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee; 

I  rest  upon  Thy  word, — 

Spring  ITiou  up  within  my  heart — 

The  promise  is  for  me ; 

Rise  to  all  eternity. 

My  succor  and  salvation.  Lord, 

Chaeles  "Weslet. 

Shall  surply  come  from  Thee ; 

ETERNAL    BEAM    OF    LIGHT    DIVINE. 


7G1 


But  let  me  still  abide, 

Nor  from  my  hope  remove, 

Till  Thou  my  patient  spirit  guide 
Into  Thy  perfect  love. 

Charles  Weslet. 


LIVING  BY  CHRIST. 

Jesus,  Thy  boundless  love  to  me 

No  thought  can  reach,  no  tongue  declare; 
Oh  knit  my  thankful  heart  to  Thee, 

And  reign  -without  a  rival  there. 
Thine  wholly,  Thine  alone,  I  am — 
Be  Thou  alone  my  constant  flame. 

Oh  grant  that  nothing  in  my  soul 
May  dwell  but  Thy  pure  love  alone ; 

Oh  inay  Thy  love  possess  me  whole — 
My  joy,  my  treasure,  and  my  crown! 

Strange  flames  far  from  my  heart  remove — 

My  every  act,  word,  thought,  be  love. 

O  Love,  how  cheering  is  Thy  ray ! 

All  pain  before  Thy  presence  flies ; 
Care,  anguish,  sorrow,  molt  away 

Where'er  Thy  liealing  beams  arise ; 
O  Jesu,  nothing  may  I  see, 
Nothing  desire  or  seek,  but  Thee ! 

Unwearied  may  I  this  pursue — 
Dauntless,  to  the  high  prize  aspire  ; 

Hourly  within  my  soul  renew 

This  holy  flame,  this  heavenly  fire  ; 

And,  day  and  night,  be  all  my  care 

To  guard  tlic  sacred  treasure  there. 

My  Saviour,  Thou  Tliy  love  to  me 

In  shame,  in  want,  in  pain,  hast  showed  ; 

For  me,  on  the  accursed  tree. 

Thou  pouredst  forth  Tliy  guiltless  blood ; 

Thy  wounds  upon  ray  heart  impress, 

Nor  auglit  shall  the  loved  stamp  efface. 

More  hard  than  marble  is  my  heart. 
And  foul  witli  sins  of  deepest  stain ; 

But  Thou  the  mighty  Saviour  art. 

Nor  flowed  Thy  cleansing  blood  in  vain  ; 

Ah,  soften,  melt  this  rock,  and  may 

Thy  blood  wash  all  these  stains  away  I 
100 


Oh  that  I,  as  a  little  child. 
May  follow  Thee,  and  never  rest 

TiU  sweetly  Thou  hast  breathed  Thy  mild 
And  lowly  mind  into  my  breast ! 

Nor  ever  may  we  parted  be 

Till  I  become  one  spirit  with  Thee. 

Still  let  Thy  love  point  out  my  way ! 

How    wondrous    things    Thy  love    hath 
wrought ! 
Still  lead  me,  lest  I  go  astray — 

Direct  my  word,  inspire  my  thought ; 
As  if  I  fall,  soon  may  I  hear 
Thy  voice,  and  know  that  love  is  near. 

In  suffering  be  Tliy  love  my  peace, 
In  weakness  be  Thy  love  my  power ; 

And  when  the  storms  of  life  shall  cease, 
Jesus,  in  that  important  hour. 

In  death,  as  life,  be  Thou  my  guide. 

And  save  me,  who  for  me  hast  died. 

Paul  Gerhakd.    (German.) 
Translation  of  John  Wesley. 


"  ETERNAL  BEAM  OF  LIGHT  DIVINE." 

Eterxal  beam  of  liglit  divine, 

Fountain,  of  unexhausted  love. 
In  whom  the  Father's  glories  shine 

Through  earth  beneath,  and  heaven  above ! 


Jesus,  the  weary  wanderer's  rest, 
Give  me  Thy  easy  yoke  to  bear ; 

With  steadfast  patience  arm  my  breast. 
With  spotless  love  and  lowly  fear. 


Thankful  I  take  the  cup  from  Thee, 
Prepared  and  mingled  by  Tliy  skill — 

Thougli  bitter  to  the  taste  it  bo, 
Powerful  the  wounded  soul  to  heal. 


Be  thou,  0  Rock  of  Ages,  nigh  ! 

So  shall  eacli  murmui-ing  tiiought  bo  gone; 
And  grief,  and  fear,  and  care  shall  fly 

As  clouds  before  the  mid-day  sun. 


-ZC.'i                                                  POEMS     OF 

RELIGION. 

Speak  to  my  -warrinsi-  passions, — Peace! 

Perfect  let  us  walk  before  Thee — 

Say  to  my  trembling  heart, — Be  still ! 

AValk  in  white 

Thy  power  my  strength  and  fortress  is, 

To  the  sight 

For  all  things  serve  Thy  sovereign  will. 

Of  Thy  heavenly  glory ! 

0  death!  where  is  thy  sting?     "Where  now 

Both  with  calm  impatience  press  on 

Thy  boasted  victory,  0  grave  ? 

To  the  prize — 

Who  shall  contend  with  God  ?  or  who 

Scale  the  skies, 

Can  hurt  whom  God  delights  to  save  ? 

Take  entire  possession — 

CiiAELES  Wesley. 

• 

Drink  of  life's  exhaustless  river — 
Take  of  Thee 

"FRIEND  OF  ALL." 

Life's  fair  tree— 

Eat,  and  live  for  ever ! 

Feiexd  of  all  Avho  seek  Thy  favor, 

Chakles  "Weslei 

Us  defend 
To  the  end — 

Be  our  utmost  Saviour ! 

LITAISy. 

Us,  who  join  on  earth  to  adore  Thee, 

Guard  and  love, 

Till  above 
Both  appear  before  Thee  ! 

Savioue,  when  In  dust  to  Thee 
Low  we  bow  the  adoring  knee ; 
When,  repentant,  to  the  skies 
Scarce  we  lift  our  weeping  eyes — 

0,  by  all  Thy  pains  and  woe 

Fix  on  Thee  our  whole  affection- 

Suffered  once  for  man  below, 

Love  divine, 

Bending  from  Thy  throne  on  high, 

Keep  us  Thine, 

Hear  our  solemn  litany ! 

Safe  in  Thy  protection ! 

By  Thy  helpless  infant  years ; 

Christ,  of  all  our  conversation 

By  Thy  life  of  want  and  tears ; 

Be  the  scope — 

By  Thy  days  of  sore  distress. 

Lift  us  up 

In  the  savage  wilderness  ; 

To  Thy  full  salvation ! 

By  the  dread,  mysterious  hour  . 

Of  the  insulting  tempter's  power — 

Bring  us  every  moment  nearer  ; 
Fairer  rise 

Turn,  0  turn,  a  favoring  eye — 
Hear  our  solemn  litany ! 

In  our  eyes — 

Dearer  still,  and  dearer ! 

By  the  sacred  griefs  that  wept 

* 

O'er  the  grave  where  Lazarus  slept ; 

Infinitely  dear  and  precious, 
With  Thy  love 

Bj^  the  boding  tears  that  flowed 
Over  Salem's  loved  abode ; 

From  above 

By  the  anguished  sigh  that  told 

Evermore  refresh  us ! 

Treachery  lurked  within  the  fold — 

From  Thy  seat  above  the  sky 

Strengthened  by  the  cordial  blessing. 

Hear  our  solemn  litany! 

Let  us  haste 

To  the  feast, 

By  Thine  hour  of  dire  despair ; 

Feast  of  joys  unceasing ! 

By  Thine  agony  of  prayer ; 

HYMNS. 


763 


By  the  cross,  the  wail,  the  thorn, 
Piercing  spear,  and  torturing  scorn  ; 
By  the  gloom  that  veiled  the  skies 
O'er  the  dreadful  sacrifice — 
Listen  to  our  huuible  cry : 
Hear  oui*  solemn  litany ! 


By  Thy  deep  expiring  groan  ; 
By  the  sad  sepulchral  stone ; 
By  the  vault  whose  dark  abode 
Held  in  vain  the  rising  God ! 
Oh  !  from  earth  to  heaven  restored, 
Mighty,  reascended  Lord — 
Listen,  listen  to  the  cry 
Of  our  solemn  litany  ! 

Sib  Eobeex  Geant. 


HYMK 


WnEX  gathering  clouds  around  I  view, 
And  days  are  dark,  and  friends  are  few, 
On  Him  I  lean,  who,  not  in  vain, 
Experienced  every  human  pain ; 
He  sees  my  wants,  allays  my  fears. 
And  counts  and  treasures  up  my  tears. 

If  aught  should  tempt  my  soul  to  stray 
From  heavenly  wisdom's  narrow  way, 
To  Uy  the  good  I  would  pursue. 
Or  do  the  sin  I  would  not  do, — 
Still  He  who  felt  temptation's  power 
Shall  guard  me  in  that  dangerous  hour. 

If  wounded  love  my  bosom  swell, 
Deceived  by  those  I  prized  too  well, 
He  shall  His  pitying  aid  bestow 
Who  felt  on  earth  severer  woe. 
At  once  betrayed,  denied,  or  fled. 
By  those  who  shared  His  daily  bread. 


If  vexing  thoughts  within  me  rise. 
And  sore  dismayed  my  spirit  dies, 
Still  lie  who  once  vouchsafed  to  bear 
The  sickening  anguish  of  despair 
Shall  sweetly  soothe,  shall  gently  dry. 
The  throbbing  heart,  the  streaming  eye. 


"When  sorrowing  o'er  some  stone  I  bend, 
TVhich  covers  what  was  once  a  friend. 
And  from  his  voice,  his  hand,  his  smile, 
Divides  me  for  a  little  while  ; 
Thou,  Savioiu",  mark'st  the  tears  I  siicd, 
For  Thou  didst  weep  o'er  Lazarus  dead. 


And  oh,  when  I  have  safely  past 
Through  every  conflict — but  the  last, 
Still,  still  unchanging,  watch  beside 
My  painful  bed, — for  Tliou  hast  died ; 
Then  point  to  realms  of  cloudless  day, 
And  wipe  the  latest  tear  away. 

Sib  Robert  Gkant. 


HYMN 


FOE  SIXTEENTH   SUNDAY   AFTER   TRINITY. 

"When  our  heads  are  bowed  with  woe, 
Wlien  our  bitter  tears  o'erflow, 
"VTlien  we  mourn  the  lost,  the  dear : 
Gracious  Son  of  Mary,  hear ! 

Thou  our  throbbing  flesh  hast  worn, 
Thou  our  mortal  griefs  hast  borne, 
Thou  hast  shed  the  human  tear : 
Gracious  Son  of  Mary,  hear  ! 


When  the  sullen  death-bell  tolls 
For  our  own  departed  souls — 
When  our  final  doom  is  near, 
Gracious  Son  of  Mary,  hear ! 


Thou  hast  bowed  the  dying  head, 
Thou  the  blood  of  life  hast  shed. 
Thou  hast  filled  a  mortal  bier  : 
Gracious  Son  of  Mary,  liear  ! 

When  the  heart  is  sad  witliin 
With  tlie  thought  of  all  its  sin, 
When  the  spirit  shrinks  witli  fear, 
Gracious  Son  of  Mary,  hear  I 


704                                                    POEMS    OF 

RELIGION. 

Thon  the  shame,  the  grief  hast  known ; 

Like  the  gem-bedizened  baby 

Though  the  sins  were  not  Thine  own, 

Which,  at  the  Twelfth-day  noon, 

Thou  hast  deigned  their  load  to  hear : 

Tlicy  show  from  the  Ara  Oceli's  steps 

Gracious  Son  of  Mary,  hear ! 

To  a  merry  dancing  tune. 

IIeney  Hakt  Milman. 

I  ask  of  Thee  no  wonders — 

No  changing  white  or  red ; 
I  dream  not  Thou  art  living. 

I  love  and  prize  Thee  dead. 

THE  DEAD  CHRIST. 

That  salutary  deadness 

I  seek  through  want  and  pain. 

Take  the  dead  Christ  to  my  chamber — 

From  which  God's  own  high  power  can  bid 

The  Christ  I  brought  from  Rome ; 

Our  virtue  rise  again. 

Over  all  the  tossing  ocean, 

Julia  "Ward  Howe. 

He  has  reached  His  western  home  : 

Bear  Him  as  in  procession, 

,                                     • 

And  lay  Him  solemnly 

Where,  through  weary  night  and  morning, 

SONNET. 

He  shall  bear  me  company. 

In-  the  desert  of  the  Holy  Land  I  strayed, 

The  name  I  bear  is  other 

Where  Christ  once  lived,  but  seems  to  live 

Than  that  I  bore  by  birth ; 

no  more ; 

And  I  've  given  life  to  children 

In  Lebanon  my  lonely  home  I  made  ; 

"Who  '11  grow  and  dwell  on  earth  ; 

I  heard  the  wind  among  the  cedars  roar. 

But  the  time  comes  swiftly  towards  me — 

And  saw  far  off  the  Dead  Sea's  solemn  shore- 

Nor  do  I  bid  it  stay — 

But  't  is  a  dreary  wilderness,  I  said, 

When  the  dead  Christ  will  be  more  to  me 

Since  the  prophetic  spirit  hence  has  sped. 

Than  all  I  hold  to-day. 

Then  from  the  convent  in  the  vale  I  heard. 

Slow  chanted  forth,  the  everlasting  Word — 

Lay  the  dead  Christ  beside  me — 

Saying  "  I  am  He  that  liveth,  and  was  dead ; 

Oh,  press  Him  on  my  heart ; 

And  lo  I  am  alive  for  evermore." 

I  would  hold  Him  long  and  painfully. 

Then  forth  upon  my  pilgrimage  I  fare, 

Till  the  weary  tears  should  start — 

Resolved  to  find  and  praise  Him  every  where. 

Till  the  divine  contagion 

Anonymous. 

Heal  me  of  self  an d  sin 

.i-LX^CLX     U^x^     \JX     •J-\^XX     iAilL\A.     Ollla 

And  the  cold  weight  press  wholly  down 

♦ 

The  pulse  that  chokes  within. 

A  HYMN. 

Reproof  and  frost,  they  fret  me ; 

Deop,  drop,  slow  tears. 

Towards  the  free,  the  sunny  lands, 

And  bathe  those  beauteous  feet 

From  the  chaos  of  existence, 

Which  brought  from  heaven 

I  stretch  these  feeble  hands — 

The  news  and  prince  of  peace ! 

And,  penitential,  kneeling, 

Cease  not,  wet  eyes. 

Pray  God  would  not  be  wroth, 

His  mercies  to  entreat 

Who  gave  not  the  strength  of  feeling 

To  cry  for  vengeance 

And  strength  of  labor  both. 

Sin  doth  never  cease ; 

, 

In  your  deep  floods 

Thou  'rt  but  a  wooden  carving. 

Drown  all  my  faults  and  fears ; 

Defaced  of  worms,  and  old ; 

Nor  let  His  eye 

Yet  more  to  me  Thou  couldst  not  be 

See  sin,  but  through  my  tears. 

Wert  Thou  all  wrapt  in  gold, 

Phineas  Fletcheb 

CHRISTMAS. 


765 


A  CHEISTKIS  HYMN. 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  queen  of  land  and  sea. 
No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars — 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hushed  domain  : 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  Mars 

Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 

In  the  solemn  midnight, 

Centuries  ago. 

'T  was  iu  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

The  senator  of  haughty  Rome, 
Impatient,  urged  his  chariot's  flight, 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home; 
Triumphal  arches,  gleaming,  swell 
His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless 
sway; 
What  recked  the  Roman  what  befell 
A  paltry  province  far  away, 

In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago  ? 

Within  that  province  far  away 

Went  plodding  home  a  weary  boor ; 
A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay, 

Fallen  through  a  half-shut  stable-door 
Across  his  path.     He  passed — for  nauglit 

Told  what  was  going  on  within ; 
How  keen  the  stars,  his  only  thought — 

The  air  how  calm,  and  cold,  and  thin. 

In  the  solemn  midnight, 

Centuries  ago ! 

Oh,  strange  indifference!  low  and  high 

Drowsed  over  common  joys  and  cares ; 
The  earth  was  still — ^but  knew"  not  why 

The  world  was  listening,  unawares. 
How  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  the  world  for  ever! 
To  that  still  moment,  none  would  heed, 

Man's  doom  was  linked  no  more  to  sever — 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 

It  is  the  calm  and  solemn  night! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out,  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peals  abroad,  and  smite 

Tlie  darkness — charmed  and  holy  now ! 


The  night  that  erst  no  name  had  worn, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given ; 
For  in  that  stable  lay,  new-born, 

The  peaceful  prince  of  earth  and  heaven, 
In  the  solemn  midnight. 


Centuries  ago ! 


Alfred  Dommett. 


CHRISTMAS. 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky. 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light : 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night — 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new — 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  show  : 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go ; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind. 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more ; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor, 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause, 
And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife ; 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin, 
The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times; 
Ring  out,  ring  out  my  mournful  rhymes, 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood. 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite; 
Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right, 

Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease. 
Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold; 
Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old. 

Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free, 
The  larger  licart,  the  kindlier  liand ; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land — 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 

Alfred  Tbiijjtson. 


766 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


ST.  PETER'S  DAY. 

TnoTT  thrice  denied,  yet  thrice  beloved, 
"Watch  by  Thine  own  forgiven  friend ! 

In  sharpest  perils  faithful  proved, 
Let  his  soul  love  Thee  to  the  end. 


The  prayer  is  heard — else  vphy  so  deep 
His  slumber  on  the  eve  of  death  ? 

And  wherefore  smiles  he  in  his  sleep, 
As  one  who  drew  celestial  breath-? 

He  loves  and  is  beloved  again — 
Can  his  soul  choose  but  be  at  rest  ? 

Sorrow  hath  fled  away,  and  pain 
Dares  not  invade  the  guarded  nest. 

He  dearly  loves,  and  not  alone; 

For  his  winged  thoughts  are  soaring  high, 
Where  never  yet  frail  heart  was  known 

To  breathe  in  vain  affection's  sigh. 

He  loves  and  weeps ;  but  more  than  tears 

Have  sealed  Thy  welcome  and  his  love- 
One  look  lives  in  him,  and  endears 

Crosses  and  wrongs  where'er  he  rove — 

That  gracious  chiding  look,  Thy  call 
To  win  him  to  himself  and  Thee, 

Sweetening  the  sorrow  of  his  fall 
"Which  else  were  rued  too  bitterly ; 

Even  through  the  veil  of  sleep  it  shines, 
The  memory  of  that  kindly  glance ; — 

The  angel,  watching  by,  divines, 
And  spares  awhile  his  blissful  trance. 

Or  haply  to  his  native  lake 

His  vision  wafts  him  back,  to  talk 

With  Jesus,  ere  his  flight  he  take, 
As  in  that  solemn  evening  walk. 

When  to  the  bosom  of  his  friend. 

The  Shepherd,  He  whose  name  is  Good, 

Did  His  dear  lambs  and  sheep  commend. 
Both  bought  and  nourished  with  His  blood ; 


Then  laid  on  him  th'  inverted  tree, 
Which,  firm  embraced  with  heart  and  arm, 

Might  cast  o'er  hope  and  memory, 
O'er  life  and  death,  its  awful  charm. 

With  brightening  heart  he  bears  it  on. 
His  passport  through  th'  eternal  gates, 

To  his  sweet  home — so  nearly  won. 
He  seems,  as  by  the  door  he  waits, 

The  unexpressive  notes  to  hear 
Of  angel  song  and  angel  motion, 

Rising  and  ftUling  on  the  ear 
Like  waves  in  joy's  unbounded  ocean. — 

His  dream  is  changed — the  tyrant's  voice 
Calls  to  that  last  of  glorious  deeds — 

But  as  he  rises  to  rejoice, 

Not  Herod,  but  an  angel  leads. 

He  dreams  he  sees  a  lamp  flash  bright. 
Glancing  around  his  prison  room ; 

But 't  is  a  gleam  of  heavenly  light 
That  fills  up  all  the  ample  gloom. 

The  flame,  that  in  a  few  short  years 
Deep  through  the  chambers  of  the  dead 

Shall  pierce,  and  dry  the  fount  of  tears. 
Is  -waving  o'er  his  dungeon-bed. 

Touched,  he  upstarts — ^his  chains  unbind — 
Through  darksome  vault,  up  massy  stair, 

His  dizzy,  doubting  footsteps  wind 
To  freedom  and  cool,  moonlight  air. 

Then  all  himself,  all  joy  and  calm, 
Though  for  awhile  his  hand  forego, 

Just  as  it  touched,  the  martyr's  palm, 
He  turns  him  to  his  task  below : 

The  pastoral  staff,  tlie  keys  of  heaven. 
To  wield  awhile  in  gray-haired  might — 

Then  from  his  cross  to  spring  forgiven, 
And  follow  Jesus  out  of  sight. 

John  Ekelc 


THE  LABORER'S  NOOXDAY  HYMN. 


767 


THE  EMIGEANTS  IX  BERMUDAS. 

Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride 
In  th'  ocean's  bosom,  uuespied — 
From  a  small  boat,  that  rowerl  along, 
The  list'ning  winds  received  this  song : 


What  should  we  do  but  sing  His  praise 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown, 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own  ? 
Where  He  the  huge  sea-monsters  wracks 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs. 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage. 
Safe  from  the  storms,  and  prelate's  rage. 
He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring 
Which  here  enamels  every  thing, 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care. 
On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 
He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright, 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night. 
And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows. 
He  makes  the  figs  our  months  to  meet, 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet. 
But  apples — plants  of  such  a  price 
No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice. 
With  cedars,  chosen  by  His  hand 
From  Lebanon,  He  stores  the  land ; 
And  makes  the  hollow  seas,  that  roar. 
Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore. 
He  cast  (of  which  we  rather  boast) 
The  gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast; 
And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 
A  temple,  where  to  sound  His  name. 
Oh !  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt 
Till  it  arrive  at  heaven's  vault ; 
Which,  then,  perhaps  rebounding,  may 
Echo  beyond  the  Mexique  bay. 

Thus  song  they,  in  the  English  boat, 
A  holy  and  a  cheerful  note ; 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime, 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

Andbew  Maktell. 


HYMI^  OF  THE  HEBREW  MAID. 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved, 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came. 
Her  father's  God  before  her  moved, 

An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 
By  day,  along  the  astonished  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow ; 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimsoned  sands 

Returned  the  fiery  column's  glow. 

There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answered  keen; 
And  Zion's  daughters  poured  their  lays. 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze — 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone ; 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

But,  present  still,  though  now  unseen. 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day. 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen, 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 
And  oh,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-sulfering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  burning  and  a  shining  light ! 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams — 

The  tyrant's  jest,  the  Gentile's  scorn; 
iSTo  censer  round  our  altar  beams. 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  trump,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said,  the  blood  of  goats, 

The  flesh  of  rams,  I  will  not  prize — 
A  contrite  heart,  and  luimble  tlioughts, 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice.  • 

Sib  Walueb  Scott 


THE  LABORER'S  NOONDAY  HYMN. 

Up  to  the  throne  of  God  is  borne 
The  voice  of  praise  at  early  morn, 
And  He  accepts  the  imnctual  hymn 
Sung  as  the  light  of  day  grows  dim  ; 

Nor  will  IIo  turn  liis  ear  aside 
From  holy  offerings  at  noontide: 
Then,  here  reposing,  let  us  raise 
A  song  of  gratitude  and  praise. 


'7G8 


POEMS    OF   RELIGION. 


"What  though  our  hurden  be  not  light, 
"We  need  not  toil  from  morn  to  night ; 
The  respite  of  the  mid-day  hour 
Is  in  the  thankful  creature's  power. 

Blest  are  the  moments,  doubly  blest, 
That,  drawn  from  this  one  hour  of  rest. 
Are  with  a  ready  heart  bestowed 
Upon  the  service  of  our  God ! 

Each  field  is  then  a  hallowed  spot — 
An  altar  is  in  each  man's  cot, 
A  church  in  every  grove  that  spreads 
Its  living  roof  above  our  heads. 

Look  up  to  heaven !  the  industrious  sun 
Already  half  his  race  hath  run ; 
He  cannot  halt  nor  go  astray — 
But  our  immortal  spirits  may. 

Lord !  since  his  rising  in  the  east 
If  we  have  faltered  or  transgressed, 
Guide,  from  Thy  love's  abundant  source, 
"What  yet  remains  of  this  day's  course. 

Help  with  Thy  grace,  through  life's  short 

day, 
Our  upward  and  our  downward  way ; 
And  glorify  for  us  the  west, 
"When  we  shall  sink  to  final  rest. 

William  "Woedswoeth, 


TO  KEEP  A  TRUE  LENT. 

Is  this  a  fast — to  keep 
The  larder  lean. 
And  clean 
From  fat  of  veals  and  sheep  ? 

Is  it  to  quit  the  disli 
■      Of  flesh,  yet  still 
To  fill 
The  platter  higb  with  fish  ? 

Is  it  to  fast  an  hour — 

Or  ragged  to  go — 
Or  show 
A  downcast  look,  and  sour  ? 


No!  'tis  a  fast  to  dole 

Thy  sheaf  of  wheat, 
And  meat. 
Unto  the  hungry  soul. 

It  is  to  fast,  from  strife. 
From  old  debate 
And  hate — 
To  circumcise  thy  life. 

To  show  a  heart  grief-rent ; 
To  starve  thy  sin. 
Not  bin — 
And  that 's  to  keep  thy  lent. 

KOBEKT  HeBEIOK. 


FASTING. 

Is  fasting  then  the  thing  that  God  requires? 

Can  fasting  expiate,  or  slake  those  fires 
That    sin    hath    blown    to  such  a  mighty 

flame? 
Can  sackcloth  clothe  a  fault,  or  hide  a  shame  ? 
Can  ashes  cleanse  thy  blot,  or  purge  thy  of- 
fence ? 
Or  do  thy  hands  make  heaven  a  recompense. 
By  strewing  dust  upon  thy  briny  face  ? 
Are  these  the  tricks  to  purchase  heavenly 

grace  ? — 
No !  though  thou  pine  thyself  with  willing 

want. 
Or  face  look  thin,  or  carcass  ne'er  so  gaunt ; 
Althougli  thou  worser  weeds  than  sackcloth 

wear. 
Or  naked  go,  or  sleep  in  shirts  of  hair ; 
Or  though  thou  choose  an  ash-tub  for  thy  bed. 
Or  make  a  daily  dunghill  on  thy  head  ;— 
Thy  labor  is  not  poised  with  equal  gains. 
For  thou  hast    naught  but    labor  for  thy 

pains. 
Such  lioly  madness  God  rejects  and  loathes. 
That  sinks  no  deeper  than  the  skin  or  clothes. 
'Tis  not  thine  eyes,  which,  taught  to  weep 

by  art. 
Look  red  with  tears  (not  guilty  of  thy  heart) ; 
'T  is  not  the  holding  of  thy  hands  so  high, 
Nor  yet  the  purer  squinting  of  thine  eye ; 


CHARITY   AXD    HUMILITY. 


Tea 


'T  is  not    your   mimic    mouths,   your   antic 

faces, 
Your  Scripture  phrases,  or  affected  graces, 
N  or  prodigal  up-handing  of  thine  eyes. 
Whose  gashful  halls  do    seem  to  pelt  the 

skies ; 
'T  is  not  the  strict  reforming  of  your  hair. 
So   close  that    all    the   neighbor    skull     is 

bare; 
'T  is  not  the  drooping  of  thy  head  so  low, 
IsTor  yet  the  lowering  of  thy  sullen  brow  ; 
Nor  wolvish  howling  that  disturbs  the  air, 
Nor  repetitions,  or  your  tedious  prayer : 
!N"o,  no !  't  is  none  of  this,  that  God  regards — 
Such  sort  of  fools   their    own  applause  re- 
wards ; 
Such  puppet-plays  to  heayen  are  strange  and 

quaint; 
Their  service  is  unsweet,  and  foully  taint ; 
Their  words   fall    fruitless  from  their  idle 

brain — 
But  true  repentance  runs  in  other  strain : 
Where    sad    contrition    harbors,   there  the 

heart 
Is  truly  acquainted  with  the  secret  smart 
Of  past  offences — hates  the  bosom  sin 
The  most,  which  the  soul  took  pleasure  in. 
No  crime  unsifted,  no  siu  unpresented. 
Can  lurk  unseen ;  and  seen,  none  unlament- 

ed. 
The  troubled  soul 's  amazed  with  dire  aspects 
Of  lesser  sins  committed,  and  detects 
The  wounded  conscience  ;  it  cries  amain 
For  mercy,  mercy — cries,  and  cries  again; 
It  sadly  grieves,  and  soberly  laments ; 
It   yearns    for    grace,    reforms,  returns,  re- 
pents. 
Aye,  this  is  incense  whose  accepted  favor 
Mounts  up  the  heavenly  Throne,  and  findeth 

favor ; 
Aye,  this  is  it  whose  valor  never  fails — 
With  God  it  stoutly  wrestles,  and  prevails ; 
Aye,  this  is  it  that  pierces  heaven  above. 
Never  returning  home,  like  Noah's  dove, 
But  brings  an  olive  leaf,  or  some  increase 
That  works  salvation,  and  eternal  peace. 

Fbancis  Quaelm. 


CHARITY  AND  HUMILITY. 

Far  have  I  clambered  in  my  mind. 
But  naught  so  great  as  love  I  find ; 
Deep-searching  wit,  mount-moving  might,    • 
Are  naught  compared  to  that  good  spright. 
Life  of  delight,  and  soul  of  bliss ! 
Sure  source  of  lasting  happiness! 
Higher  than  heaven,  lower  than  hell ! 
What  is  thy  tent?  where  mayst  thou  dwell} 

My  mansion  hight   humility, 
Heaven's  vastest  capability — 
The  further  it  doth  downward  tend 
The  higher  up  it  doth  ascend ; 
If  it  go  down  to  utmost  nauglit 
It  shall  return  with  that  it  sought. 

Lord,   stretch  Thy  tent    in    my  strait 
breast — 
Enlarge  it  downward,  that  sure  rest 
May  there  be  pight ;  for  that  pure  fire 
Wherewith  thou  wontest  to  inspire 
All  self-dead  souls.     My  life  is  gone — 
Sad  solitude 's  my  irksome  wonne. 
Cut  off  from  men  and  all  this  world. 
In  Lethe's  lonesome  ditch  I  'm  hurled. 
Nor  might  nor  sight  doth  aught  me  move, 
Nor  do  I  care  to  be  above. 
O  feeble  rays  of  mental  light. 
That  best  be  seen  in  this  dark  night ! 
What  are  you  ?  what  is  any  strength 
If  it  be  not  laid  in  one  length. 
With  pride  or  love  ?     I  naught  desire 
But  a  new  life,  or  quite  t'  expire. 
Could  I  demolish  with  mine  eye 
Strong  towers,  stop  the  fleet  stars  in  sky. 
Bring  down  to  earth  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Or  turn  black  midnight  to  bright  noon — 
Though  all  things  were  put  in  my  hand — 
As  parched,  as  dry,  as  the  Libyan  sand 
Would  be  my  life,  if  charity 
Were  wanting.     But  humility 
Is  more  than  my  poor  soul  durst  crave. 
That  lies  intombed  in  lov.'ly  grave. 
But  if  't  were  lawful  up  to  send 
My  voice  to  heaven,  this  should  it  rend : 

Lord,  thrust  me  deeper  into  dust 
That  Thou  mayest  rai.se  me  with  tlic  just! 

IIknby  Mukk 


101 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION, 


HUMILITY. 

The  bird  that  soars  on  highest  wing 
Builds  on  the  ground  her  lowly  nest ; 

And  she  that  doth  most  sweetly  sing 

Sings  in  the  shade,  where  all  things  rest; 
In  lark  and  nightingale  we  see 

What  honor  hath  humility. 

When  Mary  chose  "  the  better  part," 
She  meekly  sat  at  Jesus'  feet ; 

And  Lydia's  gently  opened  heart 
Was  made  for  God's  own  temple  meet : 

Fairest  and  best  adorned  is  she 
Whose  clothing  is  humility. 


brightest 


The  saint  that  w^ears  heaven's 
crown 

In  deepest  adoration  bends : 
The  weight  of  glory  bows  him  down 

Then  most,  when  most  liis  soul  ascends : 
Nearest  the  throne  itself  must  be 

The  footstool  of  humility. 

eTAMES  MONTGOMEKT. 


"IS  THIS  A  TIME  TO  PLANT  AND 
BUILD?" 

Is  this  a  time  to  plant  and  buildj 
Add  house  to  house,  and  field  to  field, 
When  round  our  walls  the  battle  lowers — 
When  mines  are  hid  beneath  our  towers, 
And  watchful  foes  are  stealing  round 
To  search  and  spoil  the  holy  ground  ? 

Is  this  a  time  for  moonlight  dreams 
Of  love  and  home,  by  mazy  streams— 
For  fancy  with  her  shadowy  toys. 
Aerial  hopes  and  pensive  joys, 
While  souls  are  wandering  far  and  wide, 
And  curses  swarm  on  every  side? 

No — rather  steel  thy  melting  heart 
To  act  the  martyr's  sternest  part — 
To  watch,  with  firm  unshrinking  eye. 
Thy  darling  visions  as  they  die, 
Till  all  bright  hopes,  and  hues  of  day. 
Have  faded  into  twilight  gray. 
Yes — let  them  pass  without  a  sigh ; 
And  if  the  world  seem  dull  and  dry — 


If  long  and  sad  thy  lonely  hours, 
And  winds  have  rent  thy  sheltering  bowers — 
Bethink  thee  what  thou  art,  and  where, 
A  sinner  in  a  life  of  care. 

The  fire  of  God  is  soon  to  fall — 
Thou  know'st  it — on  this  earthly  ball ; 
Full  many  a  soul,  the  price  of  blood 
Marked  by  the  Almighty's  hand  for  good, 
To  utter  death  that  hour  shall  sweep — 
And  will  the  saints  in  heaven  dare  weep  ? 

Then  in  His  wrath  shall  God  uproot 
The  trees  He  set,  for  lack  of  fruit ; 
And  drown  in  rude  tempestuous  blaze 
The  towers  His  hand  had  deigned  to  raise. 
In  silence,  ere  that  storm  begin. 
Count  o'er  His  mercies  and  thy  sin. 

Pray  only  that  thine  aching  heart — 
From  visions  vain  content  to  part, 
Strong  for  love's  sake  its  woe  to  hide — 
May  cheerful  wait  the  cross  beside : 
Too  happy  if,  that  dreadful  day. 
Thy  life  be  given  thee  for  a  prey. 

Snatched  sudden  from  the  avenging  rod, 
Safe  in  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 
How  wilt  thou  then  look  back,  and  smile 
On  thoughts  that  bitterest  seemed  ere  while, 
And  bless  the  pangs  that  made  thee  see 
This  was  no  world  of  rest  for  thee ! 

John  Kbblb. 


\ 


HYMN 


FOR  ANIS^IVEESAET  MAREIAGE  DATS. 

Lord,  living  here  are  we — 

As  fast  united  yet 
As  when  our  hands  and  hearts  by  Thee 

Together  first  were  knit. 
And  in  a  thankful  song 

Now  sing  we  will  Thy  praise. 
For  that  Thou  dost  as  well  prolong 

Our  loving  as  our  days. 


THE    PRIEST. 


Together  we  have  now 

Begun  another  year ; 
But  how  much  time  Thou  wilt  allow 

Thou  mak'st  it  not  appear. 
We,  therefore,  do  implore 

That  live  and  love  we  may. 
Still  so  as  if  but  one  day  more 

Together  we  should  stay. 

Let  each  of  other's  wealth 

Preserve  a  faithful  care, 
And  of  each  other's  joy  and  health 

As  if  one  soul  we  were. 
Such  conscience  let  us  make, 

Each  other  not  to  grieve, 
As  if  we  daily  were  to  take 

Our  everlasting  leave. 

The  frowardness  that  springs 

From  our  corrupted  kind. 
Or  from  those  troublous  outward  things 

Which  may  distract  the  mind, 
Permit  Thou  not,  0  Lord, 

Our  constant  love  to  shake — 
Or  to  disturb  our  true  accord, 

Or  make  our  hearts  to  ache. 

But  let  these  frailties  prove 

Affection's  exercise ; 
And  that  discretion  teach  our  love 

Which  wins  the  noblest  prize. 
So  time,  which  wears  away, 

And  ruins  all  things  else. 
Shall  fix  our  love  on  Thee  for  aye, 

In  whom  perfection  dwells. 

Geouge  ■Wither. 


DEDICATION"  OF  A  CHURCH. 

Jekusalem,  that  place  divine. 
The  vision  of  sweet  peace  is  named; 
In  heaven  her  glorious  turrets  shine — 
Her  walls  of  living  stones  are  framed ; 
While  angels  guard  her  on  each  side — 
Fit  company  for  such  a  bride. 

She,  decked  in  new  attire  from  heaven, 
Her  wedding  chamber  now  descends. 
Prepared  in  marriage  to  be  given 
To  Christ,  on  whom  her  joy  depends. 


Her  walls,  wherewith  she  is  inclosed. 
And  streets,  are  of  pure  gold  composed. 

The  gates,  adorned  with  pearls  most  bright, 

The  way  to  hidden  glory  show ; 

And  thither,  by  the  blessed  might 

Of  faith  in  Jesus'  merits,  go 
All  those  who  are  on  earth  distressed 
Because  they  have  Christ's  name  pro- 
fessed. 

These  stones  the  workmen  dress  and  beat 
Before  they  throughly  polished  are ; 
Then  each  is  in  his  proper  seat 
Established  by  the  builder's  care — 
In  this  fair  frame  to  stand  for  ever, 
So  joined  that  them  no  force  can  sever. 

To  God,  who  sits  in  highest  seat, 

Glory  and  power  given  be ! 

To  Father,  Son,  and  Paraclete, 

Who  reign  in  equal  dignity — 
Whose  boundless  power  we  still  adore, 
And  sing  Their  praise  for  evermore ! 

William  Dp.rxiiioND. 


THE  PRIEST. 

I  WOULD  I  were  an  excellent  divine 

That  had  the  bible  at  my  lingers'  ends ; 
That  men  might  hear  out  of  this  mouth  of 
mine. 
How   God    doth    make  Ilis   enemies  His 
friends ; 
Rather   than   with   a   thundering  and  long 

l^rayer 
Be  led  into  presumption,  or  despair. 

This  would  I  be,  and  would  none  other  be — 
But  a  religious  servant  of  my  God ; 

And  know  there  is  none  otlicr  God  but  Ho, 
And  willingly  to  sulfer  mercy's  rod — 

Joy  in  His  grace,  and  live  but  in  His  love, 

And  seek  my  bliss  but  iu  the  world  above. 

And  I  would  fratne  a  kind  of  faithful  prayer, 
For  all  estates  within  the  state  of  grace, 

That  careful  love  might  never  know  despair, 
Nor  servile  fear  migiit  faithful  love  deface : 

And  this  would  I  both  day  and  niglit  devise 

To  make  my  humble  spirit's  exercise. 


772                                                     POEMS    OF 

HELIGION. 

And  I  -ft-ould  road  the  rules  of  sacred  life  ; 

Hold  but  this  book  before  your  heart — 

Persuade  tlie  troubled  soul  to  patience ; 

Let  prayer  alone  to  play  his  part. 

The  husband  care,  and  comfort  to  the  wife, 

To  child  and  servant  due  obedience ; 

But  oh !  the  heart 

faith  to  tlie  friend,  and  to    the    neighbor 

That  studies  this  high  art 

peace. 

Must  be  a  sure  house-keeper. 

That  love  might  live,  and  quarrels'  all  might 

And  yet  no  sleepei-. 

cease. 

Dear  soul,  be  strong — 

Prayer  for  the  health  of  all  that  are  diseased. 

Mercy  will  come  ere  long. 

Confession  unto  all  that  are  convicted, 

And  bring  her  bosom  full  of  blessings — 

And  patience  unto  all  that  are  displeased, 

Flowers  of  never-fading  graces. 

And  comfort  unto  all  that  are  afflicted. 

To  make  immortal  dressings 

And  mercy  unto  all  that  have  offended, 

For  worthy  souls,  whose  wise  embraces 

And  grace  to  all :  that  all  may  be  amended. 

Store  up  themselves  for  Him  who  is  alone 

Nicholas  Bretok. 

The  spouse  of  virgins,  and  the  virgin's  son. 

♦ 

But  if  the  noble  bridegroom,  when  he  comes. 

Shall  find  the  wandering    heart  from 

0^  A  PRAYER  BOOK  SENT  TO  MRS. 

home. 

M.  R. 

Leaving  her  chaste  abode 

To  gad  abroad — 

Lo !  here  a  little  volume,  but  great  book. 

Amongst  the  gay  mates  of  the  god  of  flies 

(Fear  it  not,  sweet — 

To  take  her  pleasures,  and  to  play, 

It  is  no  hypocrite !  ) 

And  keep  the  devil's  holiday — 

Much  larger  in  itself  than  in  its  look  1 

To  dance  in  the  sun-shine  of  some  smUing, 

But  beguiling 

It  is — in  one  rich  handful — ^heaven,  and  all 

Heaven's  royal  hosts  encamped — thus  small 

Spear  of  sweet  and  sugared  lies — 

To  prove,  that  true  schools  use  to  tell, 

Some  slippery  pair 

A  thousand  angels  in  one  point  can  dwell. 

Of  false,  perhaps  as  fair. 

It  is  love's  great  artillery. 

Flattering  but  forswearing  eyes — 

Which  here  contracts  itself,  and  comes  to  lie 

Close  couched  in  your  white  bosom,  and  from 

Doubtless  some  other  heai't 

thence. 

Will  get  the  start. 

As  from  a  snowy  fortress  of  defence. 

And,  stepping  in  before. 

Against  the  ghostly  foe  to  take  your  part. 

Will  take  possession  of  the  sacred  store 

And  fortify  the  hold  of  your  chaste  heart. 

Of  hidden  sweets  and  holy  joys — 

Words  which  are  not  heard  with  ears, 

It  is  the  armory  of  light — 

(These  tumultuous  shops  of  noise) 

Let  constant  use  but  keep  it  bright, 

Eff'ectual  whispers,  whose  still  voice 

You  '11  find  it  yields 

The  soul  itself  more  feels  than  hears — 

To  holy  hands  and  humble  hearts 

More  swords  and  shields 

Amorous  languishments,  luminous  trances, 

Than  sin  hath  snares,  or  hell  hath  darts. 

Sights  which  are  not  seen  with  eyes — 

Only  be  sure 

Spiritual  and  soul-piercing  glances. 

The  hands  be  pure 

Whose  pure  and  subtle  lightning  flies 

That  hold  these  weapons,  and  the  eyes 

Home  to  the  heart,  and  sets  the  house  on  fire, 

Those  of  turtles — chaste  and  true. 

And  melts  it  down  in  sweet  desire ; 

Wakeful  and  wise. 

Yet  doth  not  stay 

Here  is  a  friend  shall  fight  for  you ; 

To  ask  the  windows  leave  to  pass  that  way- 

THE    TRUE    USE    OF    MUSIC. 


773 


Delicious  deaths,  soft  exhalations 

Of  soul,  dear  and  divine  annihilations — 

A  thousand  unknown  rites 

Of  joys,  and  rarified  delights — 
An  hundred  thousand  loves  and  graces, 

And  many  a  mystic  thing 

Which  the  divine  embraces 
Of  the  dear  Spouse  of  spirits  with  them  "will 
bring, 

For  which  it  is  no  shame 
That  dull  mortality  must  not  know  a  name. 

Of  all  this  hidden  store 
Of  blessings,  and  ten  thousand  more. 

If,  when  He  come. 
He  find  the  heart  from  home, 

Doubtless  He  will  unload 
Himself  some  otherwhere. 

And  pour  abroad 

His  precious  sweets 
On  the  fair  soul  whom  first  He  meets. 

Oh  fair !  oh  fortunate !  oh  rich !  oh  dear ! 

Oh  happy  and  thrice  happy  she — 

Dear  silver-breasted  dove. 

Whoe'er  she  be — 

Whose  early  love 

With  winged  vows 
Makes  haste  to  meet  her  morning  spouse, 
And  close  with  His  immortal  kisses — 

Happy  soul !  who  never  misses 

To  improve  that  precious  hour, 

And  every  day 

Seize  her  sweet  prey — 

All  fresh  and  fragrant  as  He  rises. 

Dropping  with  a  balmy  shower, 

A  delicious  dew  of  spices ! 

Oh  1  let  that  happy  soul  hold  faat 
Her  heavenly  armful ;  she  shall  taste 
At  once  ten  thousand  paradises — 
She  shall  have  power 
To  rifle  and  deflower 
The  rich  and  roscal  spring  of  those  rare  sweets 
Which,    with   a   swelling  bosom,  there  she 

meets — 
Boundless  and  infinite,  bottomless  treasures 

Of  pure  inebriating  pleasures : 
Happy  soul !  she  shall  discover 
What  joy,  what  bliss, 
How  many  heavens  at  once,  it  is 
To  have  a  God  become  her  lover. 

ElCHAED   CbASHAW. 


THE  TRUE  USE  OF  MUSIC. 

Listed  into  the  cause  of  sin. 

Why  should  a  good  be  evil  ? 
Music,  alas !  too  long  has  been 

Pressed  to  obey  the  devil — 
Drunken,  or  lewd,  or  light,  the  lay 

Flowed  to  the  soul's  undoing — 
Widened,    and  strewed  Avith  flowers, 
way 

Down  to  eternal  ruin. 

Who  on  the  part  of  God  will  rise, 

Innocent  sound  recover — 
Fly  on  the  prey,  and  take  the  prize. 

Plunder  the  carnal  lover — 
Strip  him  of  every  moving  strain, 

Every  melting  measure — 
Music  in  virtue's  cause  retain, 

Eescue  the  holy  pleasure  ? 

Come  let  us  try  if  Jesus'  love 

Will  not  as  well  inspire  us ; 
This  is  the  theme  of  those  above — 

This  upon  earth  shall  fire  us. 
Say,  if  your  hearts  are  tuned  to  sing. 

Is  there  a  subject  greater  ? 
Harmony  all  its  strains  may  bring; 

Jesus'  name  is  sweeter. 

Jesus  the  soul  of  music  is — 

His  is  the  noblest  passion ; 
Jesus's  name  is  joy  and  peace. 

Happiness  and  salvation ; 
Jesus's  name  the  dead  can  raise — 

Show  us  our  sins  forgiven — 
Fill  us  with  all  the  life  of  grace — 

Carry  us  up  to  heaven. 

Who  hath  a  right  like  us  to  sing — 

Us  whom  His  mercy  raises  ? 
Merry  our  hearts,  for  Christ  is  King ; 

Cheerful  are  all  our  faces ; 
Who  of  His  love  doth  once  partake 

He  evermore  rejoices ; 
Melody  in  our  hearts  we  make — 

Melody  with  our  voices. 

He  that  a  sprinkled  conscience  hath — 
He  that  in  God  is  merry — 

Let  him  sing  psalms,  the  Spirit  saith, 
Joyful  and  never  weary ; 


774                                                 POEMS    OF 

RELIGION. 

Offer  the  sacrifice  of  praise, 

Ye  temples,  that  to  God 

nearly  aud  never  ceasing — 

Pdse  where  our  fathers'  trod, 

Spiritual  songs  and  antlienis  raise. 

Guard  avcII  your  trust: 

llouor,  aud  tlianks,  and  blessing. 

The  faith   that  dared  the  sea ; 

The  truth  that  made  them  free ; 

Tlien  let  us  in  His  praises  join — 

Their  cherished  purity. 

Triumph  in  His  salvation  ; 

Their  garnered  dust. 

Glory  ascribe  to  love  divine, 

Worsiiip  and  adoration ; 

Thou  high  and  holy  One, 

Heaven  already  is  begun — 

"Whose  care  for  sire  and  son 

Opened  in  each  believer; 

All  nature  fills — 

Only  believe,  and  still  sing  on: 

"While  day  shall  break  and  close, 

Heaven  is  ours  for  ever. 

"While  night  her  crescent  shows. 

CuAKLES  Wesley. 

Oh,  let  Thy  light  repose 

On  these  our  hills ! 

John  Pierpont. 

CENTEXISTIAL  ODE. 

- — « 

Beeak  forth  in  song,  ye  trees. 

THE  FIELD  OF  THE  WORLD, 

As,  through  your  tops,  the  breeze 

Sweeps  from  the  sea! 

Sow  in  the  morn  thy  seed. 

For,  on  its  rushing  -wings. 

At  eve  hold  not  thine  hand — 

To  yoiu-  cool  shades  and  springs, 

To  doubt  and  fear  give  thou  no  heed — 

That  breeze  a  people  brings, 

Broad-cast  it  o'er  the  land. 

Exiled  though  free. 

Beside  all  waters  sow, 

Ye  sister  hills,  lay  down 

The  highwayifurrows  stock — 

Of  ancient  oaks  your  crown, 

Drop  it  where  thorns  and  thistles  grow, 

In  homage  due ; 

Scatter  it  on  the  rock. 

These  are  the  great  of  earth — 

Great,  not  by  kingly  birth, 

The  good,  the  fruitful  ground 

Great  in  their  well-proved  worth — 

Expect  not  here  nor  there ; 

Firm  hearts  and  true. 

O'er  hill  and  dale  by  plots  'tis  found : 

Go  forth,  then,  everywhere. 

These  are  the  living  lights. 

That  from  your  bold,  green  heights 

Thou  know'st  not  which  may  thrive — 

Shall  shine  afar. 

The  late  or  early  sown ; 

Till  they  who  name  the  name 

Grace  keeps  the  precious  germs  alive. 

Of  freedom,  toward  the  flame 

"When  and  wherever  strown. 

Come,  as  the  magi  came 

Toward  Bethlehem's  star. 

And  duly  shall  appear, 

In  verdure,  beauty,  strength, 

Gone  are  those  great  and  good 

The  tender  blade,  the  stalk,  the  ear, 

TVho  here  in  peril  stood 

And  the  full  corn  at  length. 

And  raised  their  hymn. 

Peace  to  the  reverend  dead! — 

Thou  canst  not  toil  in  vain — 

The  light,  that  on  their  head 

Cold,  heat,  and  moist,  and  dry 

Two  hundred  years  have  shed. 

Shall  foster  and  mature  the  grain 

Shall  ne'er  grow  dim. 

For  garners  in  the  sky. 

WHAT    IS    PRAYER? 


115 


Thence,  when  the  glorious  end, 

The  day  of  God  is  come. 
The  angel-reapers  shall  descend. 

And  heaven  cry  "  Harvest  home !  " 
James  Montgomeet. 


THE  BATTLE-SON"G  OF  GUSTAVUS 
ADOLPHUS. 

Fear  not,  0  little  flock,  the  foe 
Who  madly  seeks  your  overthrow. 

Dread  not  his  rage  and  power ; 
What  though  your  courage  sometimes  faints  ? 
His  seeming  triumph  o'er  God's  saints 

Lasts  but  a.  little  hour. 

Be  of  good  cheer ;  your  cause  belongs 
To  Him  who  can  avenge  your  wrongs, 

Leave  it  to  Him,  our  Lord. 
Though  hidden  from  all  our  eyes, 
He  sees  the  Gideon  who  shall  rise 
To  save  us,  and  His  word. 

As  true  as  God's  own  word  is  true, 
Not  earth  or  hell  with  al  their  crew 

Against  lis  shall  prevail. 
A  jest  and  by-word  are  they  grown : 
God  is  with  us,  wc  are  His  own. 

Our  victory  cannot  fail. 

Amen,  Lord  Jesus ;  grant  our  prayer ! 
Great  Captain,  now  Thine  arm  make  bare  ; 

Fight  for  us  once  again  ! 
So  shall  the  saints  and  martyrs  raise 
A  mighty  chorus  to  Thy  praise, 
World  without  end !     Amen. 

Michael  Altenbl'eo.    (German.) 
Anonymous  Translation, 


THE  MARTYRS'  HYMN. 

FLrxo  to  the  heedless  winds, 
Or  on  the  waters  cast, 

The  martyrs'  ashes,  watched, 
Shall  gathered  be  at  last ; 


And  from  that  scattered  dust, 
Around  us  and  abroad, 

Shall  spring  a  plenteous  seed 
Of  witnesses  for  God. 


The  Father  hath  received 

Their  latest  living  breath ; 
And  vain  is  Satan's  boast 

Of  victory  in  their  death  ; 
Still,  still,  though  dead,  they  speak, 

And  trumpet-tongued,  proclaim 
To  many  a  wakening  land, 

Tlie  one  availing  name. 

Maetin  Lutheb. 
Translation  of  William  John  Fos. 


WHAT  IS  PRAYER? 

Prater  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire, 
Uttered  or  unexpressed — 

The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire 
That  trembles  in  the  breast. 


Prayer  is  the  burthen  of  a  sigh, 
The  falling  of  a  tear — 

The  upward  glancing  of  an  eye, 
When  none  but  God  is  near, 


Prayer  is  the  simplest  form  of  speech 

That  infant  lips  can  try — 
Prayer  the  sublimest  strains  that  reach 

The  majesty  on  high. 


Prayer  is  the  contrite  sinner's  voice 
Returning  from  liis  ways, 

While  angels  in  their  songs  rejoice, 
And  cry,  "Beljold  he  prays  1  " 


Prayer  is  the  Christian's  vital  breath — 
The  Christian's  native  air — 

His  watchword  at  the  gates  of  death — 
He  enters  heaven  witli  prayer. 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION, 


The  saints  iu  prayer  appear  as  one 
In  word,  and  deed,  and  mind, 

AVliile  with  the  Father  and  the  Son 
Sweet  Icllowship  tliey  find. 

Nor  prayer  is  made  by  man  alone — 
Tlie  Holy  Spirit  pleads — 

And  Jesus,  on  the  eternal  throne, 
For  sinners  intercedes. 


0  Thou  by  whom  we  come  to  God — 

The  life,  the  truth,  the  Avay ! 
The  patli  of  prayer  Thyself  hast  trod  ; 
Lord,  teach  us  how  to  pray ! 

James  Montgomery. 


«  OH,  YET  WE  TRUST." 

On,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of  blood  ; 


That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed. 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

"When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete ; 


That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain  ; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 


Behold !  we  know  not  any  thing ; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last — for  ofi^ — at  last,  to  all — 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 


So  rnns  my  dream ;  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night— 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light — 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

Alfred  TEUNysoN. 


EXHORTATION"  TO  PRAYER. 

Not  on  a  prayerless  bed,  not  on  a  prayerless 
bed 
Compose  thy  weary  limbs  to  rest ; 
For  they  alone  are  blessed 
With  balmy  sleep 
Whom  angels  keep ; 
Nor,  though  by  care  oppressed, 
Or  anxious  sorrow, 
Or  thought  in  many  a  coil  perplexed 
For  coming  morrow. 
Lay  not  thy  liead 
On  prayerless  bed. 

For  who  can  tell,  when  sleep  thine  eyes  shall 
close, 
That  earthly  cares  and  woes 
To  thee  may  e'er  retui-n  ? 
Arouse,  my  soul ! 
Slumber  control, 
And  let  thy  lamp  burn  brightly ; 

So  shall  thine  eyes  discern 
Things  pure  and  sightly ; 
Taught  by  the  Spii-it,  learn 
Never  on  prayerless  bed 

To  lay  thine  miblest  head. 

• 

Ilast  thou  no  pining  want,  or  wish,  or  care, 
That  calls  for  holy  prayer  ? 
Has  thy  day  been  so  bi-ight 
That  in  its  flight 
There  is  no  trace  of  sorrow  ? 
And  thou  art  sure  to-morrow 
Will  be  like  this,  and  more 
Abundant  ?    Dost  thou  yet  lay  up  thy  store. 
And  still  make  plans  for  more  ? 
Thou  fool !  this  very  night 
Thy  soul  may  wing  its  flight. 


Hast  thou  no  being  than  thyself  more  dear. 
That  ploughs  tlie  ocean  deep. 
And  when  storms  sweep 
The  wintry,  lowering  sky. 
For  whom  thou  wak'st  and  weepest? 

Oh,  when  thy  pangs  are  deepest, 
Seek  then  the  covenant  ark  of  prayer; 
For  He  that  slumbereth  not  is  there— 
His  ear  is  open  to  thy  cry. 


MARY. 


777 


Oil,  then,  on  prayerloss  bed 
Lay  not  thy  thoughtless  head. 

Arouse  thee,  weary  soul,  nor  yield  to  slum- 
ber, 
Till  in  communion  blest 

With  the  elect  ye  rest — 
Those  souls  of  countless  number; 
And  with  them  raise 
The  note  of  praise. 
Reaching  from  earth  to  heaven — 
Chosen,  redeemed,  forgiven; 
■     So  lay  thy  happy  head, 

Prayer-crowned,  on  blessed  bed. 

Maegaeet  Mekceu. 


HYMSr. 


When-  the  angels  all  are  singing 
All  of  glory  ever-springing, 
In  the  ground  of  heaven's  high  graces, 
"Where  all  virtues  have  their  places, 
Oh  that  my  poor  soul  were  near  them, 
"With  an  humble  faith  to  hear  them ! 


Then  should  faith,  in  love's  submission. 
Joying  but  in  mercy's  blessing, 
Where  that  sins  are  in  remission 
Sing  the  joyful  soul's  confessing — 
Of  her  comforts  high  commending. 
All  in  glory  never-ending. 


But,  ah  wretched  sinful  creature ! 
JIow  should  the  corrupted  nature 
Of  this  wicked  heart  of  mine 
Think  upon  that  love  divine, 
Tliat  doth  tune  the  angels'  voices 
While  the  host  of  heaven  rejoices? 


No!  the  song  of  deadly  sorrow 
In  the  night  that  hath  no  morrow — 
And  their  pains  are  never  ended 
That  have  heavenly  powers  offended — 
Is  more  fitting  to  the  merit 
Of  my  foul  infected  spirit. 
102 


Yet  while  mercy  is  removing 
AU  the  sorrows  of  the  loving. 
How  can  faith  be  full  of  blindness 
To  despair  of  mercy's  kindness — 
While  the  hand  of  heaven  is  giving 
Comfort  from  the  ever-living? 

No,  my  soul,  be  no  more  sorry — 
Look  unto  that  life  of  glory 
Which  the  grace  of  faith  regardeth, 
And  the  tears  of  love  rewardeth — 
Where  the  soul  the  comfort  getteth 
That  the  angels'  music  setteth. 

There — when  thou  art  well  conducted, 
And  by  heavenly  grace  instructed 
How  the  faithful  thoughts  to  fashion 
Of  a  ravished  lover's  passion — 
Sing  with  saints,  to  angels  nighest, 
Hallelujah  in  the  highest ! 

Gloria  in  excelsis  Domino  ! 

Nicholas  Breton. 


MAEY. 


Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer ; 
Nor  other  thought  her  mind  admits 
But — he  was  dead,  and  there  he  sits 

And  lie  that  brought  him  back  is  there. 

Then  one  deep  love  doth  supersede 
All  other,  when  licr  ardent  gaze 
Roves  from  the  living  brother's  face, 

And  rests  upon  the  life  indeed. 

All  subtle  thought,  all  curious  fears. 

Borne  down  by  gladness  so  complete, 
She  bows,  she    bathos  the   Saviour's 
feet 

With  costly  spikenard  and  with  tears. 

Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers. 
Whoso  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
What    souls    possess   themselves    so 
pure. 

Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs? 

AlFKED   Tr.NMYWiN. 


778 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


JOY  AND  PEACE  IN"  BELIEVING. 

SojfETiMES  a  light  surprises 

The  Christian  while  he  sings ; 
It  is  the  Lord,  who  rises 

With  healing  in  His  wings. 
"When  comforts  are  declining, 

He  grants  the  soul  again 
A  season  of  clear  shining. 

To  cheer  it  after  rain. 

In  holy  contemplation, 

"We  sweetly  then  pursue 
The  theme  of  God's  salvation, 

And  find  it  ever  new ; 
Set  free  from  present  sorrow, 

"We  cheerfully  can  say, 
E'en  let  the  unknown  to-morrow 

Bring  with  it  what  it  may  ! 

It  can  hring  with  it  nothing 

But  lie  will  hear  us  through ; 
"Who  gives  the  lilies  clothing 

Will  clothe  His  people  too. 
Beneath  the  spreading  heavens. 

No  creature  but  is  fed ; 
And  He  who  feeds  the  ravens 

"Will  give  His  children  bread. 

The  -vine  nor  fig-tree  neither 
Their  wonted  fruit  should  bear, 

Though  all  the  fields  should  wither, 
Nor  flocks  nor  herds  be  there  : 

Yet  God  the  same  abiding 
His  praise  shall  tune  my  voice, 

For,  while  in  Him  confiding, 

I  cannot  but  rejoice. 

William  Cowpee. 


CHARITY. 

CoTiLD  I  command,  with  voice  or  pen, 
The  tongues  of  angels  and  of  men, 
A  tinkling  cymbal,  sounding  brass, 
My  speech  and  preaching  would  surpass ; 
"Vain  were  such  eloquence  to  me, 
"Without  the  grace  of  charity. 

Could  I  the  martyr's  flame  endure. 
Give  aU  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor — 
Had  I  the  faith  from  Alpine  steep 
To  hurl  the  mountain  to  the  deep — 


What  were  such  zeal,  such  power,  to  me 
Without  the  grace  of  charity  ? 

Could  I  behold  with  prescient  eye 
Things  future,  as  the  tilings  gone  by — 
Could  I  all  earthly  knowledge  scan, 
And  mete  out  heaven  with  a  span — 
Poor  were  the  chief  of  gifts  to  me 
Without  the  chiefest — charity. 

Charity  suflEers  long,  is  kind — 
Charity  bears  a  humble  mind — 
Rejoices  not  when  ills  befall, 
But  glories  in  the  weal  of  all ; 
She  hopes,  believes,  and  envies  not. 
Nor  vaunts,  nor  murmurs  o'er  her  lot. 

The  tongues  of  teachers  shall  be  dumb, 
Prophets  discern  not  things  to  come, 
Knowledge  shall  vanish  out  of  thought, 
And  miracles  no  more  be  wrought ; 
But  charity  shall  never  fail — 
Her  anchor  is  within  the  veil. 

James  Montgombet 


FOR  BELIEVERS. 

Tnou  hidden  source  of  calm  repose, 
Thou  all-sutficient  love  divine. 

My  help  and  refuge  from  my  foes, 
Secure  I  am  if  Thou  art  mine ! 

And  lo !  from  sin,  and  grief,  and  shame, 

I  hide  me,  Jesus,  in  Thy  name. 

Thy  mighty  name  salvation  is. 
And  keeps  my  happy  soul  above ; 

Comfort  it  brings,  and  power,  and  peace, 
And  joy,  and  everlasting  love ; 

To  me,  Avith  Thy  dear  name,  are  given  ^ 

Pardon,  and  holiness,  and  heaven. 

Jesus,  my  all  in  all  Thou  art— 
My  rest  in  toil,  my  ease  in  pain ; 

The  medicine  of  my  broken  heart ; 
In  w^ar  my  peace ;  in  loss  my  gain ; 

My  smile  beneath  the  tyrant's  frown  ; 

In  shame  my  glory  and  my  crown ; 

In  want  my  plentiful  supply ; 

In  weakness  my  almighty  power.; 
In  bonds  my  perfect  liberty ; 

My  light  in  Satan's  darkest  hour ; 
In  grief  my  joy  unspeakable  ; 
My  life  in  death,  my  heaven  in  hell. 

CHAKLES  Weslbt. 


DIVIXE    LOVE. 


779 


DESIRING  TO  LOVE. 

0  LOYE  divine,  liow  sweet  Thou  art ! 
"When  shall  I  find  my  willing  heart 

All  taken  up  by  Thee  ? 

1  thirst,  and  faint,  and  die  to  prove 
The  greatness  of  redeeming  love, — 

The  love  of  Christ  to  me. 

Stronger  His  love  than  death  or  hell ; 
Its  riches  are  unsearchable  ; 

The  first-born  sons  of  light 
Desire  in  vain  its  depth  to  see — 
They  cannot  reach  the  mystery, 

The  length,  and  breadth,  and  height. 

God  only  knows  the  love  of  God — 
Oh  that  it  now  were  shed  abroad 

In  this  poor  stony  heart ! 
For  love  I  sigh,  for  love  I  pine  ; 
TJiis  only  portion.  Lord,  be  mine — 

Be  mine  this  better  part. 

Oh  that  I  could  for  ever  sit 
With  Mary  at  the  Master's  feet ! 

Be  this  my  happy  choice — 
My  only  care,  delight,  and  bliss, 
My  joy,  my  heaven  on  earth,  be  this — 

To  hear  the  bridegroom's  voice. 

Oh  that,  with  humbled  Peter,  I 
Could  weep,  believe,  and  thrice  reply. 

My  faithfulness  to  prove  ! 
Thou  knowest,  for  all  to  Thee  is  known— 
Thou  knowest,  0  Lord,  and  Thou  alone— 

Thou  knowest  that  Thee  I  love. 

Oh  that  I  could,  with  favored  John, 
Eecline  my  weary  head  upon 

The  dear  Redeemer's  breast ! 
From  care,  and  sin,  and  sorrow  free. 
Give  me,  O  Lord,  to  find  in  Thee 

My  everlasting  rest ! 

Thy  only  love  do  I  require — 
Nothing  in  earth  beneath  desire, 

Nothing  in  heaven  above  ; 
Let  earth  and  heaven  and  all  things  go— 
Give  me  Thy  only  love  to  know. 

Give  me  Thy  only  love  I 

CuABLES  Wesley. 


DIVINE  LOVE. 

TnoTj  hidden  love  of  God!  whose  heiiiht, 
Whose  depth  unfathomed,  no  man  knows— 

I  see  from  far  Thy  beauteous  light. 
Inly  I  sigh  for  thy  repose. 

My  heart  is  pained  ;  nor  can  it  be 

At  rest  till  it  finds  rest  in  Thee. 

Thy  secret  voice  invites  me  still 

The  sweetness  of  Thy  yoke  to  prove ; 

And  fain  I  would  ;  but  though  my  Avill 
Seem  fixed,  yet  wide  my  passions  rove ; 

Yet  hindrances  strew  all  the  way — 

I  aim  at  Thee,  yet  from  Thee  stray. 

'T  is  mercy  all,  that  Thou  hast  brought 
My  mind  to  seek  her  peace  in  Thee  !    . 

Yet  while  I  seek,  but  find  Thee  not, 
No  peace  my  wandering  soul  shall  see. 

Oh  when  shall  all  my  wanderings  end. 

And  aU  my  steps  to  Theeward  tend  ? 

Is  there  a  thing  beneath  the  sun 

That  strives  with  Thee  my  heart  to  share  ] 
Ah,  tear  it  thence,  and  reign  alone — 

The  Lord  of  every  motion  there ! 
Then  shall  my  heart  from  eartii  be  free, 
When  it  hath  found  repose  in  Thee. 

Oh  hide  this  self  from  me,  that  I 
No  more,  but  Christ  in  me,  may  live ! 

My  vile  aifections  crucify. 
Nor  let  one  darling  lust  survive  I 

In  all  things  nothing  may  I  see. 

Nothing  desire  or  seek,  but  Thee 

0  Love,  Thy  sovereign  aid  impart 
To  save  me  from  low-thouglited  care; 

Chase  this  self-will  through  all  my  lieart. 
Through  all  its  latent  mazes  there  ; 

Make  me  Thy  duteous  child,  that  I 

Ceaseless  may  "Abba,  Father,"  cry! 

Ah,  no  I  ne'er  will  I  backward  turn — 
Thine  wholly,  Tliine  alone  I  am  ; 

Thrice  happy  he  who  views  with  scorn 
Earth's  toys,  for  Tliee  his  constant  flame. 

Oh  help,  that  I  may  never  move 

From  the  blest  footsteps  of  Tliy  lovo  ! 


780 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Each  moineut  draw  from  earth  away 
My  heart,  that  lowly  waits  Thy  call ; 

Speak  to  my  inmost  soul,  and  say 
"I  am  thy   love,  thy  God,  thy  all  !" 

To  feel  Thy  power,  to  hear  Thy  voice, 

To  taste  Thy  love,  be  all  my  choice. 

Gerhard  Teksteegen.    (German.) 
Translation  of  Joun  Wesley. 


LITANY  TO  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress. 
When  temptations  me  oppress. 
And  when  I  my  sins  confess. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  I  lie  within  my  bed. 
Sick  at  heart,  and  sick  in  head. 
And  with  doubts  discomforted. 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  house  doth  sigh  and  weep. 
And  the  world  is  drowned  in  sleep, 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep. 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  artless  doctor  sees 
No  one  hope,  but  of  his  fees. 
And  his  skill  runs  on  the  lees. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  his  potion  and  his  pill. 
His  or  none  or  little  skill, 
Meet  for  nothing,  but  to  kill — 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me! 

When  the  passing  bell  doth  toll, 
And  the  Furies,  in  a  shoal, 
Come  to  fright  a  parting  soul. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  tapers  now  burn  blue, 
And  the  comforters  are  few. 
And  that  number  more  than  true, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  priest  his  last  hath  prayed, 
And  I  nod  to  what  is  said 
Because  my  speech  is  now  decayed, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me! 


AVhen,  God  knows,  I  'm  tost  about 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt, 
Yet  before  the  glass  be  out. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me! 

When  the  tempter  me  pursu'th 
With  the  sins  of  all  my  youth, 
And  half  damns  me  with  untruth, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me! 

When  the  flames  and  hellish  cries 
Fright  mine  ears,  and  fright  mine  eyes, 
And  all  terrors  me  surprise. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  I 

When  the  judgment  is  revealed. 
And  that  opened  which  was  sealed — 
When  to  Thee  I  have  appealed. 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me! 

Robert  IIekrick. 


♦- 


OH!  FEAR  NOT  THOU  TO  DIE. 

Oh  fear  not  thou  to  die-  - 

Far  rather  fear  to  live ! — for  life 

Has  thousand  snares  thy  feet  to  try, 

By  peril,  pain,  and  strife. 

Brief  is  the  work  of  death ; 

But  life — the  spirit  shrinks  to  see 

How  full,  ere  heaven  recalls  the  breath, 

The  cup  of  woe  may  be. 

Oh  fear  not  thou  to  die — 

No  more  to  suifer  or  to  sin — 

No  snare  without,  thy  faith  to  try — 

No  traitor  heart  within ; 

But  fear,  oh  rather  fear 

The  gay,  the  light,  the  changeful  scene, 

The  flattering  smiles  tliat  greet  thee  here, 

From  heaven  thy  heart  to  wean. 

On  fear  not  thou  to  die — 

To  die  and  be  that  blessed  one 

AVho  in  the  bright  and  beauteous  sky 

May  feel  his  conflict  done — 

May  feel  that  never  more 

The  tear  of  grief,  of  shame,  shall  come. 

For  thousand  wanderings  from  the  power 

AVho  loved  and  called  thee  home. 

ANONYMOtrS 


THE    VALEDICTIOX, 


78] 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL. 

Vital  ppark  of  heavenly  flame, 
Quit,  oh  quit  this  mortal  frame ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying — 
Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying! 
Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life  ! 

Hark !  they  whisper :  angels  say. 
Sister  spirit,  come  away  ! 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite. 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight. 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul !  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes — it  disappears ; 

Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes ;  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring : 

Lend,  lend  your  wings !     I  mount,  I  fly ! 

O  grave !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  death !  AThere  is  thy  sting  ? 

Alexandeb  Pope. 


THE  VALEDICTION. 

Vatx  world,  what  is  in  thee  ? 
What  do  poor  mortals  see 
Which  should  esteemed  be 

Worthy  their  pleasure  ? 
Is  it  the  mother's  womb, 
Or  sorrows  whicli  soon  come. 
Or  a  dark  grave  and  tomb; 

Which  is  their  treasure  ? 
How  dost  thou  man  deceive 

By  thy  vain  glory? 
Why  do  they  still  believe 

Thy  false  history? 

Is  it  children's  book  and  rod, 
Tlie  laborer's  heavy  load. 
Poverty  undcrtrod, 

The  world  desireth  ? 
Is  it  distracting  cares, 
Or  heart-tormenting  fears, 
Or  pining  grief  and  tears, 

Which  man  requireth  ? 


Or  is  it  youthful  rage. 

Or  childish  toying  i 
Or  is  decrepit  age 

Worth  man's  enjoying? 

Is  it  deceitful  wealth. 

Got  by  care,  fraud,  or  stealth, 

Or  short,  uncertain  health. 

Which  thus  befool  men? 
Or  do  the  serpent's  lies. 
By  the  world's  flatteries 
And  tempting  vanities, 

Still  overrule  them? 
Or  do  they  in  a  dream 

Sleep  out  their  season  ? 
Or  borne  down  by  lust's  stream, 

Which  conquers  reason  ? 

The  silly  lambs  to-day 
Pleasantly  skip  and  play. 
Whom  butchers  mean  to  slay, 

Pei'haps  to-morrow ; 
In  a  more  brutish  sort 
Do  careless  sinners  sport, 
Or  in  dead  sleep  still  snort, 

As  near  to  sorrow ; 
Till  life,  not  well  begun. 

Be  sadly  ended, 
And  the  web  they  have  spun 

Can  ne'er  be  mended. 

What  is  the  time  that 's  gone, 
And  what  is  that  to  come  ? 
Is  it  not  now  as  none  ? 

The  present  stays  not. 
Time  posteth,ohhow  fast! 
Unwelcome  death  makes  haste; 
None  can  call  back  what 's  paslr— 

Judgment  delays  not ; 
Though  God  bring  in  the  light, 

Sinners  awake  not — 
Because  hell 's  out  of  sight, 

They  sin  forsake  not. 

Man  walks  in  a  vain  show ; 
They  know,  yet  will  not  know; 
Sit  still  when  they  should  go — 

But  run  for  shadows. 
While  they  might  taste  and  know 
The  living  streams  that  How, 
And  crop  the  flowers  that  grow. 

In  Christ's  sweet  meadows. 


782 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Life  'sj  better  slept  away 

Than  as  they  use  it ; 
lu  sin  and  drunken  play 

Vain  men  abuse  it. 

Malignant  Avorld,  adieu! 
"Where  no  foul  vice  is  new — 
Only  to  Satan  true, 

God  still  ofiended ; 
Though  taught  and  warned  by  God, 
And  His  chastising  rod, 
Keeps  still  the  way  that 's  broad, 

Never  amended. 
Baptismal  vows  some  make, 

But  ne'er  perform  them ; 
Tf  angels  from  heaven  spake, 

'Twould  not  reform  them. 

They  dig  for  hell  beneath, 
They  labor  hard  for  death. 
Run  themselves  out  of  breath 

To  overtake  it. 
Hell  is  not  had  for  naught. 
Damnation  's  dearly  bought. 
And  with  great  labor  sought — 

They  '11  not  forsake  it. 
Their  souls  are  Satan's  fee — 

He  '11  not  abate  it. 
Grace  is  refused  that 's  free — 

Mad  sinners  hate  it. 

Vile  man  is  so  perverse. 

It 's  too  rough  work  for  verse 

His  badness  to  rehearse. 

And  show  his  folly ; 
He  '11  die  at  any  rates- 
He  God  and  conscience  hates, 
Yet  sin  he  consecrates. 

And  calls  it  holy. 
The  grace  he  '11  not  endure 

Which  would  renew  him — 
Constant  to  all,  and  sure, 

"Which  will  undo  him. 

His  head  comes  first  at  birth, 
And  takes  root  in  the  earth — 
As  nature  shooteth  forth. 

His  feet  grow  highest, 
To  kick  at  all  above, 
And  spurn  at  saving  love ; 
His  God  is  in  his  grove. 

Because  it 's  nighest ; 


He  loves  this  world  of  strife, 
Hates  that  would  mend  it ; 

Loves  death  that 's  called  life, 
Fears  what  would  end  it. 

All  that  is  good  he  'd  crush, 
Blindly  on  sin  doth  rush — 
A  pricking  thorny  bush, 

Such  Christ  was  crowned  with  ; 
Their  worship  's  like  to  this — 
The  reed,  the  Judas  kiss : 
Such  the  religion  is 

That  these  abound  with ; 
They  mock  Christ  with  the  knee 

"Whene'er  they  bow  it — 
As  if  God  did  not  see 

The  heart,  and  know  it. 

Of  good  they  choose  the  least. 
Despise  that  which  is  best — 
The  joyful,  heavenly  feast 

"Which  Christ  would  give  them ; 
Heaven  hath  scarce  one  cold  wish ; 
They  live  unto  the  flesh  ; 
Like  swine  they  feed  on  wash — • 

Satan  doth  drive  them. 
Like  weeds,  they  grow  in  mire 

"Which  vices  nourish — 
"Where,  warmed  by  Satan's  fire. 

All  sins  do  flourish. 

Is  this  the  world  men  choose. 
For  which  they  heaven  refuse, 
And  Christ  and  grace  abuse, 

And  not  receive  it? 
Shall  I  not  guilty  be 
Of  this  in  some  degree, 
If  hence  God  would  me  free, 

And  I  'd  not  leave  it  ? 
My  soul,  from  Sodom  fly. 

Lest  wrath  there  find  thee; 
Thy  refuge-rest  is  nigh — 

Look  not  behind  thee  ! 

There  's  none  of  this  ado, 
None  of  the  hellish  crew ; 
God's  promise  is  most  true — 

Boldly  believe  it. 
My  friends  are  gone  before. 
And  I  am  near  the  shore  ; 
My  soul  stands  at  the  door — 

O  Lord,  receive  it  1 


THOU  ART  GOXE  TO  THE  GRAVE. 


YSS 


It  trusts  Christ  and  His  merits — 

The  dead  He  raises ; 
Join  it  with  blessed  spirits 

Who  sing  Thy  praises. 

ElCHAED   BaXTEE. 


HYMX. 


Whes^  rising  from  the  bed  of  death, 
O'erwhehned  with  guilt  and  fear, 

I  see  my  Maker  face  to  face, 
Oh,  how  shall  I  appear  ? 

If  yet  while  pardon  may  be  found, 

And  mercy  may  be  sought, 
My  heart  with  inward  horror  shrinks. 

And  trembles  at  the  thought — 

When  Thou,  O   Lord,  shalt  stand  dis- 
closed 

In  majesty  severe. 
And  sit  in  judgment  on  my  soul, 

Oh,  how  shall  I  appear  ? 

But  Thou  hast  told  the  troubled  mind 

Who  does  her  sins  lament. 
The  timely  tribute  of  her  tears 

Shall  endless  woe  prevent. 

Then  see  the  sorrows  of  my  heart 

Ere  yet  it  be  too  late. 
And  hear  my  Saviour's  dying  groans 

To  give  those  sorrows  weight. 

For  never  shall  my  soul  despair 

Her  pardon  to  procure. 
Who  knows  Thine  only  Son  has  died 

To  make  her  pardon  sure. 

Joseph  Addison. 


HYMN". 


BnoTHKR,  thou  art  gone  before  us, 

And  thy  saintly  soul  is  flown 
Where  tears  are  wiped  from  every  eye, 

Ani  sorrow  is  unknown — 
From  the  burden  of  the  flesli. 

And  from  care  and  sin  released, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest. 


The  toilsome  way  thou'st  travelled  o'er. 

And  hast  borne  the  heavy  load  ; 
But  Christ  hath  taught  thy  wandering  feet 

To  reach  Ilis  blest  abode. 
Thou  'rt  sleeping  now,  like  Lazarus, 

On  his  Father's  faithful  breast, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling. 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

Sin  can  never  taint  thee  now, 

Nor  can  doubt  thy  faith  assail ; 
Nor  thy  meek  trust  in  Jesus  Christ 

And  the  Holy  Spirit  fail. 
And  there  thou  'rt  sure  to  meet  the  good, 

Whom  on  earth  thou  lovest  best, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling. 

And  the  weary  arc  at  rest. 

"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust," 

Thus  the  solemn  priest  hath  said — 
So  we  lay  the  turf  above  thee  now, 

And  seal  thy  narrow  bed ; 
But  thy  spirit,  brother,  soars  away 

Among  the  faithful  blest. 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

And  when  the  Lord  shall  summon  us 

Whom  thou  now  hast  left  behind. 
May  we,  untainted  by  the  world. 

As  sure  a  welcome  find  ; 
May  each,  like  thee,  depart  in  peace. 

To  be  a  glorious,  happy  guest 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling. 

And  tlie  weary  are  at  rest. 

IIenky  IIakt  MiLMAir. 


THOU  ART  GONE  TO  THE  GRAVE. 

Tiiou  art  gone  to  the  grave — wo  no  longer 
deplore  thee, 
Though  sorrows  and  darkness  encompass 
the  tomb ; 
The  Saviour  lias  passed  tlirough  its  portals 
before  thee. 
And   the  lamp  of  His  love  is  thy  guide 
through  the  gloom. 


784 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave — we  no  longer 
behold  thee, 
Nor  tread  the  rough  path  of  the  world  by 
thy  side ; 
But  the  wide  arms  of  mercy  are  spread  to  en- 
fold thee, 
And  sinners  may  hope,  since  the  Sinless  has 
died. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave — and,  its  mansion 
forsaking. 
Perhaps  thy  tried  spirit  in  doubt  lingered 
long, 
But  the  sunshine  of  heaven  beamed  bright  on 
thy  waking, 
And  the  song  Avhich  thou  heard'st  was  the 
seraphim's  song. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave — but 't  were  wrong 
to  deplore  thee, 
"When  God  was  thy  ransom,  thy  guardian, 
thy  guide  ; 
lie  gave  thee,  and  took  thee,  and  soon  will 
restore  thee, 
Where  death  hath  no  sting,  since  the  Sa- 
viour hath  died. 

Keginald  Hebeb. 


DEATH. 


An,  lovely  appearance  of  death  ! 

What  sight  upon  earth  is  so  fair  ? 
Not  all  the  gay  pageants  that  breathe 

Can  with  a  dead  body  compare ; 
With  solemn  delight  I  survey 

The  corpse,  when  the  spirit  is  fled — 
In  love  with  the  beautiful  clay. 

And  longing  to  lie  in  its  stead. 

JIow  blest  is  our  brother,  bereft 

Of  all  that  could  burden  his  mind  ! 
How  easy  the  soul  that  has  left 

This  wearisome  body  behind ! 
Of  evil  incapable,  thou, 

Whose  relics  with  envy  I  see — 
No  longer  in  misery  now. 

No  longer  a  sinner  like  me. 


This  earth  is  affected  no  more 

With  sickness,  or  shaken  with  pain ; 
The  war  in  the  members  is  o'er, 

And  never  shall  vex  him  again  ; 
No  anger  henceforward,  or  shame, 

Shall  redden  this  innocent  clay ; 
Extinct  is  the  animal  flame. 

And  passion  is  vanished  away. 

This  languishing  head  is  at  rest — 

Its  thinking  and  aching  are  o'er ; 
This  quiet,  immovable  breast 

Is  heaved  by  aflSiction  no  more  ; 
This  heart  is  no  longer  the  seat 

Of  trouble,  and  torturing  pain  ; 
It  ceases  to  flutter  and  beat — 

It  never  shall  flutter  again. 

The  lids  he  so  seldom  could  close, 

By  sorrow  forbidden  to  sleep — 
Sealed  up  in  their  mortal  repose, 

Have  strangely  forgotten  to  weep  ; 
TJie  fountains  can  yield  no  supplies — 

These  hollows  from  water  are  free ; 
The  tears  are  all  wiped  from  these  eyea 

And  evil  they  never  shall  see. 

To  mourn  and  to  suffer  is  mine. 

While  bound  in  a  prison  I  breathe, 
And  still  for  deliverance  pine, 

And  press  to  the  issues  of  death  ; 
What  now  with  my  tears  I  bedew 

Oh  might  I  this  moment  become ! 
My  spirit  created  anew, 

My  flesh  be  consigned  to  the  tomb  ! 

Charles  Wesley 


A  DIRGE. 

"Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust ! " 

Here  the  evil  and  the  just, 

Here  the  youthful  and  the  old, 

llere  the  fearful  and  the  bold. 

Here  the  matron  and  the  maid, 

In  one  silent  bed  are  laid  ; 

Here  the  vassal  and  the  king 

Side  by  side  lie  withering ; 

Here  the  sword  and  sceptre  rust — 

"Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust  I  *' 


FOR    A    WIDOWER    OR    WIDOW. 


TSS 


Age  on  age  shall  roll  along 
O'er  this  pale  and  mighty  throng ; 
Those  that  wept  them,  they  that  weep, 
All  shall  with  these  sleepers  sleep  ; 
Brothers,  sisters  of  the  worm. 
Summer's  sun,  or  winter's  storm. 
Song  of  peace,  or  battle's  roar 
Ne'er  shall  break  their  slumbers  more ; 
Death  shall  keep  his  sullen  trust — 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !  " 


But  a  day  is  coming  fast 

Earth,  thy  mightiest  and  thy  last ! 

It  shall  come  in  fear  and  wonder, 

Heralded  by  trump  and  thunder ; 

It  shall  come  in  strife  and  toil, 

It  shall  come  in  blood  and  spoil ; 

It  shall  come  in  empire's  groans. 

Burning  temples,  ruined  thrones ; 

Then,  ambition,  rue  thy  lust ! 

"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !  " 


Then  shall  come  the  judgment  sign; 
In  the  east  the  king  shall  shine. 
Flashing  from  heaven's  golden  gate — 
Thousands,  thousands,  round  His  state- 
Spirits  with  the  crown  and  plume  ; 
Tremble  then,  thou  sullen  tomb  ! 
Heaven  shall  open  on  thy  sight, 
Earth  be  turned  to  living  light — 
Kingdom  of  the  ransomed  just — 
"Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust." 

Then  thy  mount,  Jerusalem, 
Shall  be  gorgeous  as  a  gem  ! 
Then  shall  in  the  desert  rise 
Fruits  of  more  than  Paradise  ; 
Earth  by  angel  feet  be  trod — 
One  great  garden  of  her  God  ! 
Till  are  dried  the  martyr's  tears, 
Through  a  thousand  glorious  years ! 
Now  in  hope  of  Him  we  trust — 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust." 

Geobge  Ckolv. 


103 


FOR  A  WIDOWER  OR  WIDOW 

DEPEIVED    OF    A    LOVIXG   YOKEFELLOW. 

How  near  me  came  the  hand  of  death, 
When  at  my  side  he  struck  my  dear. 
And  took  away  the  precious  breath 
Which  quickened  my  beloved  peer ! 
How  helpless  am  I  thereby  made — 
By  day  how  grieved,  by  night  how  sad 
And  now  my  life's  delight  is  gone, 
Alas,  how  am  I  left  alone ! 

The  voice  which  I  did  more  esteem 
Than  music  in  her  sweetest  key. 
Those  eyes  which  unto  me  did  seem 
More  comfortable  than  the  day — 

Those  now  by  me,  as  they  have  been, 
Shall  never  more  be  heard  or  seen ; 
But  what  I  once  enjoyed  in  them 
Shall  seem  hereafter  as  a  dream. 

All  earthly  comforts  vanish  thus — 
So  little  hold  of  them  have  we 
That  we  from  them  or  they  from  us 
May  in  a  moment  ravished  be ; 
Yet  we  are  neither  just  nor  wise 
If  present  mercies  we  despise, 
Or  mind  not  how  there  may  be  made 
A  thankful  use  of  what  we  had. 

I  therefore  do  not  so  bemoan, 
Though  these  beseeming  tears  I  drop, 
The  loss  of  my  beloved  one 
As  they  that  are  deprived  of  hope ; 
But  in  expressing  of  my  grief 
My  heart  receiveth  some  relief, 
And  joycth  in  the  good  I  had. 
Although  my  sweets  are  bitter  made. 

Lord,  keep  mo  faithful  to  the  trust 
Which  my  dear  spouse  reposed  in  me  I 
To  him  now  dead  preserve  me  just 
In  all  that  sliould  performed  be; 

For  though  our  being  man  and  wifo 

Extendeth  only  to  this  life. 
Yet  neither  life  nor  death  should  end 
The  being  of  a  faithful  friend. 


vse 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Those  helps  wliich  I  through  him  enjoyed, 
Let  Til}'  continual  aid  supply — 
That,  tliough  some  liopes  in  him  are  A'oid, 
I  always  may  on  Thee  rely ; 

And  whether  I  shall  wed  again, 

Or  in  a  single  state  remain, 
Fnto  Thine  honor  let  it  be, 


And  for  a  blessing  unto  me. 


George  WiTnEE. 


THEY  ARE  ALL  GONE. 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light, 

And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here ! 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear ; 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast. 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove — 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest 
After  the  sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory. 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days — 
My  days  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

O  holy  hope !  and  high  humility — 

High  as  the  heavens  above ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  showed 
them  me 
To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  death  —the  jewel  of  the  just — 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark! 
"What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 
Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 

He  that  hatli  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest 
may  know, 
At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown ; 
But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in  now. 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep. 
So    some    strange    thoughts    transcend  our 
wonted  themes. 
And  into  glory  peep. 


If  a  star  were  confined  into  a  tomb. 

Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there ; 
But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up  gives 
room. 
She  '11  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 

0  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  Thee ! 
Resume  thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 
Into  true  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and 
fill 
My  perspective  still  as  they  pass  ; 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill 
Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

HeNKT  VArGHAN. 


EACH  SORROWFUL  MOURNER. 

Each  sorrowful  mourner,  be  silent  1 
Fond  mothers,  give  over  your  weeping ! 
Nor  grieve  for  those  pledges  as  perished — 
This  dying  is  life's  reparation. 

Now  take  him,  O  earth,  to  thy  keeping. 
And  give  him  soft  rest  in  thy  bosom ; 
I  lend  thee  the  frame  of  a  Christian — 
I  entrust  thee  the  generous  fragments. 

Thou  holily  guard  the  deposit — 
lie  will  well.  He  will  surely,  require  it, 
Who,  forming  it,  made  its  creation 
The  type  of  His  image  and  likeness. 

But  until  the  resolvable  body 
Thou  recallest,  0  God,  and  reformest. 
What  regions,  unknown  to  the  mortal, 
Dost  Thou  will  the  pure  soul  to  inhabit  ? 

It  shall  rest  upon  Abraham's  bosom, 
As  the  spirit  of  blest  Eleazar, 
Whom,  afar  in  that  Paradise,  Dives 
Beholds  from  the  flames  of  his  torments. 

We  follow  Thy  saying,  Redeemer, 
Whereby,  as  on  death  Thou  wast  trampling. 
The  thief.  Thy  companion.  Thou  willedst 
To  tread  in  Thy  footsteps  and  triumph. 


GOD     THE    EVERLASTING    LIGHT    OF    THE     SAINTS    ABOVE.     787 


To  the  faithful  the  bright  way  is  open, 
Henceforward,  to  Paradise  leading, 
And  to  that  blessed  grove  we  have  access 
"thereof  man  was  bereaved  by  the  serpent. 

Thou  leader  and  guide  of  Thy  people, 
Give  command  that  the  soul  of  Thy  servant 
May  have  holy  repose  in  the  country 
"Whence,  exUe  and  erring,  he  wandered. 

We  will  honor  the  place  of  his  resting 
"With  violets  and  garlands  of  flowers, 
And  will  sprinkle  inscription  and  marble 
With  odors  of  costliest  fragrance. 

AiTEELius  PrtjDESTIUS.    (Latin.) 
Translation  of  John  Mason  Neale. 


A  LITTLE  WHILE. 

Betoxd  the  smiling  and  the  weeping 

I  shall  be  soon ; 
Beyond  the  waking  and  the  sleeping. 
Beyond  the  sowing  and  the  reaping, 
I  shall  be  soon. 
Love^  rest^  and  home! 
Sweet  hope  ! 
Lord,  tarry  not,  hut  come. 

Beyond  the  blooming  and  the  fading 

I  shall  be  soon; 
Beyond  the  shining  and  the  shading. 
Beyond  the  hoping  and  the  dreading, 
I  shall  be  soon. 
Love,  rest,  and  home! 
Sweet  hope  ! 
Lord,  tarry  not,  lut  come. 

Beyond  the  rising  and  the  setting 

I  shall  be  soon  ; 
Beyond  the  calming  and  the  fretting. 
Beyond  remembering  and  forgetting, 
I  shall  be  saon. 
Love,  rest,  and  home  ! 
Sweet  hope  ! 
Lord,  tarry  not,  hut  come. 

Beyond  the  gathering  and  the  strowing 
I  shall  be  soon ; 


Beyond  the  ebbing  and  the  flowing, 
Beyond  the  coming  and  the  going, 
I  shall  be  soon. 

Love,  rest,  and  home  ! 

Sweet  hope  ! 

Lord,  tarry  not,  hut  come. 

Beyond  the  parting  and  the  meeting 

I  shall  be  soon ; 
Beyond  the  farewell  and  the  greeting. 
Beyond  this  pulse's  fever  beating, 
I  shall  be  soon. 
Love,  rest,  and  home! 
Sweet  hope  ! 
Lord,  tarry  not,  hut  come. 

Beyond  the  frost  chain  and  the  fever 

I  shall  be  soon ; 
Beyond  the  rock  waste  and  the  river, 
Beyond  the  ever  and  the  never, 
I  shall  be  soon. 
Love,  rest,  and,  home! 
Sweet  hope  ! 
Lord,  tarry  not,  hut  come. 

HOEATIirS  BONAB. 


GOD  THE  EVERLASTING  LIGHT  OF 
THE  SAINTS  AB07E. 

Ye  golden  lamps  of  heaven,  farewell, 

With  all  your  feeble  light ; 
Farewell,  thou  ever-changing  moon. 

Pale  empress  of  the  night. 

And  thou,  refulgent  orb  of  day. 

In  brighter  flames  arrayed, 
My  soul,  that  springs  beyond  thy  sphere, 

No  more  demands  thine  aid. 

Ye  stars  are  but  the  shining  dust 

Of  my  divine  abode, 
The  pavement  of  those  heavenly  courts 

Where  I  shall  reign  with  God. 

The  Father  of  eternal  light 
Shall  there  His  beams  display. 

Nor  shall  one  moment's  darkness  mix 
With  that  unvaried  day. 


"~1 


7SS 


POEMS    OF     RELIGION, 


Ko  more  the  drops  of  piercing  grief 
Shall  swell  into  mine  eyes, 

Nor  the  meridian,  sun  decline 
Amidst  those  brighter  skies. 

There  all  the  millions  of  His  saints 

Shall  in  one  song  unite, 
And  each  the  bliss  of  all  shall  view 


T\'ith  infinite  dftlight. 


Philip  Doddeidge. 


THE  HEAVENLY  CAN"AAK 

There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 
"Where  saints  immortal  reign  ; 

Infinite  day  excludes  tlie  night. 
And  pleasures  banish  pain. 

There  everlasting  spring  abides, 
And  never-withering  flowers ; 

Death,  like  a  narrow  sea,  divides 
This  heavenly  land  from  ours. 

Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 
Stand  dressed  in  living  green  ; 

So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood, 
"While  Jordan  rolled  between. 

But  timorous  mortals  start  and  shrink 

To  cross  this  narrow  sea. 
And  linger  shivering  on  the  brink. 

And  fear  to  launch  away. 

Oh !  could  we  make  our  doubts  remove, 
Those  gloomy  doubts  that  rise. 

And  see  the  Canaan  that  we  love 
With  unbeclouded  eyes — 

Could  we  but  climb  where  Moses  stood, 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er, 
ISTot  Jordan's  stream,  nor  death's  cold 
flood. 
Should  fright  us  from  the  shore. 

IsAAo  Watts. 


THE  NEW  JERUSALEM; 
OR,  THE  soul's  beeathing  after  the  heat 

ENLY   COUNTRY. 


''Since  Christ's  fair  truth  needs  no  man's  art, 
Talie  this  rude  song  in  better  part." 


O  MOTHER  dear,  Jerusalem, 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee  ? 
When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end — 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see  ? 
O  happy  harbor  of  God's  saints! 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 
In  thee  no  sorrows  can  be  found — 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

In  thee  no  sickness  is  at  all, 

No  hurt,  nor  any  sore ; 
Tliere  is  no  death  nor  ugly  night, 

But  life  for  evermore. 
No  dimming  cloud  o'ershadows  thee, 

No  cloud  nor  darksome  night, 
But  every  soul  shines  as  the  sun — 

For  God  himself  gives  light. 

There  lust  and  lucre  cannot  dwell, 

There  envy  bears  no  sway ; 
There  is  no  hunger,  thirst,  nor  heat, 

But  pleasures  every  way. 
Jerusalem !  Jerusalem ! 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
Oh!  that  my  sorrows  had  an  end, 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see ! 

No  pains,  no  pangs,  no  grieving  grief; 

No  woeful  night  is  there ; 
No  sigh,  no  sob,  no  cry  is  heard — 

No  well-away,  no  fear. 
Jerusalem  the  city  is 

Of  God  our  king  alone ; 
The  lamb  of  God,  the  light  thereof, 

Sits  there  upon  His  throne. 

0  God  !  that  I  Jerusalem 

With  speed  may  go  behold ! 
Eor  why  ?  the  pleasures  there  abound 

Which  here  cannot  be  told. 
Thy  turrets  and  thy  pinnacles 

With  carbuncles  do  sliine — 
With  jasper,  pearl,  and  chrysolite. 

Surpassing  pure  and  fine. 


THE    NEW    JERUSALEM. 


789 


Thy  houses  are  of  ivory, 

Thy  windows  crystal  clear, 
Thy  streets  are  laid  with  beaten  gold — 

There  angels  do  appear. 
Thy  walls  are  made  of  precious  stone. 

Thy  bulwarks  diamond  square, 
Thy  gates  are  made  of  orient  pearl — 

O  God !  if  I  M'ere  there ! 

Within  thy  gates  nothing  can  come 

That  is  not  passing  clean  ; 
No  spider's  web,  no  dirt,  nor  dust, 

No  filth  may  there  be  seen. 
Jehovah,  Lord,  now  come  away, 

And  end  my  griefs  and  plaints — 
Take  me  to  Thy  Jerusalem, 

And  place  me  with  Thy  saints ! 

Who  there  are  crowned  with  glory  great. 

And  see  God  face  to  face. 
They  triumph  still,  and  aye  rejoice — 

Uost  happy  is  their  case. 
But  we  that  are  in  banishment, 

Continually  do  moan  ; 
We  sign,  we  mourn,  we  sob,  we  weep — 

Perpetually  we  groan. 

Our  sweetness  mixed  is  with  gall. 

Our  pleasures  are  but  pain. 
Our  joys  not  worth  the  looking  on — 

Our  sorrows  aye  remain. 
But  there  they  live  in  such  delight. 

Such  pleasure  and  such  play. 
That  unto  them  a  thousand  years 

Seems  but  as  yesterday. 

O  my  sweet  home,  Jerusalem ! 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see — 
The  king  sitting  upon  His  throne, 

And  thy  felicity  ? 
Thy  vineyards,  and  thy  orchards. 

So  wonderfully  rare. 
Are  furnished  with  all  kinds  of  fruit. 

Most  beautitiiUy  fair. 

Thy  gardens  and  thy  goodly  walks. 

Continually  are  green ; 
There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 
There  cinnamon  and  sugar  grow, 

There  nard  and  bahn  abound; 
No  tongue  can  tell,  no  heart  can  think. 

The  pleasures  there  are  found. 


There  nectar  and  ambrosia  spring — 

There  music 's  ever  sweet ; 
Tliere  many  a  fair  and  dainty  thing 

Are  trod  down  under  feet. 
Quite  through  the  streets,  with  pleasant 
sound. 

The  flood  of  life  doth  flow ; 
Upon  the  banks,  on  every  side. 

The  trees  of  life  do  grow. 

These    trees    each    month    yield  ripened 
fruit — 

For  evermore  they  spring ; 
And  all  the  nations  of  the  world 

To  thee  tlieir  honors  bring. 
Jerusalem,  God's  dwelling-place 

Full  sore  I  long  to  see ; 
Oh !  that  my  sorrows  had  an  end, 

That  I  might  dwell  in  thee ! 

There  David  stands,  with  harp  in  hand, 

As  master  of  the  choir ; 
A  thousand  times  that  man  were  blest 

That  might  his  music  hear. 
There  Mary  sings  "Magnificat," 

With  tunes  surpassing  sweet ; 
And  all  the  virgins  bear  their  part. 

Singing  about  her  feet. 

"  Te  Deum  "  doth  St.  Ambrose  sing, 

St.  Austin  doth  the  like ; 
Old  Simeon  and  Zachario 

Have  not  their  songs  to  seek. 
There  Magdalene  hath  left  her  moan, 

And  cheerfully  doth  sing, 
With  all  blest  saints  whose  harmony 

Through  every  street  doth  ring. 

Jerusalem !  Jerusalem ! 

Thy  joys  fain  would  I  see; 
Come  quickly,  Lord,  and  cad  my  grief, 

And  take  me  home  to  Thee ; 
Oh !  paint  Thy  name  on  my  forehead, 

And  take  me  hence  away, 
Tliat  I  may  dwell  with  Thoc  in  bliss, 

And  sing  Thy  praises  aye. 

Jerusalem,  the  happy  lionie — 

Jehovah's  tlirone  on  high  1 
O  sacred  city,  quecji,  and  wife  . 

Of  Christ  eternally ! 


700        '                                           POEMS     OF 

RELIGION. 

0  comely  queen  with  glory  eLid, 

They  love,  they  praise — they  praise,  they 

"With  honor  and  degree, 

love; 

All  fair  thou  art,  exceeding  bright— 

They  "Holy,  holy,"  cry; 

Xo  spot  there  is  in  thee ! 

They  neither  toil,  nor  faint,  nor  end, 

I  long  to  see  Jcmsaleni, 

But  laud  continually. 

The  comfort  of  us  all ; 

For  thou  art  fair  and  beautiful — 

Oh !  happy  thousand  times  were  I, 

None  ill  can  thee  befall. 

If,  after  wretched  days. 

In  thee,  Jerusalem,  I  say. 

I  might  with  hstening  ears  conceive 

No  darkness  dare  appear — 

Those  heavenly  songs  of  praise. 

No  night,  no  shade,  no  winter  foul — 

"Which  to  the  eternal  king  are  sung 

No  time  doth  alter  there. 

By  happy  wights  above — 

By  saved  souls  and  angels  sweet. 

No  candle  needs,  no  moon  to  shine, 

"WliC  love  the  God  of  love. 

No  glittering  star  to  light ; 

For  Christ,  the  king  of  righteousness. 

Oh !  passing  happy  were  my  state, 

For  ever  shineth  bright. 

Might  I  be  worthy  found 

A  lamb  unspotted,  white  and  pure. 

To  wait  upon  my  God  and  king. 

To  thee  doth  stand  in  lieu 

His  praises  there  to  sound ; 

Of  light — so  great  the  glory  is 

And  to  enjoy  my  Christ  above, 

Thine  heavenly  king  to  view. 

His  fovor  and  His  grace. 

He  is  the  King  of  kings,  beset 

According  to  His  promise  made. 

In  midst  His  .servants'  sight ; 

Which  here  I  interlace : 

And  they,  His  happy  household  all. 

Do  serve  Him  day  and  night. 

"  0  Father  dear,"  quoth  he,  "  let  them 

There,  there  the  choir  of  angels  sing — 

"Which  Thou  hast  put  of  old 

There  the  supernal  sort 

To  me,  be  there  where  lo !  I  am — 

Of  citizens,  which  hence  are  rid 

Thy  glory  to  behold ; 

From  dangers  deep,  do  sport. 

"Which  I  with  Thee,  before  the  world 

There  be  the  prudent  prophets  all. 

Was  made  in  perfect  wise, 

The  apostles  six  and  six, 

Have  had — from  whence  the  fountain  great 

The  glorious  martyrs  in  a  roAV, 

Of  glory  doth  arise." 

And  confessors  betwixt. 

There  doth  the  crew  of  righteous  men 

Again  :  "  If  any  man  will  serve 

And  matrons  all  consist — 

Thee,  let  him  follow  me ; 

Young  men  and  maids  that  here  on  earth 

For  where  I  am,  he  there,  right  sure. 

Their  pleasures  did  resist. 

Then  shall  my  servant  be." 

And  still :  "  If  any  man  loves  me, 

The  sheep  and  lambs,  that  hardly  'scaped 

Him  loves  my  father  dear. 

The  snare  of  death  and  hell. 

Whom  I  do  love — to  him  myself 

Triumph  in  joy  eternally. 

In  glory  wiU  appear." 

"Whereof  no  tongue  can  tell ; 

And  though  the  glory  of  each  one 

Lord,  take  away  my  misery, 

Doth  diiFer  in  degree. 

That  then  I  may  be  bold 

Yet  is  the  joy  of  all  alike 

With  Thee,  in  Thy  Jerusalem, 

And  common,  as  we  see. 

Thy  glory  to.behold ; 

There  love  and  charity  do  reign, 

And  so  in  Zion  see  my  king. 

And  Christ  is  all  in  all. 

My  love,  my  Lord,  my  all — 

TVhom  they  most  perfectly  behold 

Where  now  as  in  a  glass  I  see, 

In  joy  celestial. 

There  face  to  face  I  shall. 

THE  FUTURE  TEACE  AND  GLORY  OP  THE  CHURCH. 


"791 


Oh !  blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart — 

Their  sovereign  they  shall  see ; 
O  yc  most  happy,  heavenly  wights, 

"Which  of  God's  household  be ! 
O  Lord,  with  speed  dissolve  my  bands, 

These  gins  and  fetters  strong; 
For  I  liave  dwelt  within  the  tents 

Of  Kedar  over  long. 

Yet  search  me.  Lord,  and  find  mo  ont ! 

Fetch  me  Thy  fold  unto, 
That  all  Thy  angels  may  rejoice, 

While  all  Thy  will  I  do. 
O  mother  dear!  Jerusalem ! 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee  ? 
"When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end, 

Thy  joys  wben  shall  I  see  ? 

Yet  once  again  I  pray  Thee,  Lord, 

To  quit  me  from  all  strife. 
That  to  Thy  hill  I  may  attain. 

And  dwell  there  all  my  life — 
"With  cherubims  and  seraphims 

And  holy  souls  of  men. 

To  sing  Thy  praise,  0  God  of  hosts! 

Forever  and  amen ! 

AyoNYifoirg. 


PEACE. 


Mt  soul,  there  is  a  country 

Afar  beyond  the  stars, 
Whore  stands  a  winged  sentry. 

All  skilful  in  the  wars. 
There,  above  noise  and  danger. 

Sweet  peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles, 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files, 
lie  is  thy  gracious  friend. 

And  (O  my  soul  awake !) 
Did  in  pure  love  descend, 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 
If  thou  canst  get  but  thither, 

There  grows  the  flower  of  peace — 
Tlie  rose  that  cannot  wither— 

Tliy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 
Leave,  then,  thy  foolish  ranges ; 

For  none  can  thee  secure, 
But  One  who  never  changes — 

Thy  God,  thy  life,  thy  cure. 

HE»fBT  VATJCnAN. 


OF  HEAYEX. 

0  BEATTTEors  God !  nncircumscribcd  treasure 
Of  an  eternal  pleasure ! 
Thy  throne  is  seated  far 
Above  the  highest  star. 
Where  Thou  preparest  a  glorious  place. 
Within  the  brightness  of  Thy  face, 
For  every  spirit 
To  inherit 

That  builds  his  hopes  upon  Thy  merit, 
And  loves  Thee  with  a  holy  charity. 
What  ravished  heart,  seraphic  tongue  or  eyes 
Clear  as  the  morning  rise, 
Can  speak,  or  think,  or  see 
That  bright  eternity, 

Where  the  great  king's  transparent  throne 
Is  of  an  entire  jasper  stone  ? 
There  the  eye 
O'  the  chrysolite, 
And  a  sky 

Of  diamonds,  rubies,  chrysoprasc — 
And  above  all.  Thy  holy  face — 
Makes  an  eternal  charity. 
When  Thou  Thy  jewels  up  dost  bind,  that  day 
Remember  us,  we  pray — 
That  where  the  beryl  lies. 
And  the  crystal  'hove  the  skies, 
There  Thou  mayest  appoint  us  place 
Within  the  brightness  of  Thy  face — 
And  our  soul 
In  the  scroll 

Of  life  and  blissfulncss  enroll. 
That  we  may  praise  Thee  to  eternity.     Al- 
lelujah ! 

Jeremy  Tatloe. 


THE  FUTURE  PEACE  AND  GLORY  OF 
THE  OHUROIL 

Hear  what  God  the  Lord  hath  spoken : 

"  O  my  people,  faint  and  few, 
Comfortless,  afilictod,  broken, 

Fair  abodes  I  build  for  you  ; 
Thorns  of  hcurtfclt  tribulation 

Shall  no  more  perplex  your  ways; 
You  shall  name  your  walls  salvation, 

And  your  gates  shall  all  be  i)raiso. 


792                                                  POEMS    OF 

RELIGION. 

"  There,  like  streams  that  feed  the  garden, 

"Where  the  bleak  mountain  stood 

Pleasures  without  end  shall  flow ; 

All  bare  and  disarrayed, 

For  the  Lord,  your  faith  rewarding, 

See  the  wide-branching  wood 

All  His  bounty  shall  bestow. 

Diffuse  its  grateful  shade  ; 

Still  in  undisturbed  possession 

Tall  cedars  nod. 

Peace  and  righteousness  sliall  reign  ; 

And  oaks  and  pines. 

Never  shall  you  feel  oppression, 

And  elms  and  vines 

Hear  the  voice  of  war  again. 

Confess  the  God. 

The  tyrants  of  the  plain 

"  Ye  no  more  your  suns  descending. 

Their  savage  chase  give  o'er — • 

Waning  moons,  no  more  shall  see  ; 

No  more  they  rend  the  slain. 

But,  your  griefs  for  ever  ending, 

V                                                  7 

And  thirst  for  blood  no  more : 

Find  eternal  noon  in  me. 

7 

But  infant  hands 

God  shall  rise,  and,  shining  o'er  you, 

Fierce  tigers  stroke, 

Change  to  day  the  gloom  of  night ; 

And  lions  yoke 
In  flowery  bands. 

He,  the  Lord,  shall  be  your  glory, 
God  your  everlasting  light." 

William  Cowpek. 

Oh  when,  Almighty  Lord, 

Shall  these  glad  scenes  arise, 
To  verify  Thy  word. 

And  bless  our  wondering  eyes ! 

THE  WILDEPvNESS  TEANSFORMED. 

That  earth  may  raise, 

With  all  its  tongues. 

Amazixg,  beauteous  change ! 

United  songs 

A  world  created  new ! 

Of  ardent  praise. 

My  thoughts  witli  transj^ort  range, 

Philip  Doddkidgb 

The  lovely  scene  to  view ; 
In  all  I  trace, 

Saviour  divine, 

The  work  is  Thine — 

ALL  WELL, 

Be  Thine  the  praise  ! 

No  seas  again  shall  sever, 

No  desert  intervene ; 

See  crystal  fountains  play 

No  deep,  sad-flowing  river 

Amidst  the  burning  sands ; 

17                                             O 

Shall  roll  its  tide  between. 

The  river's  winding  way 

Shines  through  the  tliirsty  lands; 

No  bleak  cliifs,  upward  towering. 

New  grass  is  seen. 

Shall  bound  our  eager  sight ; 

And  o'er  the  meads 

No  tempest,  darkly  lowering. 

Its  carpet  spreads 

Shall  wrap  us  in  its  night. 

Of  living  green. 

Love,  and  unsevered  union 

Where  pointed  brambles  grew, 

Of  soul  with  those  we  love. 

Entwined  with  horrid  thorn, 

Nearness  and  glad  communion, 

Gay  flowers,  for  ever  new. 

Shall  be  our  joy  above. 

The  painted  fields  adorn — 

The  blushing  rose 

No  dread  of  wasting  sickness, 

And  lily  there. 

No  thought  of  ache  or  pain, 

In  union  ftiir 

No  fretting  hours  of  weakness, 

Their  sweets  disclose. 

Shall  mar  our  peace  again. 

\ 


VENI,    CREATOR, 


r93 


'No  death,  our  homes  o'ershading, 
Shall  e'er  our  harps  unstring ; 

For  aU  is  life  unfading 
In  presence  of  our  king. 

HOEATIVS    BOXAR. 


PRAISE  TO  GOD. 

Praise  to  God,  immortal  praise, 
For  the  love  that  crowns  our  days — 
Bounteous  source  of  every  joy. 
Let  Thy  praise  our  tongues  employ ! 

For  the  blessings  of  the  field. 
For  the  stores  the  gardens  yield, 
For  the  vine's  exalted  juice. 
For  the  generous  olive's  use : 

Flocks  that  whiten  all  the  plain. 
Yellow  sheaves  of  ripened  grain. 
Clouds  that  drop  their  fattening  dews, 
Suns  that  temperate  warmth  diti'use — 

All  that  spring,  with  bounteous  hand. 
Scatters  o'er  the  smiling  land ; 
All  that  liberal  autumn  pours 
From  her  rich  o'erflowing  stores : 

These  to  Thee,  my  God,  we  owe — 
Source  whence  all  our  blessings  flow ! 
And  for  these  my  soul  shall  raise 
Grateful  vows  and  solemn  praise. 

Yet  should  rising  whirlwinds  tear 
From  its  stem  the  ripening  ear — 
Should  the  fig-tree's  blasted  shoot 
Drop  her  green  untimely  fruit — 

Should  the  vine  put  forth  no  more. 
Nor  the  olive  yield  licr  store — 
Though  the  sickening  tiocks  sliould  fall, 
And  the  herds  desert  the  stall — 

Should  Thine  altered  hand  restrain 
The  early  and  the  latter  rain. 
Blast  cacli  opening  bud  of  joy. 
And  ♦he  rising  year  destroy  ; 
104 


Yet  to  Thee  my  soul  should  raise 
Grateful  vows  and  solemn  praise. 
And,  when  every  blessing 's  flown. 
Love  Thee— for  Thyself  alone. 

AXXA    L.ETITIA   BaRBAULD 


VENI,  CEEATOR! 

Creator  Spirit,  by  whose  aid 
The  world's  foundations  first  were  laid. 
Come,  visit  every  pious  mind ; 
Come,  pour  Thy  joys  on  human  kind ; 
From  sin  and  sorrow  set  us  free, 
And  make  Tliy  temples  worthy  Thee  ! 

0  source  of  uncreated  light. 
The  Father's  promised  Paraclete ! 
Thrice  holy  fount,  thrice  holy  fire, 
Our  hearts  with  heavenly  love  inspire, 
Come,  and  Thy  sacred  unction  bring, 
To  sanctify  us  while  we  sing  ! 

Plenteous  of  grace,  descend  from  high, 
Rich  in  Thy  sevenfold  energy ! 
Thou  strength  of  His  almighty  hand 
Whose  power  does  heaven  and  earth  com- 
mand ! 
Proceeding  Spirit,  our  defence. 
Who  dost  the  gifts  of  tongues  dispense, 
And  crown'st  Thy  gifts  with  eloquence! 

Refine  and  purge  our  eartlily  parts ; 
But  oh,  intlame  and  fire  our  hearts ! 
Our  frailties  help,  our  vice  control — 
Submit  the  senses  to  tlie  soul; 
And  when  rebellious  tlicy  arc  grown, 
Tlien  lay  Thy  hand,  and  hold  tlicm  down. 

Cliase  from  our  minds  the  infernal  foe, 
And  peace,  tlie  fruit  of  love,  bestow ; 
And,  lest  our  feet  should  stej)  astray, 
Protect  and  guide  us  in  the  way. 

^fake  us  eternal  truths  receive. 
And  practise  all  that  wo  believe; 
Give  us  Thyself,  that  we  may  see 
The  Father,  and  the  Son,  by  Theo. 


704 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Iinmortal  honor,  endless  fame, 

Attend  the  almighty  Father's  name! 

The  Saviour  Son  he  glorified, 

AVho  for  lost  man's  redemption  died ! 

And  equal  adoration  be. 

Eternal  Paraclete,  to  Thee! 

St.  Ambkose.    (Latin.) 
Taraphrase  of  Jous  Deyden. 


-4 


HYMN  OF  PRAISE. 

Lo!  God  is  here!  let  us  adore, 
And  own  how  dreadful  is  this  place ; 

Let  all  within  us  feel  His  power, 
And  silent  bow  before  His  face ! 

Who  know  His  power,  His  grace  who  prove, 

Serve  Him  with  awe,  with  reverence  love. 

Lo!  God  is  here!  Him  day  and  night 
Th'  united  choirs  of  angels  sing  ; 

To  Him,  enthroned  above  all  height. 
Heaven's  host  their  noblest  praises  bring ; 

Disdain  not.  Lord,  our  meaner  song, 

"VVho  praise  Thee  with  a  stammering  tongue. 

Gladly  the  toils  of  earth  we  leave. 

Wealth,  pleasure,  fame,  for  Thee  alone ; 

To  Thee  our  will,  soul,  flesh,  we  give — 
Oh  take !  oh  seal  them  for  Thine  own ! 

Thou  art  the  God,  Thou  art  the  Lord — 

Be  Thou  by  all  Thy  works  adored ! 

Being  of  beings !  may  our  praise 

Thy  courts  with  grateful  fragrance  fill ; 

StUl  may  we  stand  before  Thy  face. 
Still  hear  and  do  Thy  sovereign  will ; 

To  thee  may  all  our  thoughts  arise — 

Ceaseless,  accepted  sacrifice. 

In  Thee  we  move ;  all  things  of  Thee 
Are  full,  Thou  source  and  life  of  all ; 

Thou  vast  unfathomable  sea  I 
(Fall  prostrate,  lost  in  wonder  fall. 

Ye  sons  of  men !     For  God  is  man  !) 

All  may  we  lose,  so  Thee  we  gain ! 


As  flowers  their  opening  leaves  display, 
And  glad  drink  in  the  solar  fire, 

So  may  we  catch  Tliy  every  ray. 
So  may  Thy  influence  us  inspire — 

Thou  beam  of  the  eternal  beam! 

Thou  purging  fire,  Thou  quickening  flame  I 

Geehakd  Terstkegen.    (German.) 
Translation  of  Joun  Wesley. 


THE  LORD  THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  nor  want  shall  I 
know ; 
I  feed  in  green  pastures,  safe-folded  I  rest ; 
He  leadeth  my  soul  where  the  still  waters 
flow. 
Restores    me    when  wandering,   redeems 
when  oppressed. 

Through  the   valley  and  shadow   of  death 
though  I  stray. 
Since  Thou  art  my  guardian  no  evil  I  fear; 
Thy  rod  shall  defend  me,  Thy  staff"  be  my 
stay ; 
No  harm  can  befall  with   my   comforter 
near. 

In  the  midst  of  aflSiction  my  table  is  spread  ; 
With  blessings  unmeasured  my  cup  run- 
neth o'er; 
With  perfume  and  oil  Thou    anointest   my 
head; 
Oh !  what  shall  I  ask  of  Thy  Providence 
more  ? 

Let  goodness  and  mercy,  my  bountiful  God! 

Still  follow  my  steps  till  I  meet  Thee  above : 
I  seek,  by  the  path  which  my  forefathers  trod, 

Through   the   land  of  tlieir  sojourn.   Thy 


kingdom  of  love. 


James  Montgomeut. 


SONNET. 

TuE  prayers  I  make  "will  then  be  sweet  in- 
deed. 
If  Thou  the  spirit  give  by  which  I  pray ; 
My  unassisted  heart  is  barren  clay, 
That  of  its  native  self  can  nothing  feed. 


THE    POET'S    HYMN   POR    HIMSELF. 


'793 


Of  g(;od  and  pious  works  Thou  art  the  seed, 

That  quickens  only  Tvhere  thou  say'st  it  may. 

Unless  Thou  show  to  us  Thine  own  true  w'ay, 

IsTo  man  can  find  it ;  Father !  thou  must  lead. 

Do  Thou,  then,  breathe  those  thoughts  into 

my  mind 

13y  which  such  virtue  may  in  me  be  bred 

That  in  Thy  holy  footsteps  I  may  tread ; 

The  fetters  of  my  tongue  do  Thou  unbind, 

That  I  may  have  the  power  to  sing  of  Thee, 

And  sound  Thy  praises  everlastingly. 

Michael  Angelo.    (Italian.) 
Translation  of  Samttel  Woedswokth. 


PEAISE. 

Come,  oh  come !  with  sacred  lays 
Let  us  sound  the  Almighty's  praise ! 
Hither  bring,  in  true  consent. 
Heart,  and  voice,  and  instrument. 
Let  the  orpharion  sweet 
With  the  harp  and  viol  meet ; 
Let  your  voices  tune  the  lute ; 
Let  not  tongue  nor  string  be  mute ; 
Nor  a  creature  dumb  be  found 
That  hath  either  voice  or  sound ! 

Let  such  things  as  do  not  live, 

In  still  music  praises  give ! 

Lowly  pipe,  ye  worms  that  creep 

On  the  earth,  or  in  the  deep ; 

Loud  aloft  ycur  voices  strain. 

Beasts,  and  monsters  of  the  main ; 

Birds,  your  Avarbling  treble  sing; 

Clouds,  your  peals  of  thunder  ring; 
Sun  and  moon,  exalted  higher. 
And  you,  stars,  augment  the  choir ! 

Come,  ye  sons  of  human  race. 
In  this  chorus  take  your  place  ! 
And  amid  this  mortal  throng 
Bo  you  masters  of  the  song. 
Angels  and  celestial  powers. 
Be  the  noblest  tenor  yours ! 
Let,  in  praise  of  God,  the  sound 
Run  a  never-ending  round, 

That  our  holy  hymn  may  bo 

Everlasting  as  is  He. 


From  the  earth's  vast  hollow  womb 
Music's  deepest  bass  shall  come ; 
Sea  and  floods,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Shall  the  counter-tenor  roar ; 
To  this  concert,  when  we  sing, 
"Whistling  winds,  your  descant  bring, 
Which  may  bear  the  sound  above 
Where  the  orb  of  lire  doth  move, 
And  so  climb  from  sphere  to  sphere. 
Till  our  song  the  Almighty  hear  ! 

So  shall  He,  from  heaven's  high  tower, 
On  the  earth  His  blessings  shower; 
All  this  huge  wide  orb  we  see 
Shall  one  choir,  one  temple  be ; 
There  our  voices  we  will  rear, 
Till  we  fill  it  every  where, 
And  enforce  the  fiends,  that  dwell 
In  the  air,  to  sink  to  hell. 

Then,  oh  come !  with  sacred  lays 
Let  UP  sound  the  Almighty's  praise. 
George  AVithee. 


THE  POET'S  HYMN"  FOPw  HIMSELF. 

Great  Almighty,   king  of  heaven, 
And  one  God  in  persons  three — ■ 
Honor,  praise,  and  thanks  be  given 
Now  and  evermore  to  Tliee, 

Who  hast  moi-e  for  Thine  prepared 
Than  by  words  can  be  declared ! 

By  Thy  mcrcios  I  was  taken 

From  the  pits  of  miry  clay. 

Wherein,  wretched  and  forsaken. 

Helpless,  hopeless  too,  I  lay ; 

And  those  comforts  Thou  didst  give  ine 
Whereof  no  man  can  deprive  ine. 

By  Thy  grace  the  passions,  troubles, 
And  what  most  my  lie;irt  ()i)prc's.sed. 
Have  appeared  as  airy  bubbles. 
Dreams,  or  sutterings  but  in  jest ; 
And  witli  profit  that  Iiatli  ended 
Which  my  foes  fur  harm  inten<led. 

Those  afllictions  and  those  terrors, 
Which  did  phigues  at  first  ajjpear, 
Did  but  show  me  what  mine  errors 
And  mine  imperfections  were ; 


79«                                                  POEMS    OF 

RELIGION. 

But  they  wretcbed  could  not  make  me, 

in. 

Nor  from  Thy  affection  shake  me. 

Hear,  0  Lord  and  God,  my  cries ! 

Mark  my  foes'  unjust  abusing; 

Therefore  as  Thy  blessed  Psalmist, 

And  illuminate  mine  eyes, 

■When  his  warfares  had  an  end. 

Heavenly  beams  in  them  infusing — 

And  his  days  were  at  the  calmest, 

Lest  my  woes,  too  great  to  bear, 

Psalms  and  hymns  of  praises  penned — 

And  too  infinite  to  number. 

So  my  rest,  by  Thee  enjoyed. 

Eock  me  soon,  'twixt  hope  and  fear, 

To  Thy  praise  I  have  employed. 

Into  death's  eternal  slumber — 

Lord !  accept  my  poor  endeavor, 

IV. 

And  assist  Thy  servant  so, 

Lest  my  foes  their  boasting  make : 

In  Avell  doing  to  persever. 

Spite  of  right,  on  him  we  trample ; 

That  more  perfect  I  may  grow — 

And  a  pride  in  mischief  take, 

Every  day  more  prudent,  meeker, 

Hastened  by  my  sad  example. 

And  of  Thee  a  faithful  seeker. 

V. 

Let  no  passed  sin  or  folly, 

As  for  me,  I  '11  ride  secure 

ISTor  a  future  fault  in  me. 

At  Thy  mercy's  sacred  anchor ; 

Make  unfruitful  or  unholy 

And,  undaunted,  will  endure 

"What  I  offer  now  to  Thee; 

Fiercest  storms  of  wrong  and  rancoui*. 

But  with  favor  and  compassion 

VT 

Cure  and  cover  each  transgression. 

>  1. 

o 

These  black  clouds  will  overblow — 

And  with  Israel's  royal  singer 

Sunshine  shall  have  his  returning ; 

J                    O 

Teach  me  so  faith's  hymns  to  sing — 

And  my  grief-dulled  heart,  I  know. 

So  Thy  ten-stringed  law  to  finger, 

Into  mirth  shall  change  his  mourning. 

And  such  music  thence  to  bring — 

Therefore  I  '11  rejoice,  and  sing 

That  by  grace  I  may  aspire 

Hymns  to  God,  in  sacred  measure. 

•'                                           "                                                                 ? 

To  Thy  blessed  angel  choir ! 

Who  to  happy  pass  will  bring 

J                                      0 

Geokge  Withee. 

My  just  hopes,  at  His  good  pleasure. 

Fkancis  Dayison. 

PSALM  xin. 

« 

PSALM  XVIIL 

I. 

PART   FIRST. 

Lord,  how  long,  how  long  wilt  Thou 

Quite  forget,  and  quite  neglect  me  ? 

0  God,  my  strength  and  fortitude,  of  force  I 

How  long,  with  a  frowning  brow. 

must  love  Thee ! 

Wilt  Thou  from  Thy  sight  reject  me  ? 

Thou  art  my  castle  and  defence  in  my  neces- 

• 

sity— 

II. 

My  God,   my   rock   in  whom   I   trust,    the 

How  long  shall  I  seek  a  way 

worker  of  my  wealtli 

Forth  this  maze  of  thoughts  perplexed. 

My  refuge,  buckler,  and  my  shield,  the  horn 

Where  my  grieved  mind,  night  and  day. 

of  all  ray  healtli. 

Is  with  thinking  tired  and  vexed? 

How  long  shall  my  scornful  foe. 

When  I  sing  laud  unto  the  Lord  most  worthy 

On  my  fall  his  greatness  placing. 

to  be  served. 

Build  upon  my  overthrow, 

Then  from  my  foes  I  am  right  sure  that  I 

And  be  graced  by  my  disgracing  ? 

shall  be  preserved. 

PSALM    XXIII. 


r97 


The  pangs  of  death  did  compass  me,  and 

bound  me  everj'wliere ; 
The  flowing  waves  of  wickedness  did  put  me 

in  great  fear. 

The  sly  and  subtle  snares  of  hell  were  round 

about  me  set ; 
And  for  my  death  there  was  prepared  a  deadly 

trapping  net. 
I,  thus  beset  with  pain  and  grief,  did  pray  to 

God  for  grace ; 
And  he  forthwith  did  hear  my  plaint  out  of 

His  holy  place. 

Such  is  His  power  that  in  His  wrath  He  made 

the  earth  to  quake — 
Yea,  the  foundation  of  the  mount  of  Basan 

for  to  shake. 
And  from  His  nostrils  came  a  smoke,  when 

kindled  was  His  ire  ; 
And  from  His  mouth  came  kindled  coals  of 

hot  consuming  fire. 

The  Lord  descended  from  above,  and  bowed 

the  heavens  higli ; 
And  underneath  His  feet  He  cast  the  darkness 

of  the  sky. 
On  cherubs  and  on  cherubimsfuU  royally  He 

rode ; 
And  on  the  wings  of  all  the  winds  came^y- 


ing  all  abroad. 


TnoMAS  Sterxhold. 


PSALM  XIX. 

The  heavens  declare  Thy  glory,  Lord  ! 

In  every  star  Thy  wisdom  shines ; 
But  when  our  eyes  behold  Thy  word. 

We  read  Thy  name  in  fairer  lines. 

Tlie  rolling  sim,  the  changing  light. 

And  nights  and  days  Thy  power  confess; 

But  tlie  blest  volume  Tliou  hast  writ 
Reveals  Thy  justice  and  Thy  grace. 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  convey  Thy  praise 
Round  the  whole  earth,  and  never  stand  ; 

So,  when  Thy  truth  begun  its  race 
It  touched  and  glanced  on  every  land. 


Xor  shall  Thy  spreading  gospel  rest 

Till  through  the  world  Thy  truth  has  run ; 

Till  Christ  has  all  the  nations  blest 
That  see  the  light  or  feel  the  sun. 

Great  sun  of  righteousness,  arise ! 

Bless  the  dark  world  with  heavenly  light ! 
Thy  gospel  makes  the  simple  wise — 

Thy  laws  are  pure.  Thy  judgments  right. 

Thy  noblest  wonders  here  we  view. 
In  souls  renewed,  and  sins  forgiven ; 

Lord,  cleanse  my  sins,  my  soul  renew, 

And  make  Tliy  word  my  guide  to  heaven  : 

Isaac  Watts. 


PSALM  XXIII. 


God,  who  the  universe  doth  hold 

In  His  fold. 
Is  my  shepherd,  kind  and  heedful — 
Is  my  shepherd,  and  doth  keep 

Me,  His  sheep, 
Still  supplied  witli  all  things  needful. 

II. 
He  feeds  me  in  His  fields,  which  been 

Fresli  and  green. 
Mottled  with  spring's  flowery  painting — 
Tln-o'  which  creep,  with  murmuring  crookr., 

Crystal  brooks. 
To  refresh  my  spirit's  fainting. 

III. 
When  ray  soul  from  heaven's  way 

Went  astray, 
Witli  eartli's  vanities  seduced. 
For  His  name's  sake,  kindly.  He 

Wandering  me 
To  His  holy  fold  reduced. 

IV. 

Yea,  though  I  stray  through  death's  vale, 

Where  His  pale 
Shades  did  on  each  side  enfold  me, 
Dreadless,  having  Thee  fur  guide, 

Should  I  biile ; 
For  Thy  rod  and  staff  uphold  me. 


708 


POEMS     OF     RELIGION. 


T. 

Thou  my  board  with  messes  large 

Dost  surcharge ; 
My  bowls  full  of  wine  Thou  pourest ; 
And  before  mine  enemies' 

Envious  eyes 
Balm  upon  my  head  Thou  showerest. 

vi. 
If  either  dures  Thy  bounteous  grace 

For  a  space ; 
But  it  knows  no  bound  nor  measure ; 
So  my  days,  to  my  life's  end, 

I  shall  spend 
In  Thy  courts  with  heavenly  pleasure. 

Fkancis  Davison. 


PSALM  XXIII. 

Lo,  my  Shepherd's  hand  divine  ! 
Want  shall  never  more  be  mine. 
In  a  pasture  fair  and  largo 
He  shall  feed  His  happy  charge, 
And  my  couch  with  tenderest  care 
'Midst  the  springing  grass  prepare. 

When  I  faint  with  summer's  heat, 
He  shall  lead  my  weary  feet 
To  the  streams  that,  still  and  slow, 
Through  the  verdant  meadows  flow. 
He  my  soul  anew  shall  frame ; 
And,  His  mercy  to  proclaim. 
When  through  devious  patlis  I  stray, 
Teach  my  steps  the  better  way. 

Though  the  dreary  vale  I  tread 
By  the  shades  of  death  o'erspread ; 
There  I  walk  from  terror  free, 
While  my  every  wish  I  see 
By  Thy  rod  and  staff  supplied — 
This  my  guard,  and  that  my  guide. 

While  my  foes  are  gazing  on. 
Thou  Thy  favoring  care  hast  shown  ; 
Thou  my  plenteous  board  hast  spread ; 
Thou  with  oil  refreshed  my  head  ; 
Filled  by  Thee,  my  cup  o'erflows  ; 
For  Thy  love  no  limit  knows. 
Constant,  to  my  latest  end. 
This  my  footsteps  shall  attend. 
And  shall  bid  Thy  liallowed  dome 
Yield  me  an  eternal  home. 

James  Mekkick. 


PSALM  XXX. 


Lord,  to  Thee,  while  I  am  living. 
Will  I  sing  hymns  of  thanksgiving ; 
For  Thou  hast  drawn  me  from  a  gulf  of  woes, 
So  that  my  foes 
Do  not  deride  me. 

u. 

When  Thine  aid.  Lord,  I  implored. 
Then  by  Thee  was  I  restored ; 
My  mournful  heart  with  joy  thou  straight 
didst  fill, 

So  that  none  ill 
Dotli  now  betide  me. 

nr. 
My  soul,  grievoiisly  distressed, 
And  with  death  well-nigh  oppressed, 
From  death's  devouring  jaws.  Lord,  Thou 
didst  save. 

And  from  the  grave 
My  soul  deliver. 

IV. 

Oh,  all  ye  that  e'er  had  savor 
Of  God's  everlasting  favor, 
Come !  come  and  help  me  grateful  praises 
sing 

To  the  world's  king, 
And  my  life's  giver. 

V. 

For  His  anger  never  lasteth, 
And  His  favor  never  wasteth. 
Though  sadness  be  thy  guest  in  sullen  niglit, 
The  cheerful  light 
Will  cheerful  make  thee. 

VI. 

LuUed  asleep  with  charming  pleasures. 
And  base,  earthly,  fading  treasures. 
Rest,  peaceful  soul,  said  I,  in  happy  state- 
No  storms  of  fate 
Sliall  ever  shake  thee  I 

VII. 

For  Jehovah's  grace  unbounded 
Hath  my  greatness  surely  founded  ; 


Hath  my  greatness  surely  founded  ; 
.  hath  my  state  as  strongly  fortified, 


And  hath  my  state  .... .... . 

On  every  side, 

As  rocky  mountains. 


PSALM    XLVI. 


799 


Tni. 

But  away  His  face  God  turned — 
I  was  troubled  then,  and  mourned ; 
Then  thus  I  poured  forth  prayers  and  doleful 
cries. 

"With  weeping  eyes 
Like  watery  fountains : 

IX. 

In  my  Llood  there  is  no  profit ; 

If  I  die  what  good  comes  of  it  ? 
Shall  rotten  bones  or  senseless  dust  express 
Thy  thankfulness, 
And  works  of  wonder  ? 

X. 

Oh  then  hear  me,  prayers  forthpouring, 
Drowned  in  tears,  from  moist  eyes  show- 
ering; 
Have  mercy.  Lord,  on  me ;  my  burden  ease, 
If  Thee  it  please, 
Which  I  groan  under ! 

XI. 

Thus  prayed  I,  and  God,  soon  after. 
Changed  my  mourning  into  laughter ; 
Mine  ashy  sackcloth,  mark  of  mine  annoy. 

To  robes  of  joy 

Eftsoons  He  turned. 

XII. 

Therefore,  harp  and  voice,  cease  never, 
But  sing  sacred  lays  for  ever 
To  great  Jehovah  mounted  on  the  skies, 
"Who  dried  mine  eyes 
When  as  I  mouraed. 

Feancis  Davison. 


PSALM  XLVI. 

God  is  the  refuge  of  His  saints, 
When  storms  of  sharp  distress  invade  ; 

Ere  Ave  can  ofter  our  complaints, 
Behold  Him  present  with  His  aid. 

Let  mountams  from  their  seats  be  hurled 
Down  to  the  deep,  and  buried  there- 
Convulsions  shake  the  solid  world ; 
Our  faith  shall  never  yield  to  fear. 


Loud  may  the  troubled  ocean  roar ; 

In  sacred  peace  our  souls  abide, 
While  every  nation,  every  shore, 

Trembles  and  dreads  the  swelling  tide. 

There  is  a  stream  whose  gentle  flow 

Supplies  the  city  of  our  God- 
Life,  love,  and  joy  still  gliding  through, 

And  watering  our  di\-ine  abode ; 

That  sacred  stream  Thine  holy  word, 
That  all  our  raging  fear  controls ; 

Sweet  peace  Thy  promises  afford. 

And  give  new  strength  to  fainting  souls. 

Sion  enjoys  her  monarch's  love, 
Secure  against  a  threat'ning  hour ; 

^or  can  her  firm  foundations  move, 

Built  on  His  truth,  and  armed  with  power. 

Isaac  Wattb. 


PSALM  XLVI. 

A  SAFE  stronghold  our  God  is  still, 
A  trusty  shield  and  weapon  ; 
He  '11  help  us  clear  from  all  the  ill 
That  hath  us  now  overtaken. 
The  ancient  prince  of  hell 
Hath  risen  with  purpose  fell; 
Strong  mail  of  craft  and  power 
He  weareth  in  this  hour — 
On  earth  is  not  his  fellow. 

By  force  of  arms  we  nothing  can — 
Full  soon  were  we  down-ridden  ; 
But  for  us  fights  tlic  proper  man, 
Whom  God  himself  hath  bidden. 
Ask  ye,  Who  is  this  same? 
Christ  Jesus  is  His  name, 
The  Lord  Zebaoth's  son — 
He  and  no  other  one 

Shall  conquer  in  the  battle. 

And  were  this  world  all  devils  o'er, 
And  watching  to  devour  us, 
We  lay  it  not  to  heart  so  sore — 
Not  they  can  overpower  us. 
And  let  the  prince  of  ill 
Look  grim  as  e'er  ho  will, 
He  harms  us  not  a  whit ; 
For  why  ?     III?  doom  is  writ — 

A  word  shall  quickly  slay  him. 


800                                                  POEMS     OF 

RELIGION. 

God's  word,  for  all  their  craft  and  force, 

Say :  How  wonderful  Thy  deeds  I 

One  moment  will  not  linger ; 

Lord,  Thy  power  all  power  exceeds  1 

But,  spite  of  hell  shall  have  its  course — 

Conquest  on  Thy  sword  doth  sit — 

'T  is  written  by  Ilis  finger. 

Trembling  foes  through  fear  submit. 

And  though  they  take  our  life, 

Let  the  many-peopled  eai-th, 

Goods,  honor,  children,  wife, 

All  of  high  and  humble  birth. 

Yet  is  their  profit  small ; 

AVorship  our  eternal  king — 

These  things  shall  vanish  all — 

Hymns  unto  His  honor  sing. 

The  city  of  God  remaineth. 

Come,  and  see  what  God  hath  wrought— 

JlARTiN  LuTnBR.    (German.) 

Terrible  to  human  thought ! 

Translation  of  Thomas  Caklyle. 

He  the  billows  did  divide. 

Walled  with  waves  on  either  side, 
While  we  passed  safe  and  dry  ; 

PSALM  LXV. 

Then  our  souls  were  rapt  with  joy. 

Endless  His  dominion — 

SEOOIsD  PAET. 

All  beholding  from  His  throne. 

'  T 13  by  Thy  strength  the  mountains  stand, 

Let  not  those  who  hate  us  most. 

God  of  eternal  power ! 

Let  not  the  rebellious,  boast. 

The  sea  grows  calm  at  Thy  command, 

Bless  the  Lord !  His  praise  be  sung 

And  tempests  cease  to  roar. 

While  an  ear  can  hear  a  tongue ! 

X 

He  our  feet  establisheth  ; 

Thy  morning  light  and  evening  shade 

He  our  souls  redeems  from  death. 

Successive  comforts  bring ; 

Lord,  as  silver  purified. 

Thy  plenteous  fruits  make  harvest  glad — 

Tliou  hast  with  affliction  tried  ; 

Thy  flowers  adorn  the  spring. 

Thou  hast  driven  into  the  net, 

Burdens  on  our  shoulders  set. 

Seasons  and  times,  and  moons  and  hours, 

Trod  on  by  their  horse's  hooves — 

Heaven,  earth,  and  air,  are  Thine ; 

Theirs  whom  pity  never  moves — 

AYhen  clouds  distil  in  fruitful  showers, 

AVe  through  fire,  witli  flames  embraced, 

The  author  is  divine. 

We  through  raging  floods  have  passed ; 

Those  wandering  cisterns  in  the  sky, 

Yet  by  Thy  conducting  hand 

Borne  by  the  winds  around. 

Brought  into  a  wealthy  land. 

With  watery  treasures  well  supply 

I  will  to  Thy  house  repair. 

The  fnrrows  of  tlie  ground. 

Worship,  and  Thy  power  declare — 

Off"erings  on  Thy  altar  lay. 

The  thirsty  ridges  drink  their  fill. 

All  my  vows  devoutly  pay. 

And  ranks  of  corn  appear ; 

Uttered  with  my  heart  and  tongue. 

Thy  ways  abound  with  blessings  still — 

When  oppressed  with  powerful  wrong. 

Thy  goodness  crowns  the  year. 

Fatlings  I  will  sacrifice ; 

Isaac  Wattb. 

Incense  in  perfume  shall  rise — 

Bullocks,  shaggy  goats,  and  rams. 

Offered  up  in  sacred  flames. 

PSALM  LXYL 

You  who  great  Jehovah  fear. 

Come,  oh  come,  you  blest !  and  bear 

Happy  sons  of  Israel, 

What  for  mo  the  Lord  hath  Avrought, 

Who  in  pleasant  Canaan  dwell. 

Then  when  near  to  ruin  bi'ought. 

Fill  the  air  with  shouts  of  joy — 

Fervently  to  Him  I  cried ; 

Shouts  redoubled  from  the  sky. 

I  His  goodness  magnified. 

Sing  the  great  Jehovah's  praise, 

If  I  vices  sliould  affect, 

Trophies  to  His  glory  raise ; 

Would  not  He  my  prayers  reject? 

PSALM    C. 


801 


But  the  Lord  my  pravers  Lath  heard 
Which  my  tongue  with  tears  preferred. 
Source  of  mercy  be  Thou  blest, 
That  hast  granted  my  request ! 

Geoege  Sandts. 


TSALU  LXXIT. 


FIEST  PAET. 


Great  God,  whose  universal  sway 
The  known  and  unknown  worlds  obey, 
Kow  give  the  kingdom  to  TLy  Son — 
Extend  His  power,  exalt  His  throne ! 

Thy  sceptre  well  becomes  His  hands — 
All  heaven  submits  to  his  commands ; 
His  justice  shall  avenge  the  poor, 
And  pride  and  rage  prevail  no  more. 

'Vi'iih  power  he  vindicates  the  just. 
And  treads  the  oppressor  in  the  dust; 
His  worship  and  His  fear  shall  last 
Till  hours  and  years,  and  time,  be  past. 

As  rain  on  mead'ows  newly  mown, 
So  shall  he  send  His  influence  down; 
His  grace  on  fainting  souls  distils, 
Like  heavenly  dew  on  thu-sty  hills. 

The  heathen  lands  that  lie  beneath 
The  shades  of  overspreading  death, 
Revive  at  His  first  dawning  liglit, 
And  deserts  blossom  at  the  sight. 

The  saints  shall  flourish  in  His  days, 
Dressed  in  the  robes  of  joy  and  praise; 
Peace,  like  a  river,  from  his  tlirone, 
Shall  flow  to  nations  yet  unknown. 

Isaac  Watts. 


PSALM  XCIL 

Tnou  who  art  enthroned  above — 
Thou  by  whom  we  live  and  move ! 
Oh  how  sweet,  how  excellent, 
Is  't,  with  tongue  and  heart's  consent, 
Thankful  hearts,  and  joyful  tongues. 
To  renown  Tliy  name  in  song.s — 
105 


When  the  morning  paints  the  skies, 
When  the  sparkling  stars  arise, 
Thy  high  favors  to  rehearse. 
Thy  firm  faith  in  gratefid  verse ! 

Take  the  lute  and  violin  ; 
Let  the  solemn  harp  begin — 
Instruments  strung  with  ten  strings- 
While  tlie  silver  cymbal  rings. 

From  Thy  works  my  joy  proceeds ; 
How  I  triumph  in  Thy  deeds ! 
Who  Thy  wonders  can  express? 
All  Thy  thoughts  are  tathomlcss — 
Hid  from  men,  in  knowledge  bHud — 
Hid  from  fools  to  vice  inclmed. 
Who  that  tyrant  sin  obey, 
Though  they  spring  like  flowers  in  May, 
Parched  with  heat,  and  nipped  with  frost, 
Soon  shall  fode,  forever  lost. 

Lord,  Tliou  art  most  great,  znost  high — 
Such  from  all  eternity. 
Perish  shall  Thy  enemies — 
Rebels  that  against  Thee  rise. 
All  who  in  their  sins  delight 
Shall  be  scattered  by  Thy  might; 
But  Thou  shalt  exalt  my  horn, 
Like  a  youthful  unicorn  : 
Fresh  and  fragrant  odors  shed 
On  Thy  crowned  prophet's  head. 

I  shall  see  my  foe's  defeat, 
Shortly  hear  of  their  retreat ; 
But  the  just,  like  palms,  shall  flourish 
Which  the  plains  of  JudaJi  nom-ish — 
Like  tall  cedars  mounted  on 
Cloud-ascending  Lebanon. 
Plants  set  in  Tliy  court,  below 
Spread  their  roots  and  upwards  grow ; 
Fruit  in  their  old  age  shall  bring- 
Ever  fat  and  flourishing. 
This  God's  justice  celebrates — 
He,  my  rock,  injustice  hates. 

Geobqe  Saxdtb. 


PSALM  0. 

With  one  consent  let  all  the  earth 
To  God  their  cheerful  voices  raise — 

Glad  homage  pay  with  awful  mirth, 
And  sing  before  Him  songs  of  praise- 


802                                                 POEMS    OF 

EELIGION. 

Convinced  that  He  is  God  alone, 

As  a  watchman  waits  for  day. 

From  wliom  both  wc  and  all  proceed — 

And  looks  for  light,  and  looks  again, 

We  whom  Uc  chooses  llu-  Ilis  own, 

When  the  night  grows  old  and  gray, 

The  flock  which  IIo  vouchsafes  to  feed. 

To  be  relieved  he  calls  amain  ; 

So  look,  so  wait, 

Oh  enter  then  His  temple  gate, 

So  long  mine  eyes. 

Thence  to  his  courts  devoutly  press  ; 

To  see  my  Lord, 

And  still  your  grateful  hymns  repeat, 

My  sun,  arise. 

And  still  His  name  with  praises  bless. 

Wait,  ye  saints,  wait  on  our  Lord — 

For  He 's  the  Lord  supremely  good, . 

For  from  His  tongue  sweet  mercy  flows. 

His  mercy  is  forever  sure ; 

Wait  on  His  cross,  wait  on  His  word — 

His  truth,  which  all  times  firmly  stood, 

Upon  that  true  redemption  grows ; 

To  endless  ages  shall  endure. 

He  will  redeem 

Tatb  and  Bkadt. 

His  Israel 

From  sin  and  wrath. 
From  death  and  hell. 

PSALM  oxvn. 

From  all  that  dwell  below  the  skies 

Phlneab  Fletohbe. 

Let  the  Creator's  praise  arise  ; 

Let  the  Redeemer's  name  be  sung 

HYMN,  FROM  PSALM  CXT.VHL 

Through  every  land,  by  every  tongue. 

Begix,  my  soul,  the  exalted  lay, 

Eternal  are  Thy  mercies,  Lord — 

Let  each  enraptured  thought  obey, 

Eternal  truth  attends  Thy  word ; 

And  praise  the  Almighty's  name ; 

Thy  praise  shall  sound  from  shore  to  shore. 

Lo !  heaven  and  earth,  and  seas  and  skies, 

*/    1                                                                                                                            / 

Till  sans  shall  rise  and  set  no  more. 

In  one  melodious  concert  rise. 

Isaac  "Watts. 

To  swell  the  insph-ing  theme. 

Ye  nelds  of  lignt,  celestial  plams. 

Where  gay  transporting  beauty  reigns, 

PSALM  CXXX. 

Ye  scenes  divinely  fair! 

From  the  deeps  of  grief  and  fear. 

Your  maker's  wondrous  power  proclaim— 
Tell  how  He  formed  your  shining  frame, 

0  Lord !  to  Thee  my  soul  rcpaii-s  ; 

And  breathed  the  fluid  air. 

From  Thy  heaven  bow  down  Thine  ear — 

Let  Thy  mercy  meet  my  prayers : 

Oh!  if  Thou  mark'st 

Ye  angels,  catch  the  thrilling  sound ! 

"What 's  done  amiss. 

While  all  the  adoring  thrones  around 

What  soul  so  pure 

His  boundless  mercy  sing : 

Can  see  Thy  bliss? 

Let  every  listening  saint  above 

Wake  all  the  tuneful  soul  of  love, 

But  with  Thee  sweet  mercy  stands. 

And  touch  the  sweetest  string. 

Sealing  pardons,  working  fear; 

"Wait,  my  soul,  wait  on  His  hands — 

Join,  ye  loud  spheres,  the  vocal  cboir; 

Wait,  mine  eye ;  oh  !  wait,  mine  ear ! 

Thou  dazzling  orb  of  liquid  fire. 

If  He  His  eye 

The  mighty  chorus  aid ; 

Or  tongue  affords. 

Soon  as  gray  evening  gilds  the  plain. 

Watch  all  His  looks. 

Thou,  moon,  protract  the  melting  strain, 

Catch  all  His  words ! 

And  praise  Him  in  the  shade. 

PSALM    CXLTIII. 


803 


Thou  heaven  of  heavens,  His  vast  abode, 
Ye  clouds^  proclaim  your  forming  God ! 

Who  called  yon  worlds  from  night ; 
"  Ye  shades,  dispel !  "—the  Eternal  said. 
At  once  the  involving  darkness  fled, 

And  nature  sprung  to  hght. 

Whate'er  a  blooming  world  contains 
That  wmgs  the  air,  that  skims  the  plains, 

United  praise  bestow; 
Ye  dragons,  sound  His  awful  name 
To  heaven  aloud ;  and  roar  acclaim. 

Ye  swelling  deeps  below ! 

Let  every  element  rejoice ; 

Ye  thunders,  burst  with  awful  voice 

To  Him  who  bids  you  roll ; 
His  praise  in  softer  notes  declare. 
Each  whispering  breeze  of  yielding  air, 

And  breathe  it  to  the  soul ! 

To  Him,  ye  graceful  cedars,  bow ; 
Ye  towering  mountains,  bending  low. 

Your  great  Creator  own ! 
Tell,  when  affrighted  nature  shook, 
How  Sinai  kindled  at  His  look, 

And  trembled  at  His  frown. 

Ye  flocks  that  haunt  the  humble  vale, 
Ye  insects  fluttering  on  the  gale, 

In  mutual  concourse  rise ; 
Crop  tlie  gay  rose's  vermeil  bloom, 
And  waft  its  spoils,  a  sweet  perfume. 

In  incense  to  the  skies ! 

Wake,  all  ye  mountain  tribes,  and  sing — 
Ye  plumy  warblers  of  the  spring, 

Harmonious  anthems  raise 
To  Him  who  shaped  your  finer  mould, 
Who   tipped  your  glittering  Avings  with 
gold. 

And  tuned  your  voice  to  praise! 

Let  man — by  nobler  passions  swayed — 
The  feeling  heart,  the  judging  head, 

In  heavenly  praise  employ ; 
Spread  His  tremendous  name  around. 
Till  heaven's  broad  arch  rings  back  the 
sound. 

The  general  burst  of  joy. 


Ye,  whom  the  charms  of  grandeur  please, 
Nursed  on  the  downy  lap  of  ease. 

Fall  prostrate  at  His  throne  ; 
Ye  princes,  rulers,  all,  adore— 
Praise  Him,   ye  kings,    who  make  your 
power 

An  image  of  His  own  ! 

Ye  fair,  by  nature  formed  to  move, 
Oh  praise  the  eternal  source  of  love. 

With  youth's  enlivening  fire ; 
Let  age  take  up  the  tuneful  lay, 
Sigh  His  blessed  name — then  soar  away, 

And  ask  an  angel's  lyre ! 

Jonx  Ogilvib. 


PSALM  CXLVIIL 

YoTj  who  dwell  above  the  skies, 

Free  from  human  miseries — 

You  whom  highest  heaven  embowers, 

Praise  the  Lord  with  all  your  powers! 

Angels,  your  clear  voices  raise — 

Him  your  heavenly  armies  praise ; 

Sun  and  moon,  with  borrowed  light; 

AU  you  sparkling  eyes  of  night ; 

Waters  hanging  in  the  air ; 

Heaven  of  heavens — His  praise  declare, 

His  deserved  praise  record, 

He  who  made  you  by  His  word — 

Made  you  evermore  to  last, 

Set  you  bounds  not  to  be  passed! 

Let  the  earth  His  praise  resound  ; 

Monstrous  whales,  and  seas  profound ; 

Vapors,  lightnings,  hail,  and  snow; 

Stonns  which,  when  He  bids  tliem,  blow; 

Flowery  hills  and  mountains  high  ; 

Cedars,  neighbors  to  the  sky ; 

Trees  that  fruit  in  season  yield ; 

All  tlie  cattle  of  the  field  ; 

Savage  beasts,  all  creeping  things ; 

All  that  cut  the  air  with  wings; 

You  who  awful  sceptres  sway, 

You  inured  to  obey — 

Princes,  judges  of  the  earth. 

All  of  high  and  humble  birth; 

Youths  and  virgins  flourishing 

In  the  beauty  of  your  spring ; 

You  who  bow  with  age's  weight, 

You  who  were  but  born  of  late; 


804                                                     POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 

Praise  His  name  with  one  consent. 

"When  worn  with  sickness  oft  hast  Thou 

Oh,  how  great !  how  excellent ! 

"With  health  renewed  my  face, 

Than  the  earth  profonuder  far, 

And  when  in  sins  and  sorrows  sunk 

Higher  than  the  highest  star, 

Revived  my  soul  with  grace. 

He  will  UB  to  honor  raise ; 

You,  ITis  saints,  resound  His  pi'aiso — 

Thy  bounteous  hand  with  worldly  bliss 

You  who  are  of  Jacoh's  race. 

Has  made  my  cup  run  o'er. 

And  united  to  Ills  grace ! 

And  in  a  kind  and  faithful  friend 

Geoeqb  Sandys. 

Has  doubled  all  ray  store. 
Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 

• 

My  daily  thanks  employ. 

HYMN". 

TSTor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart. 

That  tastes  those  gifts  with  joy. 

Wheij  all  Thy  mercies,  0  my  God, 

O                                      ftF      •/ 

My  rising  soul  surveys. 

Transported  witli  the  view,  I  'm  lost 

Through  every  period  of  ray  life 

In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 

Thy  goodness  I  '11  pursue, 

And  after  death  in  distant  worlds 

The  glorious  theme  renew. 

0  how  shall  words  with  equal  warmth 

The  gratitude  declare, 

O                                                                          7 

That  glows  within  my  ravished  heart  ? — 

"When  nature  fails,  and  day  and  night 

But  Thou  canst  read  it  there ! 

Divide  Thy  works  no  more. 

My  ever-grateful  heart,  0  Lord, 

Thy  mercy  shall  adore. 

Thy  providence  my  life  sustained, 

And  all  my  wants  redrest, 

Through  all  eternity  to  Thee 

"When  in  the  silent  womb  I  lay, 

A  joyful  song  I  'U  raise ; 

And  hung  upon  the  breast. 

For  oh !  eternity  's  too  short 

To  utter  all  Thy  praise. 

To  all  my  weak  complaints  and  cries 

Joseph  Addisok. 

Thy  mercy  lent  an  ear, 
Ere  yet  my  feeble  thoughts  had  learnt 

To  form  themselves  in  prayer. 

HrMN. 

Unnumbered  comforts  to  my  soul 
Thy  tender  care  bestowed. 

How  are  Thy  servants  blest,  0  Lord  f 
How  sure  is  their  defence  1 

Before  my  infant  heart  conceived 

Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide, 

From  whom  those  comforts  flowed. 

Their  help  omnipotence. 

"When  in  the  slippery  paths  of  youth 

In  foreign  realms,  and  lands  remote, 

"With  heedless  steps  I  ran, 

Supported  by  Thy  care, 

Thine  arm  unseen  conveyed  me  safe. 

Through  burning  climes  I  passed  unhurt, 

And  led  me  up  to  man. 

And  breathed  in  tainted  air. 

Through  hidden  dangers,  toils,  and  deaths, 

Thy  mercy  sweetened  every  soil, 

It  gently  cleared  my  way. 

Made  every  region  please ; 

And  through  the  pleasing  snares  of  vice, 

The  hoary  Alpine  hills  it  warmed. 

More  to  be  feared  than  they. 

And  smoothed  the  TjTrhene  seas. 

LIGHT    SHINING    OUT    OF    DARKNESS. 


805 


Think,  O  my  soul,  devoutly  think, 

How  •with  affrighted  eyes 
Thou  saw'st  tlie  wide-extended  deep 

In  all  its  horrors  rise ! 

Confusion  dwelt  in  every  face, 

And  fear  in  every  heart, 
When  waves  on  waves,  and  gulfs  in  gulfs, 

O'ercame  the  pilot's  art. 

Yet  then  from  all  my  griefs,  O  Lord, 

Thy  mercy  set  me  free ; 
Whilst  in  the  confidence  of  prayer 

My  soul  took  hold  on  Thee. 

For  though  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung, 

High  on  the  broken  wave ; 
I  knew  Thou  Avert  not  slow  to  hear, 

Nor  impotent  to  save. 

The  storm  was  laid,  the  winds  retired, 

Obedient  to  Thy  will ; 
The  sea,  that  roared  at  Thy  command, 

At  Thy  command  was  still. 

In  midot  of  dangers,  fears,  and  deaths. 

Thy  goodness  I  '11  adore — 
And  praise  Thee  for  Thy  mercies  past, 

And  humbly  hope  for  more. 

My  life,  if  Thou  preserv'st  my  life. 

Thy  sacrifice  shall  be  ; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom. 

Shall  join  mj  soul  to  Thee. 

Joseph  Addiso>'. 


TEE  CREATOR  AND  CREATURES. 

God  is  a  name  my  soul  adores — 
The  almighty  Three,  the  eternal  One  ! 

Nature  and  grace,  with  all  their  powers, 
Confess  the  infinite  Unknown. 

From  Tiiy  great  self  Thy  being  springs — 

Tliou  art  Thy  own  original. 
Made  up  of  uncreated  things  ; 

And  self-sufScience  bears  them  all. 


Thy  voice  produced  the  seas  and  spheres, 
Bid  the  waves  roar,  and  planets  shine ; 

But  nothing  like  Thyself  appears 
Through  all  these  spacious  works  of  Thine. 

Still  restless  nature  dies  and  grows — 
From  change  to  change  the  creatures  run , 

Thy  being  no  succession  knows. 
And  all  Thy  vast  designs  are  one. 

A  glance  of  Thine  runs  through  the  globes. 
Rules  the  bright  worlds,  and  moves  their 
frame ; 

Broad  sheets  of  light  compose  Thy  robes ; 
Thy  guai-ds  are  formed  of  living  flame. 

Thrones  and  dominions  round  Thee  fall, 
And  worship  in  submissive  forms: 

Thy  presence  shakes  tliis  lower  ball. 
This  little  dwelling-place  of  worms. 

How  shall  affrighted  mortals  dare 

To  sing  Tliy  glory  or  Thy  grace- 
Beneath  Thy  feet  we  lie  so  far, 
And  see  but  shadows  of  Thy  face! 

Who  can  behold  tlie  blazing  light — 
Who  can  approach  consuming  flame  ? 

None  but  Thy  wisdom  knows  Thy  might — 
None  but  Thy  word  can  speak  Thy  name. 

Isaac  Watts. 


LIGHT  SIIIXIXG  OUT  OF  DARKNESS. 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

His  Avonders  to  perform ; 
lie  plants  His  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfatliomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  His  bright  designs, 

And  works  His  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take! 

The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  an<l  sliall  break 

In  blessings  on  your  head. 


S06 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 

But  trust  Ilim  for  His  grace : 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 


He  hides  a  smiling  face. 


His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 
And  scan  His  work  in  vain : 

God  is  His  own  interpreter. 
And  He  will  make  it  plain, 

William  Cowpee. 


SEARCH  AFTER  GOD. 

r  SOUGHT  Thee  roimd  about,  O  Thou  my  God ! 

In  thine  abode. 
[  said  unto  the  earth :  "  Speak!  art  thou  he? " 

She  answered  me : 
"I  am  not." — I  enquired  of  creatures  all. 

In  general. 
Contained  therein — they  with  one  voice  pro- 
claim 
That  none  amongst  them  challenged  such  a 
name. 

I  asked  the  seas  and  all  the  deeps  below, 

My  God  to  know ; 
I  asked  the  reptiles,  and  whatever  is 

In  the  abyss — 
Even  from  the  shrimp  to  the  leviathan 

Enquiry  ran ; 
But  in  those  deserts  which  no  line  can  sound, 
The  God  I  sought  for  was  not  to  be  found. 

I  asked  the  air,  if  that  were  he  ;  but 

It  told  me  no. 
I  from  the  towering  eagle  to  the  wren 

Demanded  then 
If  any  feathered  fowl  'mongst  them  were 
such ; 

But  they  all,  much 
Offended  with  my  question,  in  full  choir 
Answered :  "  To  find  thy  God  thou  must  look 
higher." 


I  asked  the  heavens,  sun,  moon,  and  stars — 
but  they 

Said :  "  We  obey 
The  God  thou  seekest."    I  asked,  what  eye 
or  ear 

Could  see  or  hear — 
What  in  the  world  I  might  descry  or  know, 

Above,  below ; 
— With  an  unanimous  voice,  all  these  things 

said: 
"We  are  not  God,  but  we  by  Him  were 
made." 

I  asked  the  world's  great  universal  mass, 

If  that  God  was ; 
Which  with  a  mighty  and  strong  voice  re- 
plied. 

As  stupefied : 
"  I  am  not  He,  O  man !  for  know  that  I 

By  Him  on  high 
Was  fashioned  first  of  nothing ;  thus  instated 
And  swayed  by  Him,  by  whom  I  was  created." 

I  sought  the  court ;  but  smooth-tongued  flat- 
tery there 

Deceived  each  ear ; 
In  the  thronged  city  there  was  selling,  buy- 
ing, 

Swearing  and  lying ; 
I'  the  country,  craft  in  simpleness  arrayed — 

And  then  I  said : 
"  Vain  is  my  search,  although  my  pains  be 

great — 
Where  my  God  is  there  can  be  no  deceit." 

A  scrutiny  within  myself  I,  then, 

Even  thus,  began : 
"  0  man,  what  art  thou? " — What  more  could 
I  say 

Than  dust  and  clay — 
Frail,  mortal,  fading,  a  mere  puff,  a  blast. 

That  cannot  last — 
Enthroned  to-day,  to-morrow  in  an  urn. 
Formed  from  that  earth  to  which  I  must  re- 
turn? 

I  asked  myself,  what  this  great  God  might 
be 

That  fashioned  me; 
I  answered :  The  all-potent,  solely  immense. 

Surpassing  sense — 


ON    ANOTHER'S    SORROW. 


807 


Unspeakable,  inscrutable,  eternal, 

Lord  over  all ; 
The  only  terrible,  strong,  just,  and  true, 
"Who  hath  no  end,  and  no  beginning  knew. 

He  is  the  well  of  life,  for  He  doth  give 

To  all  that  live 
Both  breath  and  being.     He  is  the  creator 

Both  of  the  water, 
Earth,  air,  and  fire.     Of  all  things  that  sub- 
sist 

He  hath  the  list— 
Of  all  the  heavenly  host,  or  what  earth  claims, 
He  keeps  the  scroll,  and  calls  them  by  their 
names. 

And  now,  my  God,  by  Thine  illumining  grace, 

Thy  glorious  face 
(So  far  forth  as  it  may  discovered  be) 

Methinks  I  see ; 
And  though  invisible  and  infinite. 

To  human  sight 
Thou,  in  Thy  mercy,  justice,  truth,  appear- 

est — 
In  which  to  our  weak  sense  Thou  comest 
nearest. 

Oh  make  us  apt  to  seek,  and  quick  to  find. 

Thou  God,  most  kind ! 
Give  us  love,  hope,  and  faith  in  Thee  to  trust. 

Thou  God,  most  just! 
Remit  all  our  offences,  we  entreat — 

Most  good,  most  great! 
Grant  that  our  willing,  though  unworthy 

quest 
May,  through  Thy  grace,  admit  us  'mongst 
the  blest. 

TuoMA3  IIevwood. 


WALKING  WITH  GOD. 

Oh  !  for  a  closer  walk  with  God, 
A  calm  and  heavenly  frame, 

A  light  to  shine  upon  the  road 
Tliat  leads  me  to  the  Lamb  ! 

Where  is  the  blessedness  I  knew 
When  first  I  saw  the  Lord? 

Where  is  the  soul-refreshing  view 
Of  Jesus  and  His  word  ? 


What  peaceful  hours  I  once  enj  Dyed — 
How  sweet  their  memory  stiil ! 

But  thoy  have  left  an  aching  void 
The  world  can  never  fill. 

Eeturn,  O  holy  Dove,  return ! 

Sweet  messenger  of  rest : 
I  hate  the  sins  that  made  Thee  mourn, 

And  drove  Thee  from  my  breast. 

The  dearest  idol  I  have  known, 

Whate'er  that  idol  be. 
Help  me  to  tear  it  from  Thy  throne, 

And  worship  only  Thee. 

■William  Cowpkb. 


ON  ANOTHER'S  SORROW. 

Can  I  see  another's  woe, 
And  not  be  in  sorrow  too  ? 
Can  I  see  another's  grief. 
And  not  seek  for  kind  relief? 

Can  I  see  a  falling  tear. 
And  not  feel  my  sorrow's  share  ? 
Can  a- father  see  his  child 
Weep,  nor  be  with  sorrow  filled  ? 

Can  a  mother  sit  and  hear 
An  infant  groan,  an  infant  fear? 
No !  no !  never  can  it  be — 
Never,  never  can  it  bo ! 

And  can  He  who  smiles  on  all, 
Hear  the  wren  with  sorrows  small. 
Hear  the  small  bird's  grief  and  caro. 
Hear  the  woes  that  infants  bear, — 

And  not  sit  beside  the  nest, 
Pouring  pity  in  their  breast? 
And  not  sit  the  cradle  near. 
Weeping  tear  on  infant's  tear  ? 

And  not  sit  both  night  and  day, 
Wiping  all  our  tears  away  ? 
Oh,  no!  never  can  it  i>e — 
Never,  never  can  it  bo  I 


SOS 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


He  doth  give  His  joy  to  all ; 
He  becomes  an  infant  small, 
He  becomes  a  man  of  woe, 
He  doth  feel  the  sorrow  too. 

Think  not  thou  canst  sigh  a  sigh, 
And  thy  maker  is  not  nigh ; 
Think  not  thou  canst  weep  a  tear, 
And  thy  maker  is  not  near. 

Oh !  He  gives  to  us  His  joy, 
That  our  griefs  He  may  destroy. 
Till  our  grief  is  fled  and  gone 
He  doth  sit  by  us  and  moan. 

"William  Blake. 


"  HOW  GEACIOUS  AND  HOW  WISE." 

How  gracious  and  how  wise 

Is  our  chastising  God ! 
And  oh  !  how  rich  the  blessings  are 

Which  blossom  from  His  rod ! 

He  lifts  it  up  on  high 

With  pity  in  His  heart, 
That  every  stroke  His  children  feel 

May  grace  and  peace  impart. 

Instructed  thus,  they  bow, 

And  own  His  sovereign  sway — 

They  turn  their  erring  footsteps  back 
To  His  forsaken  way. 

His  covenant  love  they  seek, 

And  seek  the  happy  bands 
That  closer  still  engage  their  hearts 

To  honor  His  commands. 

Dear  Father,  we  consent 

To  discipline  divine  ; 
And  bless  the  pains  that  make  our  souls 

StUl  more  completely  Thine. 

Philip  Doddeidge. 


GOD  IS  LOVE. 

All  I  feel,  and  Lear,  and  see, 
God  of  love,  is  full  of  Thee. 

Earth,  with  her  ten  thousand  flowers; 

Air,  with  all  its  beams  and  showers ; 

Ocean's  infinite  expanse ; 

Heaven's  resplendent  countenance — 

All  around,  and  all  above. 

Hath  this  record  :  God  is  love. 

Sounds  among  the  vales  and  hills. 
In  the  woods,  and  by  the  rills, 
Of  the  breeze,  and  of  the  bird, 
By  the  gentle  murmur  stirred — 
All  these  songs,  beneath,  above. 
Have  one  burden :  God  is  love. 

All  the  hopes  and  fears  that  start 
From  the  fountain  of  the  heart ; 
All  the  quiet  bliss  that  lies. 
All  our  human  sympathies — 
These  are  voices  from  above. 
Sweetly  whispering :  God  is  love, 

Anontmovs. 


1 


THE  EESIGNATIOIT. 

O  God  !  whose  thunder  shakes  the  sky. 
Whose  eye  this  atom-globe  surveys, 

To  Thee,  my  only  rock,  I  fly, — 
Thy  mercy  in  Thy  justice  praise. 

The  mystic  mazes  of  Thy  will. 
The  shadows  of  celestial  night. 

Are  past  the  power  of  human  skill ; 
But  what  the  Eternal  acts  is  right. 

O  teach  me,  in  the  trying  hour — 

When  anguish  swells  the  dewy  tear- 
To  still  my  sorrows,  own  Thy  power, 
Thy  goodness  love.  Thy  justice  fear. 

If  in  this  bosom  aught  but  Thee, 

Encroaching,  sought  a  boundless  sway 

Omniscience  could  the  danger  see. 
And  mercy  look  the  cause  away. 


CHORTS. 


809 


Then  why,  my  soul,  dost  thou  complain — 
Why  drooping  seek  the  dark  recess  i 

Shake  off  the  melancholy  chain ; 
For  God  created  all  to  bless. 

But  ah !  my  breast  is  human  still ; 

The  rising  sigh,  the  falling  tear, 
Hy  languid  vitals'  feeble  rill, 

The  sickness  of  my  soul  declare. 

But  yet,  with  fortitude  resigned, 

I  '11  thank  the  inflictor  of  the  blow — 

Forbid  the  sigh,  compose  my  mind, 
Xor  let  the  gush  of  misery  flow. 

The  gloomy  mantle  of  the  night, 
Which  on  my  sinking  spirit  steals, 

Will  vanish  at  the  morning  light. 
Which  God,  my  east,  my  sun,  reveals. 
Thomas  Chatteeton. 


OHOEUS. 

KiXG  of  kings !  and  Lord  of  lords ! 
Thus  we  move,  our  sad  steps  timing 
To  our  cymbals'  feeblest  chiming, 
"Where  Thy  house  its  rest  accords. 
Chased  and  wounded  birds  are  we. 
Through  the  dark  air  fled  to  Thee — 
To  the  shadow  of  Thy  wings. 
Lord  of  lords !  and  king  of  kings ! 

Behold,  O  Lord !  the  heathen  tread 
The  branches  of  Thy  fruitful  vinC;  ■ 
That  its  luxurious  tendrils  spread 

O'er  all  the  hills  of  Palestine. 
And  now  the  "wild  boar  comes  to  "wastG 
Even  us — the  greenest  boughs  and  last, 
That,  drinking  of  Thy  choicest  dew, 
On  Zion's  hill  in  beauty  grew. 

N"o  1  by  the  marvels  of  Thine  hand. 
Thou  wilt  save  Thy  chosen  land  I 
By  all  Thine  ancient  mercies  shown. 
By  all  our  fathers'  foes  o'erthrown ; 
By  the  Egyptian's  car-borne  host. 
Scattered  on  the  Eed  Sea  coast — 
By  that  wide  and  bloodless  slaughter 
Underneath  the  drowning  water. 

Like  us,  in  utter  helplessness, 
In  their  last  and  worst  distress — 
106 


On  the  sand  and  sea-weed  lying — 
Israel  poured  her  doleful  sighing ; 
While  before  the  deep  sea  flowed, 
And  behind  fierce  Egypt  rode — 
To  their  fathers'  God  they  prayed, 
To  the  Lord  of  hosts  for  aid. 

On  the  margin  of  the  flood 

With  lifted  rod  the  prophet  stood ; 

And  the  summoned  east  wind  blew. 

And  aside  it  sternly  threw 

The  gathered  waves  that  took  their  stand, 

Like  crystal  rocks,  on  either  hand, 

Or  walls  of  sea-green  marble  piled 

Bound  some  irregular  city  wild. 

Then  the  light  of  morning  lay 
On  the  wonder-paved  way, 
Where  the  treasures  of  the  deep 
In  their  caves  of  coral  sleep. 
The  profound  abysses,  where 
Was  never  sound  from  upper  air. 
Bang  with  Israel's  chanted  words  : 
King  of  kings !  and  Lord  of  lords ! 

Then  with  bow  and  banner  glancing, 

On  exulting  Egypt  came ; 
With  her  chosen  horsemen  prancing, 

And  her  cars  on  wheels  of  flame, 
In  a  rich  and  boastful  ring. 
All  around  her  furious  king. 

But  the  Lord  from  out  His  cloud, 
The  Loi'd  looked  down  upon  the  proud ; 
And  the  host  drave  heavily 
Down  the  deep  bosom  of  the  sea. 

With  a  quick  and  sudden  swell 

Prone  the  liquid  ramparts  fell ; 

Over  horse,  and  over  car. 

Over  every  man  of  war. 

Over  Pharaoh's  crown  of  gold, 

The  loud  thundering  billows  rolled. 

As  the  level  waters  spread, 

Down  they  sank — they  sank  like  lead — 

Down  sank  without  a  cry  or  groan. 

And  the  morning  sun,  that  shone 

On  myriads  of  bright-armed  men, 

Its  meridian  radiance  then 

Cast  on  a  wide  sea,  heaving,  as  of  yore, 

Against  a  silent,  solitary  shore. 

Henry  IIaet  Milman. 


810                                                  POEMS    OF 

RELIGION. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

THE  UXIVERSAL  PRAYER. 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see — 

That  mercy  I  to  others  show. 

DEO   OPT.   MAX. 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Father  of  all !  in  every  age, 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so. 

In  every  clime  adored — ■ 

Since  quickened  by  Thy  breath ; 

By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage — 

Oh  lead  me,  wheresoe'er  I  go. 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 

Through  this  day's  life  or  death. 

Thou  great  first  cause,  least  understood. 

This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot — 

Who  all  my  sense  confined 

All  else  beneath  the  sun 

To  know  but  this :  that  Thou  art  good, 

Thou  know'st  if  best  bestowed  or  not, 

And  that  myself  am  blind ; 

And  let  Thy  will  be  done. 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  Thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space. 

To  see  the  good  from  ill ; 

Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies — 

And,  binding  nature  fast  in  fate. 

One  chorus  let  all  being  raise ! 

Left  free  the  human  will. 

All  nature's  incense  rise  ! 

Alexandeb  Pope. 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done. 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do. 

This  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun. 

That  more  than  heaven  pursue. 

DIVINE  EJACULATION. 

What  blessings  Thy  free  bounty  gives 

Let  me  not  cast  away — 

I. 

For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives : 

Gee  AT  God !  whose  sceptre  rules  the  earth, 

To  enjoy  is  to  obey. 

Distil  Thy  fear  into  my  heart. 

That,  being  rapt  with  holy  mirth. 

Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 

I  may  proclaim  how  good  Thou  art ; 

Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 

Open  my  lips,  that  I  may  sing 

Or  think  Thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 

Full  praises  to  my  God,  my  king. 

When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hand 

II. 

Great  God !  Thy  garden  is  defaced. 

Presume  Thy  bolts  to  throw. 

The  weeds  thrive  there.  Thy  flowers  decay ; 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 

Oh  call  to- mind  Thy  promise  past — 

On  each  I  judge  Thy  foe. 

Restore  Thou  them,  cut  these  away ; 

• 

Till  then  let  not  the  weeds  have  power 

If  I  am  right,  Thy  grace  impart 

To  starve  or  stint  the  poorest  flower. 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay ; 

If  I  am  wrong,  oh  teach  my  heart 

III. 

To  find  that  better  way. 

In  all  extremes.  Lord,  Thou  art  still 

The  mount  whereto  my  hopes  do  flee ; 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride 

Oh  make  my  soul  detest  all  ill. 

Or  impious  discontent. 

Because  so  much  abhorred  by  Thee ; 

At  aught  Thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Lord,  let  Thy  gracious  trials  show 

Or  aught  Thy  goodness  lent. 

That  I  am  just — or  make  me  so. 

THOF,    GOD,    SEEST    ME. 


Sll 


IV. 

Shall  mountain,  desert,  beast,  and  tree, 
Yield  to  that  heavenly  voice  of  Thine, 
And  shall  that  voice  not  startle  me, 
Kor  stir  this  stone,  this  heart  of  mine  ? 
No,  Lord,  till  Thou  new-bore  mine  ear, 
Thy  voice  is  lost,  I  cannot  hear. 


Fountain  of  light  and  living  breath, 
Whose  mercies  never  fail  nor  fade. 
Fill  me  with  life  that  hath  no  death, 
Fill  me  with  light  that  hath  no  shade  ; 
Appoint  the  remnant  of  my  days 
To  see  Thy  power  and  sing  Thy  praise. 

VI. 

Lord  God  of  gods !  before  whose  throne 
Stand  storms  and  fire,  oh  what  shall  we 
Return  to  heaven,  that  is  our  own, 
When  all  the  world  belongs  to  Thee  ? 
We  have  no  offerings  to  impart, 
But  praises,  and  a  wounded  heart. 

VII. 

0  Thou  that  sitt'st  in  heaven  and  see'st 
My  deeds  without,  my  thoughts  within, 
Be  Thou  my  prince,  be  Thou  my  priest — 
Command  my  soul,  and  cure  my  sin  ; 
How  bitter  ray  afflictions  be 

1  care  not,  so  I  rise  to  Thee. 

VIII. 

What  I  possess,  or  what  I  crave. 
Brings  no  content,  great  God,  to  me. 
If  what  I  would,  or  what  I  have. 
Be  not  possessed  and  blest  in  Thee : 
What  I  enjoy,  oh  make  it  mine, 
Li  making  me — that  have  it — Thine. 

IX. 

When  winter  fortunes  cloud  the  brows 

Of  summer  friends — when  eyes  grow  strange — 

When  plighted  faith  forgets  its  vows. 

When  earth  and  all  things  in  it  change — 

0  Lord,  Thy  mercies  fail  me  never ; 

Where  once  Thou  lov'st,  Thou  lov'st  fur  ever. 


Great  God !  whose  kingdom  hath  no  end. 
Into  whose  secrets  none  can  dive, 
Whose  mercy  none  can  apprehend. 
Whose  justice  none  can  feel — and  live. 
What  my  dull  heart  cannot  aspire 
To  know.  Lord,  teach  me  to  admire. 

John   QuAEi-Ea. 


"THOU,  GOD,  SEEST  ME." 

0  God,  unseen  but  not  unknown, 
Thine  eye  is  ever  fixed  on  me ; 

1  dwell  beneath  Thy  secret  throne, 
Encompassed  by  Thy  deity. 

Throughout  this  universe  of  space 

To  nothing  am  I  long  allied ; 
For  flight  of  time,  and  change  of  place, 

My  strongest,  dearest  bonds  divide. 

Parents  I  had,  but  where  are  they  ? 

Friends  whom  I  knew  I  know  no  more  ; 
Companions,  once  that  cheered  my  way, 

Have  dropped  behind  or  gone  before. 

ITow  I  am  one  amidst  a  crowd 
Of  life  and  action  hurrying  round  ; 

Now  left  alone — for,  like  a  cloud, 

They  came,  they  went,  and  are  not  found. 

Even  from  myself  sometimes  I  part — 
Unconscious  sleep  is  nightly  death — - 

Yet  surely  by  my  couch  Thou  art. 

To  prompt  my  pulse,  inspire  my  breath. 

Of  all  that  I  have  done  and  said 

How  little  can  I  now  recall ! 
Forgotten  things  to  me  are  dead  ; 

With  Thee  they  live, — Thou  know'st  thorn 
all. 

Thou  hast  been  with  me  from  the  womb, 

Witness  to  every  conflict  here ; 
Xor  wilt  Thou  leave  me  at  the  tomb — 

Before  Thy  bar  I  must  appear. 

The  moment  comes, — the  only  one 

Of  all  my  time  to  be  foretold ; 
Yet  when,  and  how,  and  where,  can  none 

Among  the  race  of  man  unfold : — 


812 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


The  nioiKeiit  comes  when  strength  shall  fail, 
"When  —  health,  and    hope,   and    courage 
tlown — 

.[  must  go  down  into  the  vale 

And  shade  of  death  with  Thee  alone. 

Alone  with  Thee ! — in  that  dread  strife 
Uphold  me  through  mine  agony; 

And  gently  he  this  dying  life 
Exchanged  for  immortality. 

Then,  when  the  unhodied  spirit  lands 
"Where  flesh  and  blood  have  never  trod, 

And  in  the  unveiled  presence  stands. 
Of  Thee,  my  Saviour  and  my  God — 

Be  mine  eternal  portion  this — 

Since  Thou  wert  always  here  with  me  : 

That  I  may  view  Thy  face  in  bliss. 
And  be  for  evermore  with  Thee. 

James  Montgomery. 


DELIGHT  m  GOD  ONLY. 

I  LOVE,  and  have  some  cause  to  love,  the 
earth — 
She  is  my  maker's  creature,  therefore  good. 
She  is  my  mother,  for  she  gave  me  birth  ; 
She  is  my  tender    nurse,    she   gives  me 

food : 
But  what's   a  creature.  Lord,   compared 

with  Thee  ? 
Or  what 's  my  mother  or  my  nurse  to  me  ? 

I  love  the  air — her  dainty  sweets  refresh 

My  drooping  soul,  and  to  new  sweets  in- 
vite me; 
Her  shrill-mouthed  choir    sustain    me  with 
their  flesh. 

And  with  their  polyphonian  notes  delight 
me : 

But  what's  the  air,  or  all  the  sweets  that 
she 

Can  bless   my  soul  withal,  compared   to 
Thee  ? 


I  love  the  sea — slie  is  my  fellow-creature, 
My  careful   purveyor ;    she  provides  me 
^tore  ; 
She  Avails  me  round ;  she  makes  my   diet 
greater ; 
She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  shore : 
But,  Lord  of  oceans,  when  compared  with 

Th«e, 
What  is  the  ocean  or  her  wealth  to  me  ? 

To  heaven's  high  city  I  direct  my  journey, 
Whose   spangled  suburbs  entertain  mine 

eye- 
Mine  eye,  by  contemplation's  great  attorney, 
Transcends  the   crystal  pavement  of  the 

sky: 
But  what  is  heaven,  great  God,  compared 

to  Thee  ? 
"Without  Thy  presence,  heaven 's  no  heaven 

to  me. 

"Without  Tliy  presence,  earth  gives  no  refec* 
tion  ; 

"\\' ithout  Thy  presence,  sea  afibrds  no  treas- 
ure ; 
"Without  Thy  presence,  air 's  a  rank  infection ; 

Without  Thy  presence,  heaven 's  itself  no 
pleasure : 

If  not  possessed,  if  not  enjoyed  in  Thee, 

What 's  earth,  or  sea,  or  air,  or  heaven  to 
me? 

The  highest  honors  that  the  world  can  boast 

Are  subjects  far  too  low  for  my  desire  ; 
The  brightest  beams  of  glory  are,  at  most. 
But  dying  sparkles  of  Thy  living  fire  ; 
The  loudest  flames  that  earth  can  kindle, 

be 
But  nightly   glow-worms  if  compared  to 
Thee. 

Without  Thy   presence,   wealth   is  bags  of 

cares ; 
Wisdom  but  folly ;  joy,  disquiet,  sadness; 
Friendship  is  treason,  and  delights  are  snares; 
Pleasures  but  pain,  and  mirth  but  pleasing 

madness — 
Without  Thee,  Lord,  things  be  not  Avhat 

they  be. 
Nor  have  their  being,  when  compared  with 

Thee. 


GOD'S    GREATNESS. 


813 


In  jianng  all  things,  and  not  Thee,  what 
have  I  ? 
Not  having  Thee,  what   have  my  labors 
got  ?      • 
Let  me  enjoy  but  Thee,  what  further  crave  I? 
And  having  Thee  alone,  what  have  I  not  ? 
I  wish  nor  sea,  nor  land,  nor  would  I  be 
Possessed  of  heaven,  heaven  unpossessed 
of  Thee! 

FeANCIS  QrAELES. 


TlilE  PAST,  TIME  PASSIXG,  TIME  TO 
COME. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  been  Thy  people's  rest, 
Through  all  their  generations — 

Tlieir  refuge  when  by  troubles  pressed, 
Their  hope  in  tribulations  : 

Thou,  ere  the  mountains  sprang  to  birth. 

Or  ever  Thou  hadst  formed  the  earth, 
Art  God  from  everlasting. 

Our  life  is  like  the  transient  breath, 

That  tells  a  mournful  story — 
Early  or  late  stopped  short  by  death — 

And  where  is  all  our  glory  ? 
Our  days  are  threescore  years  and  ten. 
And  if  the  span  be  lengthened  then, 

Their  strength  is  toil  and  sorrow. 

Lo!  Thou  hast  set  before  Thine  eyes 

All  our  misdeeds  and  errors ; 
Our  secret  sins  from  darkness  rise 

At  Thine  awakening  terrors : 
"Who  sliall  abide  the  trying  hour  ? 
Wlio  knows  the  thunder  of  Thy  power? 

We  flee  unto  Tliy  mercy. 

Lord,  teach  us  so  to  mark  our  days 
That  we  may  prize  them  duly ; 

So  guide  our  feet  in  wisdom's  ways 
Tliat  we  may  love  Thee  truly  ; 

Return,  O  Lord !  our  griefs  behold, 

And  with  Thy  goodness,  as  of  old, 

Oh  satisfy  us  early ! 

James  Montoombet. 


"THOU  GOD  UNSEARCHABLE.-' 

Thou  God  unsearchable,  unknown, 
Who  still  conceal'st  Thyself  from  me. 

Hear  an  apostate  spirit  groan — 

Broke  off  and  banished  flir  from  Thee : 

But  conscious  of  my  fall  I  mourn. 

And  fain  I  would  to  Thee  return. 

Send  forth  one  ray  of  heavenly  light, 
Of  gospel  hope,  of  humble  fear, 

To  guide  me  through  the  gulf  of  night — 
My  poor  desponding  soul  to  cheer, 

TiU  Thou  my  unbelief  remove. 

And  show  me  all  Thy  glorious  love. 

A  hidden  God  indeed  Thou  art — 
Thy  absence  I  this  moment  feel ; 

Yet  must  I  own  it  from  my  heart — 
Concealed,  Thou  art  a  Saviour  still ; 

And  though  Thy  face  I  cannot  see, 

I  know  Thine  eye  is  fixed  on  me. 

My  Saviour  Thou,  not  yet  revealed ; 

Yet  will  I  Thee  my  Saviour  call. 
Adore  Thy  hand — from  sin  withheld — 

Thy  hand  shall  save  me  from  my  fall : 
Now  Lord,  throughout  my  darkness  sliine 
And  show  Thyself  for  ever  mine. 

ChABLES    WEgLBY. 


GOD'S  GREATNESS. 

0  GOD,  Thou  bottomless  abyss ! 

Thee  to  perfection  who  can  know  ? 
O  height  immense !  what  words  suffice 

Thy  countless  attributes  to  show  ? 
Unfatlioraable  depths  Thou  art ! 

O  plunge  me  in  Thy  mercy's  sea ! 
Void  of  true  wisdom  is  my  heart — 

With  love  embrace  and  cover  me ! 
While  Tliee,  all  infinite,  I  set 

By  faith  before  my  ravished  eye. 
My  weakness  bends  beneath  the  weight— 

0'crpo\yered,  I  sink,  I  faint,  I  die  1 

Eternity  Thy  fountain  was. 

Which,  like  Thee,  no  beginning  know  : 
Thou  wast  ere  time  began  his  race, 

Ere  glowed  with  stars  th'  ethereal  blue. 


814 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION, 


Greatness  unspeakable  is  Thine — 

Greatness  -whose  undiminished  ray, 
^Yhen    short-lived    "worlds    are    lost,     shall 
triune, — 

"When  earth  and  heaven  are  fled  away. 
Unchangeable,  all-perfect  Lord, 

Essential  lite 's  unbounded  sea ! 
^Y'hat  lives  and  moves,  lives  by  Thy  word  ; 

It  lives,  and  moves,  and  is,  from  Thee. 

Thy  parent-hand.  Thy  forming  skill, 

Firm  fixed  this  universal  chain ; 
Else  empty,  barren  darkness  still 

Had  held  his  unmolested  reign. 
Whate'er  in  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky. 

Or  shuns  or  meets  the  wandering  thought. 
Escapes  or  strikes  the  searching  eye, 

By  Thee  was  to  perfection  brought ! 
High  is  Thy  power  above  all  height ; 

Whate'er  Thy  will  decrees  is  done  ; 
Thy  wisdom,  equal  to  Thy  might, 

Only  to  Thee,  0  God,  is  known  ! 


Heaven's  glory  is  Thy  awful  throne. 

Yet  earth  partakes  Tliy  gracious  sway; 
Vain  man !  thy  wisdom  folly  own — 

Lost  is  thy  reason's  feeble  ray. 
What  our  dim  eye  could  never  see 

Is  plain  and  naked  to  Thy  sight ; 
"What  thickest  darkness  veils,  to  Thee 

Shines  clearly  as  the  morning  light. 
In  light  Thou  dwell'st,  light  that  no  shade, 

No  variation,  ever  knew  ; 
Heaven,  earth,  and  hell  stand  all  displayed, 

And  open  to  Thy  piercing  view. 

Tnoir,  true  and  only  God,  lead'st  forth 

Th'  immortal  armies  of  the  sky  ; 
Thou  laugh'st  to  scorn  the  gods  of  earth  ; 

Thou  thunderest,  and  amazed  they  fly  ! 
With  downcast  eye  th'  angelic  choir 

Appear  before  Thy  awful  face ; 
Trembling  they  strike  the  golden  lyre, 

And  through  heaven's  vault  resound  Thy 
praise. 
In  earth,  in  heaven,  in  all  Thou  art ; 

The  conscious  creature  feels  Thy  nod. 
Whose  forming  hand  on  every  part 

Impressed  the  image  of  its  God. 


Thine,  Lord,  is  wisdom.  Thine  alone  ! 

Justice  and  truth  before  Thee  stand  i 
Yet,  nearer  to  Thy  sacred  throne, 

Mercy  withholds  Thy  lifted  hand. 
Each  evening  shows  Thy  tender  love. 

Each  rising  morn  Tliy  plenteous  grace ; 
Thy  wakened  wrath  doth  slowly  move, 

Thy  willing  mercy  flies  apace ! 
To  Thy  benign,  indulgent  care, 

Father,  this  light,  this  breath  we  owe  ; 
And  all  we  have,  and  all  we  are. 

From  Thee,  great  source  of  being,  flow. 

Parent  of  good,  Thy  bounteous  hand 

Incessant  blessings  down  distils. 
And  all  in  air,  or  sea,  or  land. 

With  plenteous  food  and  gladness  fills. 
All  things  in  Thee  live,  move,  and  are — 

Thy  power  infused  doth  all  sustain  ; 
Even  those  Thy  daily  favors  share 

Who  thankless  spurn  Thy  easy  reign. 
Thj'  sun  Thou  bidd'st  his  genial  ray 

Alike  on  all  impartial  pour ; 
To  all,  who  hate  or  bless  Thy  sway. 

Thou  bidd'st  descend  the  fruitful  shower. 

Yet  while,  at  length,  who  scorned  Thy  might 

Shall  feel  Thee  a  consuming  fire. 
How  sweet  the  joys,  the  crown  how  bright, 

Of  those  who  to  Thy  love  aspire ! 
All  creatures  praise  th'  eternal  name  ! 

Ye  hosts  that  to  His  court  belong — 
Cherubic  choirs,  seraphic  flames — 

Awake  the  everlasting  song  ! 
Thrice  holy !  Thine  the  kingdom  is — 

The  power  omnipotent  is  Thine  ; 
And  when  created  nature  dies, 

Thy  never-ceasing  glories  shine. 

Joachim  Justus  Beeithatjpt.    (German.) 
Translation  of  Jons  Weslet. 


GOD. 


O  THOU  eternal  One !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide — 
Unchanged    through    time's    all-devastating 

flight ! 
Thou  only  God — there  is  no  God  beside ! 
Being  above  all  beii:gs !  Mighty  One, 


GOD. 


815 


Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  ex- 
plore ! 
"Who  fillVt  existence  with  Thyself  alone — 
Embracing  all,  supporting,  ruling  o'er, — 
Being  whom  we  call  God,   and  know  no 
more! 

In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean-deep — ^may  count 

The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays — but,  God !  for 

Thee 
There  is  no  weight  nor  measure ;  none  can 

mount 
Up  to   Thy  mysteries;    Keason's  brightest 

spark, 
Though  kindled  by  Thy  light,  in  vain  would 

try 
To  trace  Thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark ; 
And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so 

high, 
Even  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 

Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 

First  chaos,  tlien  existence — Lord  !  in  Thee 

Eternity  had  its  foundation  ;  all 

Sprung  forth  from  Thee — of  light,  joy,  har- 
mony. 

Sole  Origiu — all  life,  all  beauty  Thine  ; 

Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create  ; 

Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine  ; 

Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be !  Glorious ! 
Great ! 

Light-giving,  life-sustaining  potentate ! 

Thy   chains  the    unmeasured  universe  sur- 
round— 
Upheld  by   Thee,   by    Thee    inspired    with 

breath ! 
lliou  the  beginning  with  the  end  hast  bound, 
And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  death  I 
As  sparks  mount  upwards  from  the  fiery 

blaze, 
So  suns  are  born,  so  worlds  spring  forth  from 

Thee ; 
And  as  the  spangles  in  the  sunny  rays 
Sliine  round  tlie  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 
Of   heaven's    bright  army  glitters    in  Thy 
praise. 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  Thy  hand 
Wander  unwearied* through  the  blue  abyss — 


They  own  Thy  power,  accomplish  Thy  com- 
mand. 

All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 

What  shall  we  call  them  ?  Piles  of  crystal 
light— 

A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams — 

Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright — 

Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous 
beams  ? 

But  Thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes !  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea. 
All  this  magnificence  in  Thee  is  lost : — 
What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to 

Thee? 
And  what  am  I  then  ? — Heaven's  unnum- 
bered host, 
Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 
In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought. 
Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance,  weighed 
Against  Thy  greatness — is  a  cipher  brought 
Against  infinity!    What  am  I  then?    If  aught! 

Xaught !     But  the  effluence  of  Thy  light  di- 
vine, 
Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom 

too ; 
Yes !  in  my  spirit  doth  Thy  spirit  shine, 
As  shines  the  sun-beam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 
Xaught !  but  I  live,  and  on  hope's  pinions  fly 
Eager  towards  Thy  presence — for  in  Thee 
I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell ;  aspiring  high, 
Even  to  the  throne  of  Thy  divinity. 
I  am,  0  God !  and  surely  Thou  must  be  ! 

Thou  art! — directing,  guiding  all — Thou  art! 
Direct  my  understanding  then  to  Tliee  ; 
Control    my    spirit,    guide    my    wandering 

heart ; 
Tliough  but  an  atom  midst  immensity. 
Still   I    am    something,    fashioned    by    Thy 

hand ! 
I  hold   a  middle   rank   'twixt  heaven  and 

earth — 
On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand. 
Close  to  the  realms  where  angels  have  their 

birth, 
Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit-land! 

The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me — 
In  me  is  matter's  last  gradation  lost, 


81 G 


POEMS    OF    RELIGION. 


And  the  next  step  is  spirit — deity ! 

I  can  commfind  the  liglitning,  and  am  dnst ! 

A  monarch  and  a  slave — a  worm,  a  god ! 

Wlience  came  I  here,  and  how  ?  so  marvel- 
lously 

Constrncted  and  conceived  ?  unknown !  this 
clod 

Lives  snrely  through  some  higher  energy ; 

For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be  ! 

Creator,  yes !  Thy  wisdom  and  Thy  word 
Created  me !     Thou  source  of  life  and  good ! 
Thou  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord ! 
Thy  light,  Thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death ;  and  bade  it  wear 
The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 


Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere, 
Even  to    its    source — to  Thee — its    author 
there. 

Oh  thoughts  ineffable !  oh  visions  blest ! 
Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  Thee, 
Yet  shall  Thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 
And  waft  its  homage  to  Thy  deity. 
God!    thus    alone  my   lowly   thoughts  can 

soar, 
Thus  seek  Thy  presence— Being  wise  and 

good! 

Midst  Thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore ; 

And  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more 

The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude. 

Gabriel  Romanowitch  Derziiavin.    (Eussian.) 
Translation  of  John  Bowcino 


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